‘As in, the stuff they do at the Olympics,’ Tom said. He was obviously well used to teasing and it barely registered. ‘No tights involved. I used to do competitive fencing too. It’s very good for you. Very physical. I’m out of shape now.’

He flexed one bicep and looked at it with what was supposed to be a rueful expression, but the undertone of slight self-satisfaction rather showed through.

Nina made a sympathetic face. ‘God, yeah, it must be awful having pecs the size of a teen girl’s boobs and a six pack to match. I don’t know how Bruce puts up with it.’

‘Stop it, you two!’ Flo scolded.

Clare watched them from the far sofa, and I found myself watching her, remembering how she loved to observe, how she used to throw a remark out, like a pebble into a pond, and then back quietly away to watch the ripples as people scrapped it out. It was not an endearing habit, but it was one I could not condemn. I understood it too well. I, too, am happier watching than being watched.

Clare turned her head and caught me watching her watching Tom and Nina squabbling, and she smiled a small conspiratorial smile that said, I see you.

I looked away.

What had she hoped to accomplish by inviting me here? Nina saw it as an attempt to salve her conscience at my expense – the equivalent of an adulterous husband confessing to his wife.

I did not. I don’t think Clare lost any sleep over hooking up with James. And in any case she didn’t deserve my approbation. She owed me nothing. James and I broke up long ago.

No. I thought that perhaps … perhaps she had merely wanted to watch. To see how I took it. Perhaps that was the same reason she outed Nina. Like a child who sees a teeming anthill and simply can’t not poke it.

And then they step back … and watch.

‘How about you, Lee?’ Flo said suddenly, and I looked away from Clare, jerked out of my thoughts.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Did you enjoy that?’

‘Ish.’ I rubbed my shoulder, where I could feel a bruise already forming. ‘My shoulder hurts though.’

‘You got a right whack from the recoil on that first shot, didn’t you?’

The kick of the gun had surprised me, whacking back against my shoulder bone with a whump that knocked the breath out of me.

‘You have to hold it firm in the first place,’ Tom said. ‘You were like this, look.’ He reached up and took down the shotgun over the mantelpiece and braced it against his shoulder, showing me the loose stance that had cost me a bruise.

The muzzle of the gun was pointing directly at me. I froze.

‘Hey!’ Nina said sharply.

‘Tom!’ Clare struggled up straighter against the sofa cushions, looking from me to Tom and then back again. ‘Put that down!’

Tom just grinned. I knew he was joking, but in spite of myself I felt every muscle in my body tense.

‘God, I feel like Jason Bourne,’ he said. ‘I can literally feel the power going to my head as I speak. Hmm … let’s interrogate a few people. How about this for starters: Nora, why in all the years I’ve known Clare has she never mentioned your name?’

I tried to speak – but my throat was suddenly so dry I could barely swallow.

‘Tom!’ Clare said more sharply. ‘Call me paranoid but should you be waving that thing around after all Grig’s wise words about guns fucking you up?’

‘It’s not loaded,’ Flo said, and yawned. ‘My aunt uses it for scaring rabbits.’

‘Still,’ Clare said.

‘Just kidding around,’ Tom said. He gave another wolfish grin, showing those unnaturally white teeth, and then lowered the muzzle and hooked the shotgun back on its pegs.

I slumped back against the sofa feeling the wave of adrenalin recede, and my fingers uncurl from their rigid fists. My hands were shaking.

‘Ha fucking ha,’ Clare said. She was frowning like someone totally failing to see any funny side at all. ‘Next time you want to wave that thing around, can you make sure it’s not one of my friends on the sharp end?’

I shot her a grateful look and she rolled her eyes at me as if to say, ‘Dick’.

‘Sorry,’ Tom said mildly. ‘Like I said, just kidding, but I apologise if any offence was caused.’ He gave a mock bow in my direction.

‘Right, scuse I,’ Flo said with another yawn. ‘I’d better make a start on supper.’

‘Want a hand?’ Clare said, and Flo’s face lit up. Her smile was extraordinary – it transformed her whole face.

‘Really? I feel like you should be acting like the queen of the day.’

‘Nah, come on. I’ll chop or something.’

She heaved herself up off the sofa and they left the room, Clare’s arm slung companionably round Flo’s shoulders. Tom looked after them, as they left.

‘Funny couple, aren’t they?’ he said as they left the room.

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘I can’t quite fit the Clare I know together with Flo. They’re so … different.’

The remark shouldn’t have made sense, given that they were so physically similar, and both dressed in an almost identical uniform of grey stonewash jeans and stripey top. But I knew what he meant.

Nina stretched. ‘They’ve got one really important interest in common though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They both think Clare’s the centre of the fucking universe.’

Tom snorted, and I tried not to laugh. Nina only looked sideways out of her glinting dark eyes, a little wry smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. Then she stretched, and shrugged, all in one fluid movement.

‘Right. I might phone the old trouble and strife.’ She pulled out her mobile and then made a face. ‘No reception. How’s yours, Lee?’

Nora. But there was only so many times I could correct people without seeming obsessively controlling.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, and felt in my pockets. ‘That’s odd. It’s not here. I’m sure I had it at the shooting range – I remember checking Twitter. Maybe I left it in the car. I don’t think I’d have any reception either, though – I haven’t had a bar since I got here. You got a bit of reception from our room earlier, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ Nina had picked up the phone receiver and was jiggling the cradle. ‘This one’s still out. OK. I’m going upstairs to hang off the balcony and try to get a bar or two. Maybe I can send a text.’

‘What’s so urgent?’ Tom asked.

Nina shook her head. ‘Nothing. Just … you know. I miss her.’

‘Fair play.’

We both watched as she disappeared upstairs, long legs eating up the stairs two at a time. Tom sighed and stretched out on the couch.

‘Are you not phoning Bruce?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘To tell the truth we had a bit of a … disagreement, let’s call it. Before I left.’

‘Oh right.’ I kept my voice neutral.

I never know what to say in these situations. I hate people prying into my business, so I assume others will feel the same way. But sometimes they want to spill, it seems, and then you look cold and odd, backing away from their confidences. I try to be completely non-judgemental – not pushing for secrets, not repelling confessions. And in truth, although part of me really doesn’t want to hear their petty jealousies and weird obsessions, there’s another part of me that wants to egg them on. It’s that part of me that stands there nodding, taking notes, filing it all away. It’s like opening up the back of the machine to see the crude workings grinding away inside. There’s a disappointment in the banality of what makes people tick, but at the same time, there’s a kind of fascination at seeing the inner coils and cogs.

The trouble is that the next day they almost invariably resent you for having seen them naked and unguarded. So I’m deliberately reserved and non-committal, trying not to lead them on. But somehow it doesn’t seem to work. All too often I end up pinned to the wall at parties, listening to a long tale of how so-and-so fucked them over, and then he said this, and then she got off with him, and then his ex did that …