Another sheet was brought in, but this time it had holes cut into it at various points. Edie chose five men to stand behind the sheet. There was a sudden explosion of clapping from the audience and I saw the men were sticking their private parts through the holes. Edie stood beside each hole in turn and the audience shouted numbers at her. Eventually, it was agreed that the left one was a seven. The next one was a six, then nine, then five, then seven-and-a-half. My throat felt suddenly hoarse, and I realised I’d been shouting just as loudly as everyone else in the room.

Edie chose another five men to go behind the sheet, and the game started again. One of the couples from the feather-blowing game reappeared, looking hot and happy. I lay back on my sofa and let the night unfold around me.

The feather-blowing game was played again with four new couples, including Edie. I must have been staring at it intently, because it was a while before I noticed the young man and woman sharing my sofa. She was sitting on his lap and they were kissing, passionately. She was wearing a dress and the skirt had been hitched up above her knees, while the man had his finger inside her and was moving it in and out at great speed. She saw my eyes on her and made a noise as if to stop the man. I closed my eyelids most of the way, until I could see only dimly through my lashes, and pretended to have drifted off, although I itched to use my hands myself.

Then Sylvie was bending over just as the activity next to me seemed to reach a climax. She kissed my forehead. I was about to tell her I was awake, when I saw Rupert standing next to her. I kept quiet and they drifted off together, holding hands. I imagined them slipping into one of the bedrooms, re-enacting what had just happened next to me. I imagined myself older, and ready, taking Rupert’s place, Sylvie astride me, her lips soft on mine and my finger wet and hot inside her. I squeezed my eyelids to keep the picture in, until it exploded in my skull and I felt a warmth spread outwards from below.

The rest of the night was a muddle of red lips parting lasciviously, Freddie wearing a string of pearls, cocktail glasses tipping over, loud music, bare bottoms, shouts, grunting, a cloud of cigarette smoke, then the grey sky of early morning and the chatter and singing of birds, the rustling of treetops in a cool breeze that streamed in through the open front door. Some of the guests had decamped to the lawn. Sylvie was out there too. I could hear her voice and her ukulele.