The thing was, she had never contemplated for a moment that something like this would happen. Laura wasn’t even particularly keen on Greg – although it would appear from the photo that she’d changed her mind about that. The image was slightly blurred, taken at night under streetlights, with that sort of grainy discolouration that sometimes happens. Maybe zoomed-in too, unless the sender was standing right next to them.

Laura against a wall, Greg pushed up against her.

You could interpret the image in many ways, if you were so inclined, but the fact that his jeans are around his ankles and Laura’s legs are wrapped around his back is a bit of a giveaway.

She waits for him to come home from work. The time stamp on the photograph is from two weeks earlier, and she’s no way of knowing if this was a one-off thing or not, but what hurts the most is that she remembers that night – she and Laura had been meant to go to the cinema, and Laura had texted last minute to say she was ill and couldn’t make it. Carrie had decided not to go either, and with Greg apparently at a work’s night out, she’d had an early night and thought no more about it.

By the time he arrives home, she’s drunk three-quarters of a bottle of Bacardi that was in the back of a kitchen cupboard, and Greg’s six-pack of Stella from the fridge. She can barely remember hitting him, and if it hadn’t been for the bruise on his cheek the next day, she would’ve convinced herself it didn’t happen. He’d left, then, and, thankfully, he’d decided not to tell anyone what happened.

Laura was a different kettle of fish.

She was jumpy and paranoid every time they met, and Carrie had tried to bring it up several times, trying to keep the anger at bay – knowing that it didn’t matter anymore, now that she’d split with Greg – but really, everything was ruined.

They’d had a lot to drink that night, on their own wee leaving-do. The others had left early, leaving Carrie and Laura to stagger down the High Street on their own. They’d been laughing and joking, and Carrie had almost forgotten what a cheating bitch her best friend was, but then she’d recognised the wall – something about the angle, the way the light hit it and left it in shadow. Here. Right here! Her best friend and her boyfriend. The bastards. Pushing Laura down the steps had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. That split second when life can go one way or another. She’d thought she could forget the betrayal, but the fact that Laura still hadn’t confessed was what pissed Carrie off in the end.