A Cheshire Cat grin stretches across his face. “You’re drunk!” he exclaims delightedly.

“You’re drunk!” I say, unthinking. “I mean, I am not drunk.” I shake my head again, trying to get a grip on the conversational thread that seems to be slipping through my fingers. “I have had a drink. But I am not drunk.” Though, truthfully, the world does seem to have taken on a rather smudgy, fuzzy-edged appearance.

The annoying smile remains in place and it makes me unreasonably angry that he seems so sure of himself. I squint at him, suddenly furious that his face is so perfect. Why does anyone need to have a face like that? It’s no wonder it leaves a girl feeling confused and off-balance.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“Your face,” I say, pointing an accusing finger at him, “is bothering me.”

Before he can say anything else, I go inside and head up to my room. My head is spinning. One thing is certain, I decide – nocino is not my friend.

Back in my room I pour a big glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, then I lie on my bed for a while, waiting for the walls to stop wavering around me. I curse Ursula and her drinks trolley to a dark place. A dull headache is starting to pound behind my eyes and my limbs feel tired and heavy. An image comes unbidden into my mind – Ben’s face right before he asked if he could kiss me. I close my eyes tightly.

When I open them again the room is dark and I am disorientated for a moment. My stomach rumbles angrily. It must be dinner time.

I lift myself on my elbows and give my head a tentative shake. It aches a little, but the fuzzy feeling is gone. After a quick, cold shower I am feeling much better, and I throw on a clean shirt.

It’s only then that I notice the envelope propped up on my nightstand. I recognize the slightly florid handwriting immediately – it belongs to my mother.

Sitting down on the bed I tear open the envelope and pull out the lavender-scented pages, running my eyes over the lines. There is the usual local gossip, an update on her social calendar, news of her friends’ much more well-behaved daughters and their achievements, which seem largely matrimonial. Finally, there’s a paragraph that sends a shiver down my spine.