“Why should he? He’s not bloody Mystic Molly. Misha, you have to tell people what you’re feeling.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Your communication skills are sadly lacking. Good job you work with hedges, although Monty Don is probably better with people than you.”

I frown at him. “You’re a piss-taking prat,” I say slowly, feeling the alcohol numbing my tongue. “How did you get so wise?”

“Well, it wasn’t from setting a good example,” he says flippantly. “More learning from bad experiences.”

I look behind me and smile. “Speaking of bad experiences, I think your ex might need a hand.” I nudge him. “Don’t look now but Auntie Violet has cornered him.”

He follows my gaze and snorts. Max is standing on the dancefloor looking somewhat worried while my aunt gyrates around him with her arms in the air and her hips swaying madly to Julio Iglesias’s “Moonlight Lady.”

“She loves Julio,” I say meditatively.

Max looks imploringly at Felix, and to my astonishment, Felix immediately stands up. “Where are you going?” I ask. “You’re surely not going to rescue him, are you?”

“No,” he scoffs. He pats my shoulder. “I’m going to ask if the DJ has any more of Julio’s hits.” I shake my head, and he rubs my hair affectionately. “Promise me you won’t drink much more.”

I mouth the word “no” as I watch him go and then turn back determinedly to the young barman. “Another one and keep them coming,” I instruct him. He stares at me assessingly and then slides a shot glass in front of me.

Sometime later, I stir. “I’m not going to put up with this,” I say, slamming my hand down on the counter. “Ugh! What’s that?”

“Someone’s plate from the buffet,” the barman says, offering me a napkin to wipe my hand.

“Well, what’s it doing there and why have they left so much food? It’s not environmentally friendly.” I groan. “This is what Charlie’s done to me. He’s given me a social conscience.”

“Better than the clap,” my new adviser proffers.

“You’re right, my friend,” I say, hearing the slur in my voice. “Totally right.” I slam my drink down and wonder briefly if it contained something to affect my balance because the room is spinning slightly.

“I’m gonna get my man,” I say, pointing at the barman. “He’s not getting away. Every.” I hiccup. “Every breath he takes, I’m going to be there.”

“Okay, Sting, that’s not even remotely worrying,” he offers. “But I think we should order a taxi to take you to your poor boyfriend because you’re currently pointing at a potted plant.”

I wave my hand in a regal fashion. “Order away, barman, while I compose my reconciliation speech.”

“Shit,” he mutters.

Charlie

I wander into the kitchen in my family home, rubbing my eyes.