Instinctively I start to move towards the stairs. I want to check on Freddie; he’s had a temperature and is tucked up in bed. The band are playing ‘Suicide Blonde’ as I climb upwards, my feet sore in my Louboutins, and then the song is climaxing and I hear Liam’s voice, thanking everyone for coming, and I’m up on the first floor, looking down on them. How absurd, I think absently, to live in a house so old and grand there’s actually a minstrels’ gallery. I hear my name as Helen Kelsey comes out of the guest bathroom, blotting her scarlet lipstick on a tissue, her small prim mouth overpainted, her auburn bob coiffured to within an inch of its life. She starts when she sees me by the pillar.

‘God, Rose, you scared me.’

‘Sorry,’ I smile automatically. I wonder if she’s looking for my husband.

‘Fantastic party, darling,’ she purrs, but I sense her fighting to keep the malevolence from her tone. ‘This wallpaper’s new, isn’t it?’ She waves a manicured hand at the golden caged birds on the wall.

‘Yes,’ I agree.

‘It’s Nina Campbell, isn’t it?’

‘I think so.’ I shrug. ‘I’m always a bit rubbish on names.’

‘Who did you use this time then?’ Her face is rigid with unspoken emotion.

‘Oh, some new mate of J’s.’ I lean over the parapet and look down at the many coloured heads below me, the cigarette smoke forming wreaths in the air.

‘Who, though? I’d love the name.’

‘I think he was – he’s called Gilbert.’

‘Not Gilbert Donaldson? Did Madonna’s place apparently? Oh God, I’d just die!’

‘Oh well, you know what J’s like,’ though I doubt very much she does. I remember his words about her crush. ‘Always got some new celebrity friend in tow.’

I look down for my jolly husband. Last time I saw him he was in the middle of an anecdote about a very famous rock star and his predilection for being spanked with hairbrushes, and everyone was roaring appreciatively. Now he has vanished too. Helen’s gaze stings me.

‘God, Rose,’ she says, and she can’t hide the envy this time. ‘You really do have it all, don’t you?’

‘I’m very lucky,’ I intone politely. ‘I know I am.’

As I move off I think I hear a sigh – more than a sigh, a moan. Someone is in the blue bedroom. I hear the bed creak and a murmured ‘Oh fuck,’ the vowel sound drawn out languorously in pleasure, followed by a more violent sound. The crack of the antique headboard against the wall, I guess, and I sigh myself. At least the kids are oblivious and out of earshot, I think as I glance down to see the girls still hand in hand waving at their uncle Liam on the stage, waiting for the magic they’ve been promised.