I creep out of my room. At the top of the stairs, I can hear the steady thrum of polite conversation and the chink of crystal, smell the nicotine in the air and feel the warmth from a fire that has been lit in the stone fireplace in the dining room, despite it not really being cold enough. There is a door under the stairs that leads to the basement where all sorts of things are stored, including my parents’ alcohol collection. I reach the bottom of the stairs without seeing anyone. The dining room door is open, but I can only see the backs of heads, shoulder pads and straight backs. A loud guffaw cuts through the room – my dad laughing at his own joke, no doubt. I quietly open the basement door and let the darkness swallow me as I close it behind me. Only then do I flick on the light switch. The stairs are steep, leading down into a room that is full of random objects, unused furniture and rails of my mother’s clothes that she no longer wears. The smell of gas is strong from the huge, cranky boiler that squats like an angry fat man in the far corner of the room. Boxes of champagne and racks of red wine line another wall, along with bottles of the vodka my mother prefers served ice-cold in her afternoon martinis.

I grab a bottle of red wine and a bottle of vodka, then tuck an extra bottle of vodka under my arm.

I turn off the light before I open the door again and emerge back into the hallway. Halfway back up the stairs I freeze at the sound of footsteps. I turn slowly to see a man I don’t know heading towards the downstairs toilet. His hair is combed back from a large forehead and his mouth is wide, like a letterbox. He looks up at me over his shoulder and winks, the letterbox opening wide, then disappears into the cloakroom. I run the rest of the way back to my bedroom.

“Ok, grab the food and let’s go,” I say, out of breath. Tracey looks at the alcohol and I think she’s going to tell me she’s not interested, but instead she smiles conspiratorially and loads up her arms with Martha’s snacks.

She follows close on my heels as we head upstairs, past the door to my parents’ bedroom. It is the only room on this floor and incorporates a bathroom and a large dressing room, as well as the expansive bedroom and a wide window that draws your eyes out towards the sea. As we go past, Tracey says, “Can I peek?” and I nod.

She sticks her head around the door and gasps.

“Come on.” I’m impatient – I want to open the wine and take myself away from here.