‘What about this picnic then?’ he said.

‘It’s only sandwiches.’

‘Well, let’s make them.’

They really had to hurry up. He wouldn’t relax until they were out of here.

He started sorting through the stuff on the table – a bag of expensive lettuce, some cheese in a wooden box, tomatoes, olives. She’d been planning on some complicated sandwiches, though the fresh ingredients were going to be interesting to work with. She yanked more stuff out of the fridge – a red pepper, a handful of rocket.

‘You want butter?’ she said.

‘Not if it’s been in the fridge. You got mayonnaise?’

She passed it, along with a knife from a wooden holder on the cabinet. He sliced the bread and spread it with mayo, shredded the lettuce and cut up tomatoes. He liked her watching, knew it looked cool. He unpacked the cheese from its box and laid thin slices on the bread with the salad.

‘Got any black pepper, any salt?’

She came over with the grinders and did it for him. When she twisted, her hips swung and her skirt shifted. It was pretty the way her skirt did that, like it was part of her.

He cut the sandwiches in half diagonally, wrapped them in foil and stepped back from the table with a bow.

‘There you go.’

‘You could be a chef,’ Ellie said, ‘the care you took.’

They smiled at each other.

‘Shall we be off then?’ he said.

She glanced at her mobile, then sat down at the table, pulled a packet of tobacco from a drawer, papers, a lighter and a small hunk of dope.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked.

‘What do think it’s for?’

She hadn’t a clue how to make a joint, it was obvious. She forgot to heat the dope, then when she figured it out, put way too much in and could barely handle the rolling at all. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to do this to keep him interested, but wasn’t sure how to say it.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ was all he managed, as she licked the paper and stuck it down.

‘I don’t.’

‘What do you call that then?’

She looked at the joint in her hand as if it had nothing to do with her, gave a little shrug. ‘I call it exceptional circumstances.’

She made a roach for it then, tearing a strip from the Rizla packet and rolling it small.

‘That’ll be too tight,’ he said.

She unrolled it and started again. Every now and then she threw him a glance, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn’t going to let her freak him out. Or the situation. He kept hearing noises even though he was sitting really still. The afternoon seemed full of them and he couldn’t work out if they meant anything or not. Maybe they were regular noises that houses made – boilers and radiators and all the special objects sparkling. But maybe they meant something. Maybe they were noises that mattered, even in the distance. The noise of a car pulling up the drive or footsteps on gravel, or a key in the lock.

‘So, where is everyone?’ he said. He couldn’t help himself, needed to check.

‘At work.’

He shot her a look. That was a lie. Rich people didn’t work weekends.

‘And my brother’s playing golf.’

Heat rose from Mikey’s chest to his neck, to his face.

‘Done it,’ she said, wiggling the finished joint at him with a smile.

‘Well, do you want to smoke it in the car?’

‘No, let’s have it here.’ She shoved it at him. ‘You do the honours.’

He sparked up, took a couple of tokes and passed it to her. She took one puff, didn’t even inhale, then handed it back.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not really into it, to be honest.’

She looked surprised, stubbed the whole thing out on a saucer and picked up the wine. ‘You want some more of this?’

Why weren’t they leaving? Jacko’s car was outside, the picnic was ready. He took the bottle, had a couple of glugs to calm himself down.

‘Shall we go now?’ he said.

She checked her mobile. ‘How about a tour?’

‘What do you mean? A tour of the house?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

And she stood up, grabbed the wine bottle and simply walked out of the kitchen.

Like an estate agent with no hope of a sale, Ellie named rooms that lay behind closed doors. Cloakroom, study, bathroom, spare room. Outside her brother’s room, Mikey slowed down. It was padlocked, still a crime scene. He laid his hand flat against the door. Ellie kept on walking.

They ended up in her bedroom, sitting together on her bed. There were books and revision papers spread on the desk and all over the floor, but when he tried to crack a joke about it, she ignored him. There was something cold about her, not warm like at the river, not flirty like at the harbour. It was messing with his head.

He got his tobacco out and rolled a thin one. She knelt up on the bed, opened the window and leaned out. He imagined her climbing up on the window ledge like a bird might, her arms open wide. Maybe she could fly. She seemed capable of anything today.

She said, ‘Come over here if you’re going to smoke.’

He knelt next to her and together they looked down at the garden, all green and leafy with its electric gate keeping it safe. You could have heard anything fall – feathers, dust. How did a place get to be so quiet?

‘Don’t you want to go swimming any more?’ he said.

‘Sure I do. We’ll leave in a minute. Here.’

She handed him the wine and he took another swig. She had her finger in her mouth as she watched him. Suck, suck, suck,  she went. He couldn’t stop looking.

‘What are you thinking?’ she said.

‘I’m not thinking anything.’

‘Yeah you are, people are always thinking.’

He frowned at her. ‘OK, I’m thinking you’re being really strange.’

‘Am I?’

‘It’s like you’ve gone away inside yourself. Why have you done that?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

A car spluttered in the distance, making them both jump. And that’s when she yanked her T‑shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing a bra, white lace.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting changed.’

She sauntered to the wardrobe and began to lazily flick through the hangers. He was getting turned on watching her. He could see every bone of her spine. Her shoulder blades looked like wings.

She held up some see‑through thing and waved it at him. ‘What about this one?’ But she didn’t put it on. He kept telling himself that this was ordinary. This was what rich girls did when they invited blokes to their bedrooms. But at the same time he knew it wasn’t ordinary at all.

He said, ‘Ellie, what’s going on?’

She turned and stood before him. She looked so gorgeous standing there, smiling like there was light shining from inside her.

She said, ‘You tell me.’

And he knew then why she was stalling, and he felt so dumb for not realizing it earlier. She’d got him to come to the house when everyone was out, tried to create a vibe with wine and dope, invited him upstairs. She wanted him to make a move on her.

He smiled, took a step towards her. ‘No one’s here, right?’

She turned to the door and locked it, put the key in her skirt pocket, turned back to him. ‘They’re all out.’

‘When are they back?’

‘Not yet.’

He held out his arms. ‘Come here then.’

But she shook her head. And in the space between them something shifted, like the room got colder.

She said, ‘I know who you are.’

‘What?’

‘You’re Karyn’s brother.’

‘What are you talking about?’

She slapped the closed door with the flat of her hand. ‘Don’t even bother denying it.’

His heart was pounding. Standing there in her bedroom with a massive hard‑on, he knew he was totally shafted.

She said, ‘I’ll read you your rights, shall I? You don’t have to say anything. But it might harm your defence if you don’t mention something that happens to be true. Like the fascinating fact that you’re related to Karyn.’