‘Oh, nine for me.’ David looked at Tara. He’d undone a button on his shirt and his constant nervous ruffling had made his brown hair break free of its usual debonair neatness. He looked quite contemporary, for once. ‘What do you think?’

She took a fourth sip, amused. This one was actually very drinkable. ‘I’ll say, eight point five.’

‘Tough crowd!’

‘Come on, we’re not even halfway through. Don’t want to over-score in case there’s something even better.’

‘I am so glad you two are enjoying this,’ said Jacqueline, marking the scorecard and pouring the next samples. ‘Now, next we have a Nutmeg Distillation, whatever that is.’

Tara reached for the glass, sipped it, and suppressed a gag. ‘This one is … Christmas and America and the colour copper,’ she announced, before David could get in.

He took a matching taste. ‘Yes, definitely America and copper,’ he said, ‘but I’m also getting dry leaves and a touch of … gingham?’

‘Gingham! Gosh, how interesting!’ said Jacqueline, scribbling away. ‘Marks?’

David’s eyes locked with Tara’s, each waiting for the other to go first.

‘Four,’ said Tara at the same time as he blurted out, ‘Three point five.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Great minds.’

Ha! He’s getting tipsy, thought Tara. Oh God. So am I.

‘Next!’ David replaced his shot glass on the table with a brisk clunk. ‘Is it me, or are they getting a bit more palatable as we go on?’ he asked in an undertone that probably wasn’t quite as under as he’d intended it to be.

Mrs Bryan and Judith glared at him from the canapé table.

‘And here’s a Dandelion Tincture,’ said Jacqueline, filling a new set of glasses, and Tara grinned as David closed his eyes to appreciate the bouquet properly.

It took them another thirty minutes to work through the remainder of the bottles, at the end of which there was a clear winner. And, in Tara’s opinion, a clear five-way tie for last place, two of which she felt should be poured straight down an outside drain. If only to clear it of fatbergs.

David was by now smiling vaguely at nothing, and his hair was pointing in different directions. ‘I’m not drunk,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t realize gin could taste so nice. I’m not drunk.’

‘Sure you’re not,’ said Tara, but had to concentrate on the words herself.

‘People? Hello? If we could turn down the music for a moment, we have a winner!’ Jacqueline waved her arms, and the assembled home-brewers instantly abandoned Angelo’s dance floor and swarmed to the table.

Emily gave Tara a knowing look and made a ‘did you pick mine?’ gesture, but Tara shrugged helplessly: how the hell was she supposed to know which of the bottles was Emily’s?