The words were forming in my head but not quite reaching my mouth. This could have been something to do with the fact that I was completely intoxicated. In the lead-up to the event my friends had told me that it would be downright rude not to get drunk on my fiftieth. As instructed, I’d downed one bottle of vintage vino at home and then, upon arrival at my party half an hour later, more or less dunked my whole head in the punch bowl.

The function room of the Sea View Hotel was filled with a rolling boil of noise. The excited hum of voices was broken only by the cheery clatter of silverware and china from the buffet. Looking in at the party, I could see my mother’s mass of dyed blonde hair, swept back from her forehead and coiffed into a great, towering croquembouche atop her haughty head. Her slim, aquiline nose gave her a hawklike, predatory air. I knew that nose well, as I’d spent most of my adult life being looked at down it. Our family matriarch was seated at the top table, bookended by my two sisters, who were studiously avoiding each other while simultaneously competing for her attention. In sync, both stressed siblings made a grab for one of the exotic cocktails wobbling by on a tray held aloft by a weary waiter wearing a spray-on smile.

Also grabbing a passing cocktail was my husband, Harry. I’d always thought you had to go to Iraq or Afghanistan to get post-traumatic stress disorder, but it turns out you can also get it in a quiet cul-de-sac in suburbia, a lesson I’d learnt that very morning. The dark ocean behind me hissed as waves broke onto the rocks below. Thinking about Harry’s betrayal made me contemplate just diving off the balcony into the cool, inky water right there and then. But, resisting the urge to flee, I shoved open the balcony doors with a whoosh. A cold blast pushed against me, as if to force me back outside. The conversational murmur swelled for a moment before my ears became accustomed to the babble. I saw my guests through a haze. As if seeing a play unfolding before me, I watched people move around, altering their inflections as they found new friends or were reacquainted with old ones.