Then, without warning, his eyes snapped open and he turned sharply, bent down to seize the table with both hands, and violently upended it. For a moment, it was like a slow-motion film: objects lifting off from the toppling table and flying through the air. Bottles, glasses, bowls of food, a board of cheese and crackers, saucers heaped with cigarette stubs, knives, lit candles, jam jars full of flowers. Someone screamed. There was an explosion of noises, of chairs toppling, glass breaking, china shattering, things spinning across the floor in a widening arc. The pounding music stopped and there was a sudden silence. A woman lying in a heap by the garden doors began to sob.

“There,” said Dermot, but half-heartedly.

“Someone turn on the lights,” said Jude. “There’s broken glass.”

The lights came on. Jude almost laughed out loud at the spectacular mess. Splinters of glass and broken bottles, multiple cans dribbling beer from their opened tabs, cigarette butts in sticky puddles of hummus and guacamole and chocolate mousse, oozing slabs of cheese and, scattered over it like some insane art installation, sticks of carrots and peppers and a few bright flowers.

“Wow,” said Vin, suddenly beside her. He sounded almost admiring.

“Oh my God!” wailed Irina, arriving from the garden. She fluttered her pale hands above her and her mouth made a perfect “o.”

“You should go home now, Dermot,” Jude said. “Get some sleep.”

“I can help clear up,” he muttered.

“Just go, mate,” said Vin.

“No hard feelings?” said Dermot to the room at large.

Vin clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?” said Vin. “But you’re part of this mad little family.”

“I guess I needed to vent. Hard day. Liam’s funeral.”

No one spoke. Everyone watched as Dermot lurched sadly from the room. Jude stooped and picked up a little squashy toy from the floor.

“We need to clear up the glass,” she said. “It’s everywhere.”

“Including my feet now,” said a large bald man, wading through the mess with his surprisingly delicate pink feet.

“Then don’t walk in it! Jesus, stop!”

The woman lying on the floor lifted her head and spoke loudly and tragically.

“My leg is broken,” she said. “It’s very broken. It’s completely broken.”

She started to yell, high and clear, like a kind of ululation.

“Really?” said Jude doubtfully.

“I’ll get a broom and bin bags,” said Vin. He spoke cheerily, as if this was just in the normal run of a party.

“What happened?” Danny was standing in the doorway in a belted toweling robe, her face scrubbed bare of makeup.

“It was Dermot,” announced Irina. “He turned the table upside down. He was upset,” she added unnecessarily.

“And drunk,” said Jude.

“Poor Dermot,” said Danny. “What a day.”

Vin arrived with brooms and bin bags.

“Either help or get out into the garden,” he ordered them all. “But mind the glass.”