‘I’m impressed,’ he replied, showing off that downturned smile of his while the rest of the menfolk went back to discussing I really didn’t care what. ‘Let me have a go. How’s this? Last night was very weird, how can I apologize, I fucked up. Does that work?’

‘Couple of syllables off but the sentiment is there,’ I said, choking on a fresh plume of smoke as Creepy Dave puffed out. ‘You don’t have to apologize, I should apologize. I apologize. Apologies.’

The dimple in his left cheek made an appearance as he smiled.

‘How come you’re on the whisky?’

I looked at the glass and realized my hand was shaking.

‘Desperate times?’

‘Desperate measures,’ John finished. ‘Would you like to get some fresh air?’

With watering eyes, I looked back into the main room to see Lucy and Patrick still deep in conversation, Patrick talking and Lucy staring at him, positively rapt.

‘OK,’ I said, following him out the door and into the gardens. Patrick wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t like him cancelling on me the night before either.

It was another hot day. The notoriously reliable weathermen were still promising that the humidity would break soon and we would get an almighty downpour to test my father’s shed roofing skills. I made a mental note to sleep in my cagoule for the next couple of nights.

‘Did you have a good time last night?’ I started as we stepped off the path and onto the lawn. Keep off the grass signs be damned. ‘I mean before we saw you. And after we saw you, obviously, just generally, did you have a nice night—’

‘Ros,’ he said, cutting me off before I could talk myself off a cliff. ‘You did know it was me, didn’t you?’

‘No!’ I exclaimed, walking with all my weight on the balls of my feet to avoid sinking through the soil in my spike heels. I was aerating it, they should be grateful. ‘Of course I didn’t, I would never.’

‘What, because of Patrick?’ John asked with a dark look.

‘Yes but also because you’re married,’ I said, lowering my voice as I looked back into the Carriage House. ‘I wouldn’t do that to Patrick or your wife, it’s not fair. If you’re not happy then that’s for you to work out bu—’

‘What did you just say?’ he interrupted again. ‘My wife?’

‘Will you stop doing that?’ I sighed, moving further away from the party. ‘Don’t butt in while I’m talking, it pisses me off.’

He followed me across the lawn, his long legs catching up with me too quickly. ‘I’ll stop interrupting you when you start making sense. What are you talking about, my wife?’

‘The giant blonde,’ I replied, stretching my hand high up over my head. ‘The really pretty woman from the bar, the one you’re married to.’