He peeled off the foil and wire and eased the cork out of a champagne bottle, letting the foam rise out of its mouth and subside. Then he poured three glasses, which we lifted and chinked together. “To our dear Ellie,” he said.

“To Ellie,” said Gwen, grinning at me fondly.

Why did I feel so much like crying? Why did my eyes sting and my sinuses ache and a block of sorrow lodge in my throat?

PEOPLE ARRIVED IN dribs and drabs, and then a small flood, leaving umbrellas in the hall, tossing overcoats over the banister and on the back of the sofa. Soon my little house was full of people. They were in the living room, in the kitchen, sitting on the stairs. They’d all brought presents: whisky, biscuits, plants, earrings, a little ceramic bowl. Josh and Di arrived with a rocket that they set up in readiness in the garden, even though the instructions said it had to be fifty meters away from any building.

These are my friends, I thought, and this is my life now. Fergus was a bit subdued but very sweet and affectionate, Joe was in an expansive mood, throwing his arms around people, pouring too much wine into their glasses. Gwen was talking to Alison, but glancing surreptitiously at her watch every few minutes because Dan had not yet turned up. Mary had cornered Jemma and was telling her what to expect from childbirth in every agonizing gory detail. Laurie and Graham were playing chess in the corner. I went from group to group with a bottle in my hand. That way I didn’t have to stay with anyone for long: just enough time to say hello and kiss them before I moved away. I didn’t drink and I didn’t talk to anyone properly—and no one mentioned Greg. He was the ghost in the house.

At seven thirty—just after Gwen had answered the door and returned, shy and pink, with a man I assumed to be Dan—Joe clinked his fork against a glass and stood on a rather flimsy chair, which creaked ominously beneath his weight. “Gather around,” he roared.

“Oh, no.”

“Don’t worry, Ellie, this isn’t a speech, just a toast.”

“Good.”

“You don’t know what Joe means by ‘toast,’” warned Alison, standing beside me.

“No, really—all I wanted to say was you’ve had a terrible time and I know I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re always here for you, through thick and thin. Happy birthday, Ellie.”

“Happy birthday,” came the ragged chorus.

“Speech!” someone shouted.

“Just . . . thank you,” I said. “All of you.”

“More wine,” commanded Joe.

“Here.” At the other end of the room, Fergus pulled a cork out of a bottle and a spume of froth flowed over its neck and on to the small table by the window. “Oh, shit, I’ve spilt it—what is this, anyway?”