‘Oh, this? It’s vintage.’ Mindful of Jacqueline’s tip-off about looking more like a team player, Tara had made a creative effort with her outfit, raiding Ruth’s jewellery box and throwing a couple of striking perspex necklaces over her usual black dress. She’d also brought a bottle of wine, which she intended to drink herself rather than risk the usual paint-stripping plonk on offer, plus the ‘secret recipe’ trifle that was chilling in the office fridge, the hundreds and thousands slowly bleeding into the Bird’s Dream Topping. Like the necklace, it was authentically eighties.

‘I honestly didn’t realize about the homebrew,’ she added. ‘I’m sorry, Jacqueline.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jacqueline brightly. ‘We’ve got plenty, as you can see!’

Tara counted the bottles. There were twelve on the table. There were sixteen therapists. Well, that left four other people who hadn’t joined in, she reassured herself, but then Eithne leaned in between them with a polite, ‘Scuse me!’ and deposited another purple flask.

‘Oh, thanks so much, Eithne – what’s that?’ cooed Jacqueline. ‘Plum brandy? No? Aubergine brandy? How very unusual! Have you had a nibble yet? Do try the blinis … And Cressida too! Hello, Cressie! What’s this?’

Bryan’s yoga teacher wife nudged an olive oil bottle full of yellow liquid between a sloe gin and a damson aquavit, and glared at Tara. Cressida was convinced all women were magnetically attracted to her truculent husband, despite his plaque and his mid-century views on vegans.

‘I didn’t notice the homebrew requirement either, I’m afraid,’ said David. He appeared behind them, dressed in a shirt patterned with tiny birds and navy chinos, and offered a bottle of wine to Jacqueline – decent wine, Tara noted, as Jacqueline unwrapped it. A Californian Chardonnay in a bag from the local wine merchant’s. ‘Is it too late to pretend I made this?’

‘Au contraire, David – it’s ideal, because you two can be our judges!’

‘Oh, er, no, that’s really, um …’ said Tara, at the same time as David said, ‘Actually, no, I don’t know the first thing about …’

‘You don’t need to. Just decide which tastes the nicest!’ Jacqueline reassured him – as if that was the criteria for winning. ‘We’ll have the competition before the gong bath and then everyone can relax!’

Tara automatically glanced at David as Jacqueline mentioned ‘relax’ and ‘gong bath’ in the same sentence, and was relieved that he flinched at exactly the same moment as she did.

‘Oh dear.’ Jacqueline lifted her gaze towards the corner of the room where Kemi’s son had set up his decks to play inoffensive party music. ‘Is Emily having another go at Angelo? I told her, we can’t listen to k.d. lang all night. We’re supposed to be having fun. Do excuse me, you two …’

David waited until Jacqueline was out of earshot and muttered, ‘Did she say gong bath?’