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I listened as Kate lamented about her disintegrating relationship, getting angrier and angrier as the call went on. Because I didn’t want to drop my phone in the sink, I put her on speaker and placed my phone on the side, washing dishes as quietly as I could so she didn’t accuse me of only half-listening, which I wasn’t, but I had Alexa to help as well and it was more time-effective to do the two tasks alongside each other.

‘We’ll make an appointment with that solicitor someone recommended to you, shall we?’ I said to Kate.

She groaned. ‘Why can’t I be more like you, Scar? When things were going wrong with Jackson you dumped him, didn’t you? You walked away, no questions asked. Why can’t I do the same thing?’

‘It did take me a while, to be fair,’ I said. ‘And it washardly no questions asked, I went back and forth over it for about a year before I actually did anything about it.’

‘Did you? You never said anything.’

‘Well I didn’t want to worry you, did I?’ I said, wishing I hadn’t mentioned it at all.

Half an hour or so later I’d managed to calm Kate down by promising to catch up the following day, the dishes were done, the dishwasher was mid-cycle, the washing machine was on a wool wash and I was warming up some soup for Alexa. When my phone rang again, I almost didn’t answer it – there was only so much I could deal with in one evening. But then I saw it was Carla and she rarely rang this late, and curiosity got the better of me. I took the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Scarlett? Me again.’

Like me, Carla never missed an opportunity to multi-task, and I could hear her tapping away on her MacBook. After a few seconds of me listening to her type, riveting as that was, I thought I’d better remind her that I was on the other end of the line and thatshe’dcalledme.

‘Carla?’

‘Hmmn-hmmn?’

‘Did you need me?’

‘Yes. Just hold on one . . . second. There we go. All booked.’

‘What’s all booked?’

The microwave pinged. I opened it and poured Alexa’s soup into a bowl, somehow managing not to spill half of it all over the work surface like I sometimes did when I tried to do too many things at once.

‘I’ve done something a bit unconventional,’ said Carla ominously, ‘but I think you and Theo need a strong push inthe right direction. Otherwise I fear this project will never get off the ground.’

I frowned, leaning against the counter for support. What had Carla done? Because I was absolutely not the sort of person you’d describe as ‘unconventional’.

‘What kind of strong push?’ I asked, sliding open a drawer to find Alexa a spoon. Wasn’t forcing us to work together in the first place enough of a huge shove in a direction neither of us – I assumed – wanted to go in?

‘You’re going to need to clear your diary for the next two weeks,’ announced Carla in a gravelly, no-nonsense tone. ‘Because I have just booked you and Theo onto a writers’ retreat in the South of France. You’ll be leaving on Saturday.’

South of France? Writers’ retreat? Me and Theo? Two weeks!The words ricocheted around my head, but for the life of me I couldn’t get them to make any sense. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Imagine, Scarlett . . . twelve nights in glamorous Cannes. The beach, the pool, the palm trees. You’ll be able write to your heart’s content with none of the distractions of everyday life. This will be the absolute best way for you and Theo to reconnect and get this book off to a flying start.’

My mouth was opening and shutting like a goldfish, although of course Carla couldn’t see that, but I was pretty sure she could imagine my reaction if she tried. What exactly was I supposed to say, here?No fucking way, perhaps? I’d barely begun wrapping my head around the dreaded prospect of having to meet with Theo at all, and now Carla somehow thought we could handle two long weeks together in a foreign country? Theo’s face popped into my head unbidden. There was no possible way I could do this.

‘I think that’s a really bad idea, Carla,’ I stuttered.

‘Well it’s all booked now,’ she said, ‘so I guess the only thing to do is to go and find out.’

I tried the box breathing exercise for myself because not only did I not want to lose it with Carla, I also didn’t want to startle Alexa, who was probably feeling fragile after the night she’d had.

‘How does the retreat work, then?’ I asked, my voice strained. Perhaps I’d give Carla the impression that I was considering her ridiculous suggestion before I vetoed it. ‘Will there be other writers there at the same time?’

‘Yes, exactly,’ said Carla. ‘There will be other people doing the exact same thing you are. Like-minded people. In a lovely setting. Did I say there was a pool?’

‘You did.’

A pool in Cannes did sound nice. And other authors were good, I generally liked them.