I was leaving big damp footprints on the grey landing carpet, hastily tying the silk robe Mike had bought me for Christmas. ‘She’s here? In the house?’

‘Should I not have let her in? It’s raining.’

It occurred to me again how ridiculous this whole thing was. How could I ask Bill to lock our friend outside in the rain? ‘Of course. It’s fine.’ A lurch of fear went through me. The last time she’d been in my house, look what had happened. Everything smashed and broken.

He followed me down and melted into the kitchen. ‘I’m here if you need me. Should I bring tea or something?’

‘No. No, it’s fine.’ I didn’t want to be reminded of the hundreds, thousands of times Karen and I had drunk tea together, all the way through from university to this house. She even had her own mug, a lumpy one Cassie had made in nursery school and insisted belonged to ‘Auntie Karen’. I paused with my hand on the living room door. I wasn’t sure I could do this. But I had to.

Karen was sitting in semi-darkness, and it took me a moment to spot her in the living room on the grey marl sofa. I’d been so pleased when the room was finished, adding the final touches of duck-egg blue cushions and throws and ornaments. Just looking into it usually gave me a feeling of happiness, of peace. Not tonight. I fumbled for a lamp and she appeared to me. She looked terrible. Hair unbrushed – and I hadn’t realised how much grey there was in it – face crumpled, dressed in a baggy grey sweatshirt. Her hands were rammed between her thighs. ‘I . . . Ali.’

I sat down opposite her on the matching sofa, laying my own hands on my legs, pulling the dressing gown over me. ‘Are you alright?’ My voice sounded stiff.

‘I . . . not really.’ She struggled with the answer. ‘I – Ali, I never meant for this to happen.’

‘Which bit?’ How cold I was. ‘Karen, Christ – I don’t even know what to say. What’s going on? Should you even be here?’ I was pretty sure we weren’t meant to be talking.

She looked down at her feet, which were in Converse, leaving tracks of mud on the carpet. ‘Probably not. But I had to. I didn’t make it up.’ Her voice was small. ‘It really happened, Ali. Look at my – look at me.’ She pulled her collar aside so I could see the bruises on her neck, thumb prints clear as ink. ‘I know you don’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to either. That’s why I think I – I think I froze at first, I was so shocked, and then it was. Too late.’

‘But you’d had sex with him hours before. Literally hours.’ My voice was hard and brittle. ‘Hadn’t you?’