‘My, my, MYYYY De-LI-LAH!’ the crowd howled along with the strutting Tom Jones-alike. ‘Why, why, WHYYY, De-LI-LAH!’

‘“Why” is the bloody question,’ said Paula just then, appearing beside Robyn with a glass of red wine. Robyn sometimes felt a bit plain beside the dramatic looks of her sister-in-law, who had glossy dark hair in a long, straight bob, complete with millimetre-perfect fringe and excellent eyebrows. Paula worked as an estate agent in the city centre and was always smartly turned out, in satiny blouses and tight skirts plus heels that would hobble Robyn within five minutes. Today, she wore a dark-pink dress with some complicated ruching at the waist, plus a silver feather necklace. ‘Why-why-why the hell did Mum and Dad book this orange-faced twerp – and why does he think it’s a good idea to sing about a man murdering a woman at an anniversary party, for crying out loud? I mean: inappropriate, much?’

‘Valid point,’ Robyn laughed. ‘It’s not your average smoocher, let’s face it.’

‘Worse, he’ll do “Sex Bomb” any minute, and then they’ll all be going for it with the thrusting, and one of the oldies will put their back out,’ Paula went on with comic exasperation, rolling her brown eyes up into their sockets.

‘I’d say the odds are pretty high right now on that person being your Aunty Pen,’ Robyn replied and they both paused to giggle at the woman in question, who had one plump hand clasped to her wobbling cleavage and the other flung out in the air as she sang along. ‘She’ll give someone a black eye, with all that gesturing and pointing, any minute, you wait.’

Paula snorted, but then her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of one of her sons apparently filming their boogying great-aunt on his phone. ‘Busted,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘You wait, the little sods will be planning to put this on YouTube . . . Hey!’ she called, hurrying over to them, her hair catching flashes of the neon disco lights. ‘Oh no, you don’t.’

Robyn watched her go, smiling to herself as Paula clamped a hand on the culprit’s shoulder, like a police officer making an arrest. Turning back to her bin-bag duties, she had just decided that yes, she probably should polish off the last mini sausage roll rather than condemn it to the depths of the dustbin, when she noticed a new arrival to the party, someone she didn’t recognize. The woman in question had slipped in through the entrance hall and was gazing around warily from the doorway. There was something familiar about her heart-shaped face, wide-set eyes and snub nose that gave Robyn pause. She must be some friend of the family, although . . . Well, Robyn had known the Mortimers for a long time. She thought she’d met all of the friends and neighbours by now.