Lucy’s mother Carolyn came into the room.

‘You ready?’ she asked her daughter.

‘I am, but Hamish has disappeared somewhere,’ said Lucy.

‘Oh, Hamish,’ said his mother, as if she’d forgotten about him.

‘’Bye, then.’ Lucy turned to Stephen.

‘Yeah, ’bye,’ he said. He looked at his watch and was surprised that it was after one o’clock.

Georgie came back into the room just as the others were leaving. ‘Couldn’t find any. There’s some spirits on the drinks tray, only nothing I like,’ she said. ‘But it’s freezing in here – shall we go through to the kitchen and warm up a bit?’

Helena and Stephen stood. Stephen went over to the record player and switched it off at the wall.

He glanced in at the dining room as they trooped through. The two lamps on the sideboard were still glowing and he went in to switch them off. At home the last person up always turned everything off. Between the lamps the remnant of the ice bowl was revolving very slowly on its platter, propelled by its own melting. It sat in a puddle in which some of the leaves and flowers, released from their icy casing, were now darkening. He lifted the platter and brought it through to the kitchen, careful not to slop water on to the floors as he went, although no one would have noticed if he had. Celia was still up, sitting at her usual spot at the table, smoking. She had a glass of whisky in front of her. Georgie went to put the kettle on, while Helena stood at the range, warming herself.

‘Oh, well done, Stephen. Just bung it on the draining board, will you?’ said Celia.

‘Should I put it back in the freezer?’ he asked.

‘No, not worth it.’

He would have liked to have saved the bowl, but he did as she said. Georgie made a pot of tea, pouring out a mug for her mother first.

‘Anyone seen Cass?’ she asked.

‘No. Probably gone to bed,’ said Celia. ‘That man was quite hard work,’ she added.

‘Bruce?’ asked Georgie.

‘Oh God no, not Bruce. That teacher. He barely said a word all evening.’

‘His wife was a nice lady,’ said Stephen.

‘Bad luck to be married to a bore like him then,’ said Celia. She began to laugh, pleased with her remark.

‘Oh, Mum,’ said Georgie, half-reprovingly.

‘I’m going up,’ said Helena, having gulped the last of her tea. ‘’Night, everyone.’

In the car, as they were negotiating their way, drunk, down the lane, the history teacher’s wife had said, ‘Never again. I never want to set foot in that house ever again.’

‘Oh really?’ said her husband. ‘I thought they were rather entertaining. We’ll probably have to, anyway, because he teaches at the school, remember? More or less runs the art department, apparently.’