I think about my mother, wonder what she’s doing now. Is she in Central Park, walking in the sunshine, enjoying the sights and smells of the Big Apple? Or sitting in her hotel room while my father works, drinking endless martinis and eating pills like sweets as she waits for him to return, sleepy, her head drooping over her untouched prawn cocktail?

I don’t know and I want to kid myself that I don’t care.

I care even less about what my father is doing.

I hope he’s having a shit time.

They haven’t called once.

I can feel my mood souring, so I pull out the first bottle I put my hand on. It is champagne, richly yellow with its elaborate gold foil cap and tiny bubbles.

“Champagne?” I say.

Tracey laughs. “Sure, why not? You know, I’ve never had it before.”

“Well, today is your lucky day.”

The cork is stiff in the neck of the bottle, not yielding at all. I give it a twist and a hard pull, and it shoots out, the champagne frothing and spurting from the neck.

Tracey giggles and claps her hands.

Martha has been busy. There is a table set up in the corner and she has laid out plastic cups, brightly coloured paper plates and bowls, with trays of food. Bless her, there’s even a happy birthday banner strung across the front of the table, just like a real birthday party but for a ten-year-old.

“It’s not actually your birthday, is it?” Tracey asks.

“No, but I had to tell Martha something so that I could have the party.” I pour some champagne into two cups and hand one to Tracey before pulling down the banner and tossing it aside.

“Cheers! Let’s have some fun!”

“Cheers,” she says and sips at the cup, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles pop in her face.

I gulp at mine, not tasting it, just wanting to get it into me, feel it take over my body. When I’ve finished it, I pour some more and say, “Right, you put some music on and I’ll go and open the gate.”

I can feel the champagne mixing with the pills already, my heart rate tripping up as I walk out of the oppressive humidity of the pool house and into the cooling night air. Goosebumps spring up on my skin and I traipse across the grass quickly. There are balloons tied to the gate so that everyone will know where to come to. I open the gate and run back to the pool house. Tracey is sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water as she munches on crisps.

“Sorry, I’m really hungry. I didn’t have dinner before I left,” she says.