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sorry for myself. Go on, off you go. You look lovely, darling. Enjoy yourself.’

JULES DROVE US to Lark Drive, positively burbling with excitement.
    ‘It’s no big deal, Mum,’ said Carl. ‘You’re acting like we’ve been invited to hang out with the Geldof girls. It’s just a little suburban party. Relax!’
    Carl certainly looked relaxed in his white T-shirt and blue jeans, totally cool and understated, but he was jiggling his leg up and down, always a sign he was tense. I felt a wave of love for him because he was going to Miranda’s party for my sake. I reached out and gave his hand a grateful squeeze. Both our palms were clammy and damp.
    Even Jules looked nervous when she turned into Lark Drive. It was well-lit with lampposts, all in a fancy repro-Victorian design. Eachhouse was set back from the road in its own grounds. Some were big red-brick villas with gables and turrets and towers.
    ‘Cor, lummy,’ said Jules in mock-cockney. ‘You’re partying with the posh nobs tonight.’
    ‘Miranda can’t live in one of these houses!’ I said.
    My heart started thudding. Maybe she was playing a joke on me. Yes, of course. She didn’t really want to invite me to her party and meet my boyfriend. She just wanted to make a fool of me, pretending she lived in one of these extraordinary mansions. She was probably killing herself laughing now, imagining me trailing up and down Lark Drive looking for a non-existent party.
    ‘I’ve made a mistake, Jules,’ I said, nearly in tears. ‘Let’s go back home.’
    Carl edged closer to me. ‘Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry, I’m here.’
    ‘No, I’ve just realized, Miranda’s playing a joke on me. I bet there isn’t even a number ninety-four. I’m such an
idiot
,’ I wailed.
    ‘The houses aren’t quite so grand this end,’ said Jules as we drove past several square modern houses with mock Regency pillars. ‘There’s certainly a hotch-potch of styles! That’s ninety, ninety-two – oh look! It’s the white house at the end!’
    It wasn’t Victorian, it wasn’t new, it wasn’t mock anything, it was utterly different from all the other houses in the road, a large white1920s house with a flat roof and stained-glass windows. It was gently floodlit so it glowed like a great moon.
    ‘Oh, wow, look at the Art Deco glass!’ said Carl.
    ‘Look at the Art Deco
everything
!’ said Jules. ‘It’s so beautiful. I’m sure I’ve seen it featured in one of those glossy home magazines. So can your Miranda really live here?’
    ‘No way,’ I said. ‘I’ve led us all on a wild-goose chase. I’m sorry.’
    ‘We’ll go and knock on the door and see,’ said Carl.
    ‘No!’ I said. ‘Well, OK, but they won’t even have heard of her, I’ll bet.’
    Carl and I got out of the car. Jules got out too, tucking her wild hair behind her ears. She rubbed at a paint stain on her trousers and sighed.
    ‘Oh, well. Pretend I’m simply your chauffeur, kids,’ she said.
    We went through the white gate and walked up the York-stone path, looking up at the house as reverently as if it was a cathedral. Carl gazed at the stained glass, transfixed by the pink flowers, the blue butterflies, the glowing sun with spreading rays.
    Jules pressed the doorbell timidly. ‘Did that work? Did you hear it ring?’
    We waited. Nothing happened. Jules tried again, pressing firmly this time. The bell rang immediately, making us all jump. Then thedoor opened and there was Miranda herself.
    ‘Hi,’ she said casually.
    She didn’t
look
casual. She was wearing a black lace long-sleeved top, a tight skirt and her pointy boots. She had a black velvet ribbon round her white neck, heavy black eye make-up and dark red lipstick. She looked fantastic.
    ‘Hello,’ I said, my voice quavery. ‘Er, this is Carl and Jules, his mum. Um. Is the party still on?’
    ‘Sure,’ said Miranda. ‘Come in, all of you.’
    ‘Well, I’m just delivering them,’ said Jules.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t want