‘Yes.’ She nodded vigorously, finger still extended like she was about to inflict a witch’s curse on the approaching offenders.

‘Would you like another sample, or I’d really recommend the tea loaf, if you want a little break between tastings.’

‘Did you not hear me, child?’ she replied, raising her voice, as she turned to face the intruders full on. ‘That’s Sue and Geoff Johnson! They’re New Siders!’

Okay. Here we go.

Every single person in the room, bar Alice, froze. Daniel, bless him, tried to enquire after someone’s sister, but he might as well have directed his question at the slice of pie they were holding.

The couple, suddenly realising they were in enemy territory, faltered about three metres from the table.

‘Please,’ I called out. ‘Come and try the Sherwood Perry. It’s got a hint of spice that is perfect on a chilly night.’

‘Did you not hear what Angela said?’ another woman scoffed, before turning to the couple. ‘Have you no shame? Trying to sneak into an Old Side event! Ugh – one sniff of free booze and those New Siders are out on the scrounge.’

The crowd broke out into murmurs and scuffles. To my alarm, about half of them seemed to take a step forward, forming a wide circle enclosing the Johnsons.

‘How dare you!’ Geoff Johnson retorted, gripping his wife’s arm. ‘There were posters up and down New Main Street. And on the chapel noticeboard. This is a New Side event. You lot are the ones gatecrashing. Isn’t that right, Paulie?’

A younger man, holding a cracker in one trembling hand, a piece of cake in another, turned pale, mouth gaping like a fish.

‘What, are you one of them, too?’ Yet another man shook his head, face twisted in contempt. ‘Greedy pack of freeloaders, the lot of them.’

Becky, standing on the opposite side of the room to me, carrying a tray of empty sample cups, gave me a wide-eyed stare, slowly shaking her head in disbelief, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture that said, ‘You started this, now do something!’

‘Um, excuse me, everyone!’ I ducked out from behind the table and scurried over to where I’d cobbled together a makeshift stage out of old pallets. Daniel handed me the portable microphone he’d borrowed from a mate who ran a mobile disco, and I tried to stop shaking enough to keep it from repeatedly bashing against my face.

‘Hello. Hi.’ This was about as far beyond my comfort zone as it is possible to get. I’d spent years hiding from people who might take exception to me. Now I was staring into a packed barn of murderous glares, while raised twelve inches off the ground, just to make sure the people at the back could glower with an unobstructed view.

‘So. I’m Eleanor, I’ve been living at Damson Farm for a few weeks now, and, well… I think Ferrington is fantastic.’

‘Which side?’ someone snarled.

‘Both.’ I paused to swallow, hoping it might bring my voice back down an octave or two. ‘Both. I’m an Out-Sider, as you all know. I’ve no reason not to enjoy a lemonade in the Boatman any more or less than a double pepperoni from Pepper’s Pizza. When the mini-market was out of bananas, I went to the Co-op instead.’