Silvery fairy lights are strewn across the ceiling, to create a starlit sky effect later tonight. Jules is here, ferrying food and drinks back and forth from the kitchen, ably assisted by Nick, who showed up with Penny. I was pleasantly surprised to see him, as I wouldn’t have imagined that a children’s party would be quite his thing. But as it is, he seems to be perfectly relaxed and happy to be here, gathering up wrapping paper and helping to rescue a collapsing tent, and in no hurry to rush away. Meanwhile Penny is observing the proceedings from a comfy chair, sipping her drink and nibbling on sausage rolls. Izzy was thrilled with Penny’s present of a set of four knitted doughnuts.

And now Andy has appeared, laden with gifts from both himself and his parents (as today is Izzy’s actual birthday). I beckon him through to the living room where the main party action is happening and introduce him, briefly, to Nick: ‘This is Andy, Izzy’s dad.’ Once that’s out of the way, I catch Andy flinching at the sight of so many kids piling in and out of the tents. He checks his watch as if calculating how soon he can remove himself without seeing rude.

Right now is the correct answer, which I try to transmit by giving him a ‘Thanks for popping round, now off you go’ kind of look – but my telepathic powers seem to be lacking today as he has taken it upon himself to try and make conversation with Penny, which must be a first.

Andy: ‘How are you, Penny?’ He glances down at her glass. Is that a G&T at five-thirty in the afternoon?

Penny: Indeed it is, and what of it? ‘I’m good, thanks, Andy. How are you?’

Andy: ‘Oh, you know. Busy. The usual.’

Penny: ‘No rest for the wicked, eh?’

Andy, laughing awkwardly: ‘Ha-ha, yeah.’

Penny, dryly: ‘Still at the hospital?’, which makes it sound as if it’s just a holiday job.

Andy, disconcerted: ‘Er, yes. Yep, still hanging on in there.’

Penny, patronisingly: ‘Good for you!’ She turns away from him and catches my eye, grinning playfully as I glide by – regally, I hope – with a tray of chipolatas. I smile back. Despite his presence, the party is going well. I’m proud of my ability to remain polite and cordial as Andy gets ready to leave.

‘Great sausages,’ he says. ‘Did you marinate them?’

‘I did,’ I reply, ‘with honey and soy.’ I blink at him. ‘Would you like me to stuff some under your windscreen wiper?’

His mouth twitches and he laughs. ‘Oh, Viv.’

‘Don’t “Oh, Viv” me.’

He inhales and fixes me with a look when we reach the front door. ‘That was some stunt you pulled, crazy girl.’

Crazy girl? That’s a tad familiar, I feel. ‘It was a minor aberration,’ I correct him, ‘which I’ve apologised for and regret.’