After that, the hours pass in a haze of dancing, eating, drinking, speeches and loved-up chatter. I even dance with Madeline and Kim, who seem to have returned to their usual friendly selves – whether this is a permanent state of affairs, or just an act put on for tonight, I don’t actually care. Once the band gets going, Celia and Malcolm come onto the floor for a couple of dances, but otherwise they stay seated at a table with a lively group of their friends.

Dad made it to the party for a full half hour before retiring to the lounge bar at the other end of the hotel, happy enough to sit by the fire with his newspaper and a pint of real ale. Miraculously, he took me up on my offer to stay over at the hotel with us for the weekend. But it wasn’t because he wanted to celebrate our anniversary – his central heating packed up yesterday and the spare part he needs for the boiler won’t be back in stock until Monday. He told me this weekend away was perfect timing, as apparently the house is like an icebox and there’s snow forecast for tonight. Of course, I’d rather he’d have come here for me and Toby, but my dad is my dad. He’s not about to change his personality any time soon.

The party finally begins to wind down, and I find myself sitting on a bar stool chatting to my schoolfriends Lou and Danny about this week’s encounters with Cassie. Apparently it isn’t just me she’s been annoying with her self-centred behaviour.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Madeline leaving the room. I still haven’t had a chance to speak to her properly tonight. I’d like to have at least a quick chat before tomorrow. Make sure everything’s good between us. I excuse myself and go after her, trying my best to stay upright in my ridiculous heels before slipping them off one by one and sighing with ecstasy as my feet are released from their torture.

‘Hey, Madeline!’

She’s weaving down the corridor, her blue crepe dress billowing around her calves, her blonde chignon the worse for wear with sections of hair hanging down haphazardly, and not in an elegant way. The hairdresser in me is itching to pin it back up. From her erratic movements, I’d say she’s pretty drunk.

‘Madeline, wait!’

She turns and squints in my direction and then raises a hand. ‘I’m off to bed.’

‘Hang on.’ I trot after her, my shoes in my hand, but she turns and continues on her way. I soon catch up. ‘Come and get a coffee with me in the bar,’ I suggest, walking by her side.

‘You shouldn’t have coffee after four p.m.,’ she chides. ‘You won’t be able to sleep.’