“Tell her, Cele!" she insisted.

Celia could barely talk. She tried to focus on my face. Remember who I was, maybe. She opened her mouth to speak. Shut it again. Finally she made contact with her vocal cords.

“Go for it," she agreed loudly.

"Because if you don't," Babs swayed back into my face again, and then out. She staggered a bit. “Someone else will!" Widening her eyes for dramatic emphasis, she swung her arms about extravagantly, magnanimously including all corners. Then her chin disappeared into her neck as she regarded me disapprovingly. I hoped that was the end of it, because one thing is absolutely certain: you cannot argue with a drunk. When pitted against any sober individual they have complete autonomy. It was just crucial these two particular inebriates were not overheard. Celia was taking a breath and looking as if she was gearing up for a very loud second wind.

"What you've got to do is fu—"

“Shall we sit over here?" I interrupted urgently. “Look! Let's join in." Seizing both their arms I led them firmly to some students, admittedly of the intense, male variety which wasn't ideal, but well away from Ted. A glance at the girl group told me he was already looking around for me. Once located, he gestured with a long arm for me to join him.

I held up my fingers. "Five minutes," I mouthed. Then I rolled my eyes at my two companions, indicating I was chaperoning. He grinned, nodded and went back to the young.

"Why here?" Babs was wailing, more at home amongst the dancers than this earnest, cross-legged group of boys. I made them collapse – not difficult. "Why not over there with—"

"No, because here," I improvised urgently, "is much better."

“Why?” Babs pouted like a two-year-old. She made to get up again but her legs were weak. I pulled her down.

“Because here . . .” I glanced around for inspiration, desperate for some extraordinary washed up sea urchin with which to distract these petulant toddlers. Unfortunately, Babs had spotted something far more fascinating. It was long, fat and white and burning between the fingers of the boy sitting beside her. He took a drag and the paper glowed brightly in the night sky. She stared, hypnotized.

“Drugs!" she breathed in wonder.

Celia came back from the dead and followed her eyes. "Weed," she informed her gravely.

The boy overheard and turned. He smiled. Offered it to her. Celia took it, an old hippy that she once was, took a professional drag. She paused, and then took another, before passing it to Babs. Oh dear. I was reasonably sure she didn't indulge, but on the other hand, who knew? She lived by the sea, drank like a fish, and it seemed that when Roger wasn't available she went out with younger men. Plus she was about sixteen at heart, so for all I knew, she was off her head every night.