‘Now, why did she do that?’ she says. ‘She knows perfectly well that she and your father are getting a lift home with the vicar.’
‘But she texted me and told me to come at once because Dad is drunk.’
‘He’s not the only one! But I have no idea why your mother should have dragged you into it.’
She squints over my shoulder. ‘There you are, Liz! We were just talking about you.’
I turn to see Mum standing in the doorway, looking flushed and unsteady.
She waves to me. ‘Hello, darling. What a time you’ve been!’
‘I came as quickly as I could. I thought there was some emergency.’
‘Emergency?’ she says vaguely. ‘Oh, yes! Your father can hardly stand.’
‘But why did you have to call Annie?’ asks Elaine. ‘You know that David has offered to take you both home.’
Mum waves a hand, splashing a little of her wine as she does so. ‘Oops! Sorry about that. These wine glasses are awfully small, aren’t they?’
‘They look the usual size to me,’ I say coldly.
She ignores me. ‘Now that you’re here, you can stay and enjoy the party.’
‘No, I can’t. I’m absolutely exhausted, and I’m going home. Can you make up your mind whether you and Dad need a lift?’
She looks at Elaine, who jumps up. ‘One drink before you go! It’s Christmas!’
‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ I say. ‘Fine, I’ll stay for one drink.’
‘I’ll go and find Alex,’ says Elaine.
‘There’s no need,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I can get my own drink.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re our guest. Alex! Alex!!!!’
He appears in the doorway a moment later. ‘Did I hear my mother’s dulcet tones?’ He catches my eye and grins.
‘There you are!’ says Elaine. ‘What a time you’ve been. I’ll go and get Annie a drink. Is champagne alright for you?’
‘You were calling for Alex to go and fetch the drinks,’ I remind her.
She looks at me blearily. ‘I don’t think so. I’ll go and …’
‘So will I,’ says Mum, and the pair of them disappear.
‘It’s been like this all evening,’ says Alex. ‘You don’t know what you’ve missed.’
‘Are parties at your house always like this?’
‘Always,’ he says, sitting next to me. ‘Surely, you remember?’
‘I never came to a party at your house.’
‘You must have done.’
‘There’s no must about it. I think I’d remember.’ Fearing that this might be open to misconstruction, I add, ‘I’d remember a party like this.’
‘That’s the point of this sort of party,’ he says. ‘No one ever remembers them. Perhaps that’s what happened with you. You came to hundreds of them, but you can’t remember.’