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‘Oh – biology.’

‘Rather a bright little thing when she could get up for lectures. Quite a party girl too.’ We watched her swaying in her friend's arms, the pair of them singing loudly together now.

‘But not a patch on her brother, apparently,’ she yelled in my ear. ‘I mean, brains-wise. Not my department, though, a historian.’ She nodded in Ludo's direction. ‘Bit of a legend by all accounts.’

Christ. Another bloody brilliant Oxford scholar. A legend. Why did I always pick them? Pick? No. I hadn't picked. Not remotely. I must go.

‘Ed, the brother, is very clever too, but this one's much sexier.’ She pointed out the younger brother over by the window. Prematurely bald with a shiny forehead. Short.

Yes, much sexier. Help.

‘Felicity, I must go. Shield me, would you? I'm going to squeeze out.’

She blinked. ‘Sounds dramatic. But listen, Evie, before you go, have you seen Maroulla?’ Her eyes were anxious suddenly, and she had my arm again.

I went hot. ‘No, but I keep meaning to. Damn, I keep forgetting. I will go, Felicity. Definitely, next week.’ I glanced over my shoulder as I edged away. Ludo was still talking.

‘No, no,’ her hands were fluttery, ‘I'm not saying you should. I mean – well, the thing is, Evie, she's so gaga now, I went the other day. And it'll just upset you.’ She looked agitated.

‘Is she? Oh God, how awful, poor Maroulla.’ I stopped still. She'd been like a second mother to us when we were little: cooking endless plates of spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, showing us how to use garlic and basil, chucking away in disgust the fish fingers Mum had asked her to cook. The thought of her gaga in a home somewhere was ghastly.

‘I will go,’ I determined, edging door-wards again and whipping my phone out. ‘I'll put the address in here. It's Parsons Road way, isn't it?’

‘Yes, but, Evie, I wouldn't, because—’

‘Bugger, who's this?’ My phone tinkled suddenly in my hand with a text, making me jump. ‘Oh – Caro.’

Felicity and I exchanged fearful glances as we often did at the mention of Caro's name. I read it out loud.

In Carluccio's with Tim when Camilla rang. Wants to see Hector NOW. And you told Phoebe he could sleep rough. Thanks a bunch. On my way. Caro.

‘Who's Camilla?’ Felicity yelled.

‘Oh!’ I gazed at the text in horror. Then I hastily punched in Caro's number. She answered immediately. ‘Caro? I'm here!’

‘What?’ There was background noise at her venue too.

‘Back in Oxford,’ I shrieked, sticking my finger in my ear and making determinedly for the door, and then the landing outside.

‘I thought you were in Yorkshire?’

‘I was, I'm back. It's a long story. What's the problem?’ I kept my finger in my ear and turned my face into a huge stack of coats and pashminas hanging in the hall.

‘The problem – hang on, I'll just go outside…’ There was a pause and some rustling. Then she was back in my ear. ‘The problem is bloody Camilla Gavin. She's just rung to say she's on her way back from the sales in Newmarket, and she's passing our gate and wants to see Hector and give him a carrot. At this time of night!’

‘Oh.’

‘Which, as you know, will be tricky, since Hector hasn't slept in his bed for days, which means she'll go to his stable and find it empty!’

I shut my eyes. Oh, blinking heck. And stride around the yard demanding my guts for garters. Or reins, perhaps. She didn't seem the garter type. And then she'd look around some more and see Hector sleeping in the paddock with his lady friends, which was what he loved most, with a nice cosy rug on, which, when Anna and Phoebe's enthusiasm for mucking out after school had waned, had seemed the obvious solution.

‘Right,’ I quaked. ‘I'll go over. Unless, of course, the children…?’

‘Phoebe's at a sleepover and the boys are on a school trip. And I'm in Carluccio's because it's my bloody birthday and the first time I've been out in eight weeks. We'd just sat down to the sun-blushed tomatoes.’

Her birthday. Oh God, I'd forgotten.

‘Happy birthday,’ I said weakly, massaging my forehead with my fingertips. ‘Of course I'll go, Caro.’

‘Well, I'd get down