‘Oh, come on,’ she demurred, not wanting him to leave. ‘I’m probably not your usual type of girl, but . . .’ She stopped suddenly, aware of a churning inside her stomach. A bilious feeling, a rising nausea. Oh Lord, she thought. Oh no. ‘I’m sorry, would you excuse me a moment,’ she garbled, lurching from the bed and into the small spotless bathroom. She barely had time to close the door before she was retching and then throwing up over the toilet bowl, as back came all of her dinner and every last one of those cocktails. Even the bitten cherry pieces were there, bobbing in the slurry of sick.

Another wave of vomit erupted, so intense she could feel her eyes bulging in their sockets. Ugh, she thought deliriously, panting and resting her face on the toilet seat. Then came quite a lot of dry-retching until her throat ached. Her head was spinning, but her stomach seemed to have gone quiet at least. Better out than in, she heard her own mother’s voice in her head, and she spat weakly into the bowl, feeling herself on the verge of tears, shivery and weak.

Mopping her mouth with toilet roll, she flushed away the foul-smelling evidence and rose shakily to her feet once more, clutching the side of the washbasin and staring blearily into the mirror. Dismay hit her like a brick in the face. Look at the state of her. Just look at that woman with the smudged glittery eyeshadow, with the silly choppy haircut that, let’s face it, did not really suit her. As for the lurid pink dress, falling off one shoulder so wantonly, exposing her wrinkled old shoulder, why hadn’t she noticed before how tacky it was? Mutton dressed as lamb, that was her.

A tear rolled down her cheek, taking a snaking black line of mascara with it. ‘You stupid old woman,’ she said to herself, and then had to turn her head away because she simply couldn’t bear to look at her own pathetic reflection any more.

There was a gentle knock at the door. ‘Jeanie. Are you all right?’

Had he heard her being sick? Probably. Her breath must stink. She sluiced water around her mouth, trembling with embarrassment. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled eventually. ‘I . . . I’m not feeling very well.’