‘Hang on, I’ve got a bottle of pudding wine somewhere,’ said Nick. ‘That Sauternes that whats-her-name brought, last time.’

He left the room and the history teacher’s wife now addressed Stephen.

‘So, whereabouts are you from?’ she asked.

‘Australia,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘Yes, I gathered that. But where? I’ve got family in Adelaide.’

‘Ah, that’s a long ways off,’ said Stephen. ‘I’m from Melbourne. Well, the suburbs of Melbourne it is, really.’

‘Well done, Rosanna,’ Celia called out. ‘None of us have got round to asking him that, have we, Stephen?’

Stephen smiled. ‘It’s called Croydon. The area where we live.’

‘Croydon!’ Celia said.

‘You heard of it?’ Stephen asked her.

Celia had an odd smile on her face. ‘No. It’s only that there’s a Croydon here, too. Somewhere on the way out of London. Ghastly sort of place, ribbon development. Crematoriums. Like Slough, but the other side.’

‘Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!’ said Nick, appearing back in the room with the bottle.

‘You see! That’s just what I mean,’ said Bruce. ‘Celia pretends to be a lefty, but really she’s the most frightful snob.’

‘Says our friend the rich landowner,’ Nick countered.

‘A lot of Australian places are named after English places, as a matter of fact,’ said Stephen.

Georgie stood up and pushed back her chair, which grated on the floor in protest at her abruptness.

‘Who wants to come and listen to some records?’ she said.

‘But we haven’t finished,’ Celia protested. ‘At least finish your pudding. There’s shortbread to go with it, look. Someone hand it round.’

The history teacher talked about the bats in his garden – ‘I thought they were nocturnal swallows, at first, because they fly so low’ – while everyone else ate the fruit salad in silence.

Then Hamish stood, and a fraction afterwards Georgie. Cass and Helena and Stephen followed suit.

‘You coming?’ Stephen turned to Lucy.

‘Yes please,’ she said, grateful to get away from the grown-ups and their unfathomable talk.

They went into the end room. Hamish took an album from the box next to the gramophone and set it on his knees. He brought out a little plastic twist of what looked like treacle fudge, as well as Rizlas, a lighter and his own cigarettes.

‘Oh great, I was going to ask you to roll a joint,’ said Georgie.