At that point the lights went out, the music groaned in a deepening bassy slide, and people made appreciative animal noises.

"Oh fucking hell," Graham heard Mr Hunter say, and then something huge squeezed past him in the darkness saying, "that's Woodall; he always finds the mains switch at parties

Matches flared, lighters grazed sparks, just as, with a hiss, Sara came forward, hugged him. The lights flickered on before Graham could do more than put his arms round her. She pushed herself away again as soon as the lights came on, shook her head, looking down, her perfume still spiralling away between them. The music started again, people went "Aww..."

"Sorry," he heard her say, "I'm silly. I get frightened at thunder... too." She looked around, distracted, for the glass, but he was holding it, and handed it to her. Thanks," she said, and drank.

"Don't be sorry," he said, "I quite enjoyed it." She looked up briefly then, smiling uncertainly, as though she didn't believe him. He licked his lips, moved forward, put one hand out and touched hers where it gripped the glass. She kept looking at the empty glass, avoiding his face. "Sara, I -"

"Can we...?" she began, then looked quickly at him, put the glass on the mantelpiece, shook her head, saying, "I don't feel all that well..."

"What?" he said concernedly, taking her by one hand and a shoulder.

"I'm sorry, can I..." she motioned towards the door, and he helped her through the packed people, using his elbow to get them out of the way. In the hall they found Mr Hunter again, holding a slack, bored-looking black cat. He frowned when he saw them.