“Nobody wants to ask,” Diana whispers and leans back with a wink. “They think it’s rude. And not for us to know, but I’ve got to know more. Are they beautiful? They must be so lovely to give us all they do. Tell me, my lady, please, anything you can.”

She’s like a child, a beggar. I hunt for scraps of memory to share, but all I can think of is that light, blotting out everything else. “They’re—”

A noise resounds from inside the house, sharp—breaking glass.

Diana gasps. I stand and help her up, my stomach lurching.

“Be careful,” she says, nudging me gently toward the door. “God bless you.”

I look around. Everyone’s heard and fallen still, silent. They’re staring at me like a herd of deer caught in a field. Waiting for me to go investigate.

Jo’s out here, holding on to Max, watching me with all the others, so that noise was either Hugh or Sally.

I swallow and go up, clutching the stone rail, careful, so careful, through the doorway into the gaping hall.

It’s Hugh.

He’s fine.

I nearly scream with furious relief.

My shit-faced, shithead husband is leaning against the doorway into the living room, staring at the shattered scotch bottle on the floor, waiting for somebody else to deal with it. Maybe he figures if he doesn’t talk about it or think about it, it’ll go away.

Wait. It’s not laziness. He’s terrified, and as he peers up at me, finally registering my arrival, his eyelids droop. He’s about to pass out.

I grit my teeth and pick my steps carefully around the wet floor, the glass. Sally pokes her head up from the downstairs stairwell, her cheeks wan with worry.

“I’ve got him,” I say, taking his weight on my shoulder with a grunt.

“I’ll tidy this up,” she says gratefully.

It occurs to me as I stagger with Hugh up the ornate stairway that I should have just dropped him on a sofa downstairs to sleep it off, but halfway up, we’re in for a penny, as the locals say. He’s still got that big ring of house keys on his hip, and they dig into my ribs as I half carry him.

I hope he doesn’t pass out and crush me. That would be a hell of a way to die on the Day.

He murmurs, “Love you, darling,” in my ear when we make it to the top and lets me lead him to our bedroom. I take the key ring from his belt, pry off his shoes, and settle him on top of the covers. He’s snoring before I make it to the door.

I watch him for a second, tender, like he’s my child.