to back me up, even though he was always moaning about her knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing. Tonight though, I shoved those familiar resentments back in the drawer, knowing with depressing certainty that there’d be other occasions for their moment in the spotlight.
I took a deep breath. ‘I expect she’ll get used to it. It’s only for a couple of years.’
As the evening went on, we both relaxed, though by ten-thirty I was ready for bed and sending up a prayer to the teen party gods that this wouldn’t be one of those nights when Phoebe and Georgia kept us up squealing and giggling until the early hours of the morning. As the credits rolled, my mobile went. I had a burst of hope that Phoebe was ready to come home and bedtime was closer than I’d thought.
It was a number I didn’t recognise, which immediately made my heart speed up.
‘Hello?’
A young voice on the other end introduced herself as the host’s sister. She told me that Georgia wasn’t very well.
‘What sort of not very well?’
‘She’s a bit sick, but she wouldn’t let me phone her mum and dad because she said it was their wedding anniversary.’
‘I’ll come and get her. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.’
Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘Phoebe?’
‘No, Georgia puking up. Gah. Should I phone Faye?’
‘No. Let them have a night away. They’re bound to have been drinking. Even in a cab, they couldn’t get back from London for a couple of hours. Let’s see how it looks when we get there. We can just stick her in bed with a bucket.’
I did love the royal ‘we’. Patrick was a great one for coming over ‘queasy’ and disappearing in a puff of smoke the second any bodily functions were involved.
I grabbed a bucket from under the kitchen sink, an old towel and the remnants of my sense of humour and jumped in the car. Patrick came with me.
‘I wonder why Phoebe didn’t ring us?’ he asked.
‘I’ll text her. I’m not coming back again to fetch her and Victor.’
We drew up outside the party to find Victor standing on the pavement with Georgia, who was retching into a bush. He was leaning forward holding her hair, trying to keep his feet out of the vomit.
I handed her the towel I’d brought with me. She was tear-streaked and dishevelled; nothing like the self-assured girl striding out in her high heels just a few hours ago.
‘Oh dear. We’d better get you home.’ I turned to Victor. ‘Where’s Phoebe?’
‘I’m not sure.’ However, his words had all the conviction of a cake that had failed to rise. ‘Shall I go and look for her?’
I chivvied him along. ‘Yes please. We need to get this one home.’
He scooted up the driveway.
Georgia was sobbing in that drunken way that accompanies way too much vodka. ‘Sorry, Jo. Sorry. Don’t tell my mum, will you? Don’t ring her and spoil her evening. She was really lookin’ forward to it.’ I was more irritated by the dramatic wailing than by the prospect of a disturbed night while she purged herself of what was no doubt a glorious and ill-advised mixture of drinks.
Patrick was standing behind the bonnet of the car, far away from the sick splattering.
‘Pass me that anorak out of the boot,’ I said.
‘That’s mine!’
‘I know. It can be washed. Or we can let a seventeen-year-old die of hypothermia. Your call.’
Reluctantly, he passed me the coat, turning his head away as the contents of Georgia’s stomach made contact with the last of the marigolds refusing to recognise winter.
I opened the boot of our estate car and told Georgia to sit on the ledge. No sign of Victor and Phoebe. ‘What have you been drinking to end up like this? Who gave it to you?’ I asked.
She could barely string a sentence together. ‘It was just there. At the party.’
I whispered to Patrick, or thought I had, ‘You don’t think she needs to go to hospital, do you?’
Just as Patrick was saying he thought she’d sleep it off, Georgia slithered off the ledge and started staggering away. ‘No! I don’t want to go to hospital.’ She sank to her knees on the wet ground. Patrick and I hauled her back up again, my annoyance rising, along with my concern.
‘You stay with her. I’m going to get Phoebe.’
I ground my boots into the gravel with each furious stride. A horrendous racket blared from the depths of the house as I rang the bell. I