I whooped because, although I still felt shaken about the nothing-actually-happened incident with Marcus, the party was finally done, and now I could take my silly crush and go home, alone, and hide away.

Everyone stood around the square for a time, congratulating themselves on ‘such a successful party’. Some people went back to the bar tent, about to be packed up by Laz and his friends – who all looked like they might have been having an overly jolly time themselves.

I only really knew Laz by name, but he’d seemed like an amiable lad this afternoon; efficiently running the bar, with his calculator and a pencil behind one ear. At one point, waiting to take the tombola takings, I’d glanced over and had a flash of recognition: had we met before? It was even harder to keep track of the vicarage brood from the outside though – no doubt we’d been introduced fleetingly at some point.

Now, as I wandered back to Nella’s, texting Zach, people were boxing up stalls all around me, filling black bin bags, packing what hadn’t sold.

Exhausted disappointment and alcohol suddenly hit me like a train, and I knew I was about to slide the slopes to sadness. I needed to find Zach quickly, pick up my things and get us home safely.

In the Jacksons’ kitchen, I bumped straight into Willow, coming in from the garden.

‘Have you seen Zach, love?’ I asked brightly.

The girl didn’t answer, grabbing a glass from a cupboard.

‘Have you had fun?’ I asked, feeling rather frantic now.

Willow shrugged coolly. ‘Sure.’

Through the glass door, I could see Ishaan, leaning against the wall of the house. He looked tense somehow; removed almost, I noticed absently. Someone had told me recently he’d had a nervous breakdown last year: that’s why he’d given up his GP practice for good.

‘And he’s out there.’ Willow pointed at the fire pit, past Ishaan, who was fiddling with his phone. ‘Zach. With Cecilia and the others.’

Stepping out onto the decking, I looked down at the clutch of different coloured heads; kids leaning over each other, sharing TikToks, drinks and crisps. Snapchatting, laughing and joking together.

The multi-ethnic tribe of West London, I thought hazily, hugging and fist-bumping; always touching.

‘Ready to go, Zachy?’ I called.

‘Oh, hey! You haven’t seen Lena, have you?’ asked Ishaan, still frowning down at his screen. ‘We really ought to get Heathcliff home. He’s entered mad hour.’

‘Oh, I remember mad hours! No, not for a while, I’m afraid.’ I leant on the carved wooden rail. It was really chilly now and I shivered, despite my new coat, watching the little boy run in circles on the perfect Astroturf.

‘Zach!’ I called again, but he was ‘airing me’, as he’d say.

Some lads were rapping on the lawn, in front of the big trees huddled at the far end of the garden – competing, by the sounds of it. A girl’s voice cut across them, laughing; high-pitched squealing followed.