‘Marathon Street, Edendale Lane, Lake View Avenue. You think we can do three?’ Tina asked, swiping a screen across on her iPhone. She and Carrie were sitting in fluffy white robes, having breakfast on the balcony of their hotel suite. Carrie didn’t reply, so Tina touched her knee with her bare foot. ‘Honey?’

Carrie looked up from her iPad. ‘Uh . . . Yeah, sorry, I’m just getting some emails. Disclosure schedule on Waterman’s shifting.’

‘Shit. Which way?’

‘Forward.’ Tina groaned in frustration, but Carrie went on, ‘I think I’m gonna have to skip it and just meet you for lunch.’ 

She went back to scrolling her tablet. Tina chewed her lip and gazed out at the enormous vista of hazy, early-morning LA. She didn’t want to have to look at properties alone, but if she didn’t then it would be another two weeks before she was back, which meant another two weeks of inertia, two weeks further away from living close to her daughter again.

Thinking of Angie made Tina tense. She knew she’d have to make some effort to smooth over the unpleasantness that had happened the day before, when they’d told her about their engagement, but she didn’t want to do that either. In fact, when Tina thought about it, all she really wanted to do was go on a fucking long vacation, alone, and not deal with any of this.

Immediately, she felt guilty for that thought and sought to make up for it.

‘You want me to order you anything? They have executive office rooms downstairs.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ Carrie replied, not looking up. ‘I can work here.’

The sight was familiar to Tina. Sitting at breakfast opposite a woman who was engrossed in her work, barely aware that anyone else existed. It wasn’t all that normal for Carrie, admittedly, but Waterman was a huge case. 

Tina went back to peering at her phone. The three properties they’d lined up to view were all around the million-dollar mark, but very different styles. Carrie tended towards ultra-modern, but Tina liked something more traditional . . . Like her beloved New York brownstone. Or Bette’s house. Their first house. A character house. She remembered the first time she saw it. Bette had picked her up and dropped her off for three dates, but on the fourth she wondered if Tina would like to come over for a pool party? It would also be a chance for Tina to meet Bette’s friends . . .

Bette was in her kitchen, dipping a camomile tea bag in some hot water and endlessly replaying what had just happened when her phone buzzed. She checked the wall clock: nine-thirty. Maybe it was Tina. Texting to say . . . well, anything. Her pulse quickened, but then she figured saying nothing was more Tina’s m.o. No, it was probably Dani. Or Angie, angling to stay over at Jordi’s.

She bit her lip as she went to get the handset, itchy again at the feelings of unease that Jordi stirred in her.

U up for a visit? x

Shane. Bette closed her eyes in relief. It was so good to have Shane back in LA. She could scarcely believe how good it was, how much she had missed her. Alice was Angie’s earthmother, and very, very dear to Bette, but Shane – Shane got her.

Christ, yes x Bette replied.

She put the phone down and quickly wondered whether to actually suggest to Angie that she could stay at Jordi’s if she wanted to, so that she could have a whisky and talk to Shane without worrying about being overheard. But then she shook her head.

‘Priorities, Mama B,’ she muttered, then took her tea back to her study. 

It was a matter of days till the election and, although the poll numbers looked okay, it was undeniable that she’d harmed her campaign with the way she’d handled her affair with Felicity Adams.

That woman. That was what Tina had said. ‘Are you still seeing that woman?’

Bette stood behind her desk, sipping tea and gazing at a framed photo of her, Kit and Angie at the beach. The pain of losing Kit was a daily burden which her campaign had helped her bear. But now she was beginning to fear what it might be like if she lost.

Her mind flashed on Felicity’s face when she’d ended it. Was she wrong to do that? Did they have a future? Sometimes she wondered if she’d lost the capacity to trust anyone again. And maybe – just maybe – the whole sneaking-around thing should really be beneath her dignity by now.

She picked up the photo, touched Kit’s face and mouthed I miss you. And then she sat down to do some work. Tina shitshow or no Tina shitshow, she had to somehow get her head back in the game, not just for herself, but for Kit. 

‘You can do this.’

Bette had been telling herself this for the past twenty-four hours. Last thing before she finally fell asleep, first thing on waking. Standing under the shower, driving to her campaign HQ, listening to Dani running down her schedule, all the time telling herself: You can do this. Put one foot in front of the other, one breath in, one breath out. Even though she felt empty and scared and bewildered, as if a thread that had been somehow holding her together was about to snap, as always she felt she had no choice but to keep going.

The full-length mirror in her bedroom confirmed that she at least looked okay. She’d chosen a simple black tee shirt and low-rise jeans – what she thought of as her ‘Mom’ gear – for this occasion. Put her hair up in a messy bun. She wondered about wearing the Converse that Angie had cajoled her into buying a few months back. Went to the wardrobe and found them – black with a rainbow decal on the heel. She smiled, remembering how Angie had said the woman in the store was hitting on her.

‘Well,’ Bette said now, ‘bring it on, I guess.’

She bent down, put the shoes on and then immediately took them off again. ‘You’re not Shane,’ she told herself, and pulled on her Chloë studded ankle boots.

Downstairs, Angie was sitting supposedly doing schoolwork at the dining table when the doorbell rang. She carried on scrolling her phone until it became obvious that she would have to answer.

‘Hey!’

Tina stood there, beaming. Behind her was a petite strawberry-blonde with strikingly blue eyes – Carrie. Angie smiled and accepted her mother’s hug. Carrie had her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She and Angie had met maybe half a dozen times, spent a weekend in Palm Springs once, and got along fine, but they both knew they weren’t on hugging terms.

‘Hey, Carrie,’ Angie said to her. Then, to Tina: ‘Mom’s upstairs. D’you wanna drink or anything?’

‘We brought some,’ Tina smiled, holding up a bottle bag. She was nervous. It showed.

Upstairs, Bette could hear their voices and it sent her pulse into orbit. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hands over her mouth like she was praying. The last time she’d felt this completely dismantled was when Kit died. ‘But you got through that,’ she whispered to herself, closing her eyes and trying to just breathe.