by episode nine. A judiciously proffered Cadbury’s Creme Egg means that Gareth’s forgiven me and promises to bring his unbeatable Gaydar to bear on Rufus later. I come through the door to find Alice relegating the fairy lights to the fireplace.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask her. ‘I turned over most of North London to find them.’
‘Yeah, they’re great,’ she says. ‘I just wonder if it’ll all look a bit more sophisticated if they’re snaked round the grate.’
‘Since when did we start throwing sophisticated parties?’ I ask, exasperated. ‘Themes are just an excuse to camp it up.’ She looks sheepish. ‘Oh, so he’s coming, is he?’ I continue.
‘Be pleased for me!’ she implores. ‘I dropped a note through and he texted to say he’d love to.’
‘OK, OK, I’m pleased. But you’re not turning our pink extravaganza into some kind of dreary, minimalist wake. And you’re not leaving me with Jenna –’
‘Did someone mention my name?’ trills Jenna, barrelling down the stairs.
‘Oh, hi…’ I say guiltily, but she hasn’t heard a thing.
‘I thought you might need some help,’ she says, all fake altruistic. ‘So I came back after school with Alice.’ Yeah, right. I know her game. Jenna will do almost anything to ensure she gets Alice’s undivided attention. I’m surprised she didn’t just have done with it and turn up for breakfast. That said, she’s brandishing stickers for what is quite an inspired party game.
‘I do it with the kids at school,’ she says. ‘They all charge around the hall with names on their chests looking for their other half. Perfect training for life!’
How can she possibly think that brainwashing 6-year-old girls that they’ll only be complete when they find their mate is an admirable exercise? I skip the argument and pore over the stickers.
I pick up the sheet. ‘So who’s Henry the Eighth’s opposite number?’
‘Well, there’s the fun!’ she says excitedly. ‘There’s Catherine Parr and Anne Boleyn: it could go either way.’
‘Well, we need some promiscuous women,’ I say, brandishing a pen. ‘It’s not fair if only the men get a lucky dip. There, Elizabeth Taylor. We can have Mike Todd and Richard Burton.’
‘Who the hell’s going to want to be Mike Todd?’ says Alice reasonably. ‘Even if Mike looks like George Clooney and Richard looks like Christopher Biggins, there’s a sense of destiny about who she’ll go for.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I tell her. ‘What we need to do is make sure we’ve got the best stickers. This might be the party where I finally get to be Roland.’
‘Of course you can be Roland!’ says Alice. ‘I’m sorted now Richard’s coming, so I can just focus on finding you a really hot Janet. Who do you wanna be, Jenna?’
‘So here’s the thing,’ she says melodramatically. ‘I’ve actually invited someone. You won’t believe how I met him.’ I bet I will. Jenna leaves no stone unturned, however fetid. ‘I was sitting in that coffee shop in Highbury after school, doing my marking, right opposite William Hill.’
‘Who’s William Hill?’ asks Alice.
‘William Hill the bookies?’ I ask, incredulous.
‘Exactly!’ says Jenna. ‘I told you you wouldn’t believe it. Anyway, this gorgeous guy parks his car on a single yellow and goes dashing in, but as soon as he’s through the door this traffic warden comes out of nowhere.’ Let’s see, who’d make the worst party guest: traffic warden or gambling addict? ‘So I go dashing out and tell him that Colin’s only just parked –’
‘Colin?’ says Alice. Jenna’s tone of loving familiarity suggests that she and Colin are at least three years into a happy marriage.
‘Yes, that’s his name. Still, you can’t have everything! Anyway, the traffic warden’s absolutely merciless, won’t back off, so I have to go into the bookies and try to find him.’
‘Why did you have to go and find him?’ I ask her.
‘It was my civic duty, Lulu,’ she says sternly. ‘Those traffic wardens are money-grabbing parasites. So, anyway, I can’t see him at first, but then I find him right in the middle of a crowd of men cheering on this horse. You can imagine how out of place I looked. He really loves racing, so he was a bit annoyed with me interrupting, but when I explained he was ever so grateful. We dash back out there, just as Mr Meter Maid’s starting to write out the ticket, and stop him in the nick of time.’
‘Then what?’ asks Alice nervously. ‘Have you actually been on a date?’