Standing across the room is Miss Cochran – Sally, as she insists I call her these days – my mother’s best friend and my old primary school teacher. It’s apparent she’s playing the part of Billy Bragalot, the footwear entrepreneur with whom I’m having an affair for the purpose of party proceedings. Sally is dressed in a gentleman’s morning suit and a stick-on black moustache. I give her a warm hug hello.

Our host, Beryl, clad in a short, and somewhat raunchy, maid’s outfit, is playing the part of Betsy the house servant. ‘The maid with a perpetually sunny disposition,’ Beryl says, without a hint of irony as she pours us each half a glass of white wine. ‘Only one more bottle between us, so mustn’t glug!’ A tray of cocktail onions and bits of cheese and ham on toothpicks is on the table.

Sitting opposite me in an old wedding dress that’s yellowed, Miss Haversham style, is June Whitbury, who owns the flat I live in. She’s playing the long-suffering wife of my dear cheating Billy Bragalot.

Sweet old Angela Williams, a good few years older than the others, is wearing her usual attire of a white shirt and a plaid skirt, tarted up with the addition of a red carnation pinned to her chest and scarlet lipstick. ‘I’m the sexy secretary,’ she says, taking her seat next to June. ‘This is a bit of fun!’

My mother was so concerned to be here to support her friends. As I look around the table, it dawns on me everyone else’s husband is dead.

‘Thank you for coming,’ my mother whispers, as Beryl inserts a murder mystery dinner party game CD into the portable stereo set up on the table.

A man with a Vincent Price pitch and a dodgy French accent says, ‘Good evening, Mesdames and Messieurs. My name is Inspector Jacques LeClue, and I must offer apologies for the late start of your little soiree. I regret to inform you there has been a murder on these premises.’

I gulp my wine.

12

‘How was your weekend? All good with your parents?’ Faith and I are sitting on the red velvet sofa in our studio, brainstorming the second episode of Eat Me.

‘They’re great. They send their love.’

‘I love your parents, Gracie,’ Faith says. ’I hope I look half as good as your mum at her age.’

It’s true. My mother has aged well. Slender, as mentioned. And it’s from her I get my striking blue eyes. She’s an old lady now, but when she was younger, she had an air of Grace Kelly about her, which inspired my name.