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For a few seconds, there was no gym. No care home. No list. Only Lauren’s hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder, then settling, the heat of her through the shirt bunched in Carly’s fist, and the terrifying relief of not being the only one leaning in.

Then Berkeley crashed back into her head.

Her dad’s dog. Her dad’s emptying house. Her dad, waiting for someone to tell him the next piece of his life had been boxed up and moved.

Carly pulled back.

Lauren’s eyes opened, wide and wary. Carly watched the question form before either of them had the nerve to ask it.

“I should go,” she said.

Too flat. Too final. She tried to soften it, but her voice had bolted behind the nearest wall and left her nothing to work with.

“Of course,” Lauren said.

Carly stood. “I’ll bring Berkeley tomorrow. Food, bed, routines. I’ll write it all down.”

“Okay.”

Lauren stayed sitting, one hand curled round the edge of the bench as if she’d been told to hold her position. Carly hated herself for noticing, and more for not fixing it.

But if she stayed, she’d have to explain, and if she explained, she might fall apart.

She picked a towel up off the floor and folded it before realising she had no idea why she was holding it.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

Lauren nodded.

Carly walked out before the room could ask anything else of her. By the time she reached the corridor, her hands were shaking again, and she couldn’t pretend it was about Berkeley.

She could still feel Lauren’s mouth on hers. She kept walking anyway.

Halfway down the corridor, Beth was standing by the weights room door, coat on, keys in hand. She didn’t pretend she’d only just arrived.

“Forgot my phone,” she said.

Carly walked straight past her and out into the car park without a word, and didn’t look back to see where Beth went.

31

Lauren

By ten to four, Lauren had hoovered twice, lined Berkeley’s new toys up in the hall and then moved them again, and changed her T-shirt. For the dog.

She’d barely seen Carly all day. Her car had been in the car park when Lauren arrived, but her office door had stayed shut and the blinds had stayed down, and the only word from her had been a text just after lunch.

Still on for 4. Bringing his food and bed. C

Lauren had read it so many times she could see it with her eyes shut. No kiss on the end. No exclamation mark. Nothing to tell her which part of last night Carly had meant: the hand twisted in Lauren’s shirt, or the walk out of the door.

It would be clear when Carly got here. It had to be. Once they were in the same room, Lauren would know. A look would do it. Even an awkward one. Anything was better than a closed door and a text you’d send a dog sitter.

There was a thumping on the door, and Lauren’s heart thumped back. This was it. Not only did she have to feed herself, she now had to keep a forty-kilo German Shepherd alive. If she got that wrong, he’d be within his rights to eat her.

“You’ve got this,” she muttered, and almost believed it. Carly wouldn’t hand her dad’s dog to just anyone.

She jogged down the hall and opened the door. A cold gust sent several brand-new squeaky toys rolling towards the kitchen. “You don’t need to knock. This is his home now.”