She recovers quickly. ‘I was just doing you a favour, V. Like you did for me. It’s nice to hang everything up once in a while, to let the creases fall out. This room has the most coat hangers I’ve ever seen.’ She turns away, and stuffs something into her make-up bag. I decide not to question it.

‘Maybe they get lots of customers wearing dresses.’

She laughs at that. ‘Ladies of the night, you mean? I guess that would explain why the receptionist seems to be studiously avoiding looking anyone in the eye. I went down and asked her for some Coke, and she got quite flustered. Although the non-liquid kind might’ve been welcome when I finally managed to get myself out of bed. I had the shakes so bad I could’ve churned butter from a carton of milk.’

She must’ve been on more than vodka on our last night on the train. There’s no way she’d have got in that state otherwise. But then again, there was a lot of vodka, and not a lot of anything else. We’re probably both lucky we didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. Carrie’s lost weight since we first met. Drinking more than eating will do that to you.

‘Well, if you’re up to it, we’ve been invited to a party tonight. Up at the wooden houses.’

‘Oh, cool. If you’d come back and said this a few hours ago, I’d have told you where to go, but actually, yeah. Why not? Whose party is it?’ She wanders over to the dressing table and lays her make-up bag down, then picks up a powder compact, starts dabbing her face with the little sponge. She looks at me in the mirror. ‘Where have you even been?’

I shrug. ‘I went for a wander around town. Saw some fancy churches. Went to the houses. Saw some old cars. Then I ended up in this market … oh God, I nearly forgot – I saw this guy and I thought it was Sam—’

‘Please tell me you’re not still thinking about Sam. Jeez, V. You weren’t thinking about him much at the festival … or on the train.’

I stand beside her and pick up a mascara. ‘You’re going to bring this up now?’

‘When, then?’

‘I think you made it pretty clear that you’re not interested.’

She picks up a black eyeliner, starts expertly running it across her lids. Her hand is steady and the line is neat. I have never been able to do it like that. She places the eyeliner back down, then rummages in her make-up bag and a small, plastic wrapper slides out. She grabs it quickly and looks away, but I’ve already seen what it is.

‘Fucking hell, Carrie. You brought that over the border?’

She won’t look at me. ‘Forgot I had it.’