I looked into the hallway and for a moment our eyes locked: little firecracker, perhaps, the kind to always turn heads – beautiful, but spiky, somehow. All angles and corners, this girl: like a cat, poised before a fight.

Willow, I guessed. I smiled, and she returned my gaze coolly for a second – and then she flashed me a lovely smile in return, before carrying on towards the stairs.

Seconds later, I heard raised voices on the landing.

‘Oh.’ Melissa shrugged at Rex. ‘Thought they were the same thing.’

‘Ruby? A splash of rosé?’

‘Sorry!’ I jumped, my champagne glass banging on the worktop. While the others discussed raffle prizes and sponsorship, I’d zoned out, transfixed by the Aga’s shiny flanks. I could barely remember the last time I’d used my own old oven; my days were so long and, since Ali had finished her A levels and left, first for university and then for Germany, there was less impetus. Zach’s ‘gym diet’ meant, given half a chance, protein shakes, Pot Noodle and carrots. I knew I shouldn’t let him, but without backup, I was on shakier ground these days.

It turned out both my children were as strong-willed as I’d once been.

‘I ought to get going actually.’ I twiddled my glass. I’d already drunk much more than normal. ‘I’ve left my son alone.’ But I did want Marcus to explain about the waitress earlier.

‘Ah, please don’t go! We haven’t had a chance to talk at all.’

‘Sorry.’ Stop apologising, Ruby! ‘I’ll just finish my champagne first.’ I wished my smile didn’t feel like a rictus, or my outfit like a fancy-dress costume.

‘Warm fizz’s nasty.’ Marcus leant so close, I saw the condensation on the bottle. ‘Try this little beauty instead.’

And how smooth was he, pouring with not so much as a drop spilt. Jonny would have just cracked a beer open, with his teeth if necessary, to slide my way. And, gosh, he smelt expensive – like a pine forest.

‘I said Ruby’s an interesting name.’

‘Thank you – I think!’ I couldn’t tell if it was a compliment. ‘It’s not an interesting story though. My dad was a—’ Melancholic Irishman who killed himself slowly with whiskey? ‘My dad loved the old song, so…’ I shrugged.

‘“Ruby Tuesday” by the Rolling Stones?’ Our host’s gaze was very direct. ‘She’s very mysterious!’

‘No, sadly. Named for the old country song about Ruby, who left the wounded solider.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘It is a bit oh dear, yes. He wants to shoot her by the last line.’ Gosh, he was intimidating. Good-looking, undeniably, in a sleek, City sort of way. But also a bit scary, with very light eyes and broad shoulders, as if he worked out a lot. I thought of the waitress’s distress at his scolding.

‘Sad – to be named after such a tragic song.’

‘Well, my parents weren’t exactly cheerful souls.’ And what did this man do for work? One of those daunting money professions, I imagined.