As I approach the table, Suze looks up—and for an awful moment I think she’s not going to shift up and make room for me. But after an awkward beat, she does, and I sit down, trying to appear normal. Like we three always hang out together. Like we’re old mates.

“I really like your top, Alicia,” I say awkwardly. I’ve decided the quickest way to ingratiate myself is to compliment her. It’s a totally boring top, but that’s not the point.

“Oh.” Alicia gives me a wary look. “Thanks.”

“And your hair,” I add randomly. “I love your hair. It’s so shiny.”

“Thanks,” she repeats shortly.

“And…er…your perfume.”

“Thanks,” she says yet again. “It’s the Golden Peace blend.”

“Well, it’s really gorgeous on you, um…Ali,” I try self-consciously.

As soon as I’ve said it I realize Alicia is definitely not an Ali. She turns, startled, and I can see Suze gawping at me too.

“Ali?”

“I mean…Lissy,” I amend hastily. “Does anyone ever call you Lissy? It suits you. Lissy. Liss.” I give her a friendly little squeeze of the arm, which really doesn’t work.

“Ow!” She glares at me. “No, they don’t. And please leave my arm alone.”

“Sorry,” I say, and quickly cast around for more compliments. “You’ve got a really pretty nose! It’s so, um…” I swallow, playing for time. What can you say about a nose? “I love the way your…nostrils go,” I hear myself saying feebly.

Argh. I love the way her nostrils go?

Suze is giving me a very strange look, which I pretend I can’t see, while Alicia has turned to survey me with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, I get it,” she says. “I get what you’re doing. You want the number of my plastic surgeon, don’t you? Well, you’re not getting it.”

What? I stare at her in bewilderment. Plastic surgeon? What?

Oh God, this is hopeless. Let’s forget the compliments. And the nicknames.

“So, tai chi!” I say brightly. “Is that good? Should I try it?”

“I wouldn’t have thought it would suit you,” says Alicia. “You need to be able to control your mind and body.” She gives me a patronizing smile and flicks a glance at Suze.

“Oh.” I’m trying not to feel too snubbed. “OK. Well—”

“So, how many bedrooms, did you say?” Alicia cuts across me, resuming the obviously much more fascinating conversation she and Suze were having before.

So much for bonding. Total fail. And what’s so interesting about bedrooms, anyway? Why is it some people will always bring the conversation back to houses and house prices and how they can’t decide whether “feature” wallpaper is over, what do I think? (OK, that last one is just Mum. I keep telling her, I don’t know anything about feature wallpaper.)

“Oh, I’m not sure,” says Suze. “Twenty-eight? Half of them are crumbling away, though. We never even go into them.”

“Twenty-eight,” echoes Alicia. “Imagine that. Twenty-eight bedrooms.”

They must be talking about Letherby Hall. Poor Suze. She gets so bored when people start pestering her for details about Letherby Hall. Especially historical experts, who start saying things like, I believe you mean seventeen fifteen, in a supercilious way. I was once in the local greengrocer’s with Suze when some old man accosted her. He started quizzing her on some important fireplace in the Great Hall and putting her right on every detail. He was actually quite aggressive about which of Tarkie’s ancestors had commissioned it (I mean, who cares?), and in the end I had to deliberately knock over a stack of tangerines and cause a distraction so Suze could run away.