“Are you new to the school?” asked the Blond Bob. “I don’t think I know your face.”

“I’m a kindy mum,” said Jane. “I’ve been here since the beginning of the year. Gosh, this drink is good.”

“Yes, the Year 6 teachers invented it. They’re calling it ‘Not on a School Night’ or something.” The Blond Bob did a double take. “Oh! I do know you! You’ve had a haircut. It’s, er, Jane, isn’t it?”

Yep. That’s me. The mother of the bully. Except he’s actually not.

The Blond Bob dropped her like a hot potato. “Have a great night!” she said. “There’s a seating plan over that way.” She waved a dismissive hand in no particular direction.

Jane wandered into the crowd, past groups of animated Elvises and giggling Audreys, all of them tossing back the pink cocktails. She looked around for Tom, because she knew he’d enjoy joining her in analyzing exactly what was in it to make it taste so good.

Tom is straight. The thought kept disappearing and then popping up in her head like a jack-in-the-box. Boing! Tom is not g*y! Boing! Tom is not g*y! Boing!

It was hilarious and wonderful and terrifying.

She came face-to-face with Madeline, a vision in pink: pink dress, pink bag and pink drink in her hand.

“Jane!” Madeline’s hot-pink silk cocktail dress was studded with green rhinestones and had a huge pink-satin bow tied around her waist. Almost every other woman in the room was in black, but Madeline, of course, knew exactly how to stand out in a crowd.

“You look gorgeous,” said Jane. “Is that Chloe’s tiara you’re wearing?”

Madeline touched the tiara with its pink plastic stones. “Yes, I had to pay her an exorbitant rental fee for it. But you’re the one who looks gorgeous!” She took Jane’s arm and spun her around in a slow circle. “Your hair! You never told me you were getting it cut! It’s perfect! Did Lucy Ponder do that for you? And the outfit! It’s so cute!”

She turned Jane back around to face her and put a hand over her mouth. “Jane! You’re wearing red lipstick! I’m just so, so . . .” Her voice trembled with emotion. “I’m just so happy to see you wearing lipstick!”

“How many of those pretty pink drinks have you had?” asked Jane. She had another long sip of her own.

“This is only my second,” said Madeline. “I have terrible, ghastly PMS. I may kill someone before the night is out. But! All is good! All is great! Abigail closed her website down. Oh, wait, you don’t even know about the website, do you? So much has happened! So many calamitous catastrophes! And wait! How was yesterday? The appointment with the you-know-who?”

“What website did Abigail close down?” said Jane. She took another long draw on her straw and watched the pink liquid disappear. It was going straight to her head. She felt marvelously, gloriously happy. “The appointment with the psychologist went well.” She lowered her voice. “Ziggy isn’t the one who bullied Amabella.”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Madeline.

“I think I’ve finished this already!” said Jane.

“Do you think they even have alcohol in them?” said Madeline. “They taste like something fizzy and fun from childhood. They taste like a summer afternoon, like a first kiss, like a—”

“Ziggy has nits,” said Jane.

“So do Chloe and Fred,” said Madeline gloomily.

“Oh, and I’ve got so much to tell you too. Yesterday, Harper’s husband got all Tony Soprano on me. He said if I went near Harper again he’d bring the full weight of the law down on me. He’s a partner in a law firm, apparently.”

“Graeme?” said Madeline. “He does tax law, for heaven’s sake.”

“Tom threw them out of the coffee shop.”

“Seriously?” Madeline looked thrilled.

“With my bare hands.” Jane spun around to see Tom standing in front of her, wearing jeans and a plaid button-down shirt. He was holding one of the ubiquitous pink drinks.

“Tom!” said Jane as ecstatically as if he were a returned soldier. She took an involuntary step closer to him, and then stepped back fast when her arm brushed against his.

“You both look beautiful,” said Tom, but his eyes were on Jane.

“You don’t look anything like Elvis,” said Madeline disapprovingly.

“I don’t do costumes,” said Tom. He pulled self-consciously on his nicely ironed shirt. “Sorry.” The shirt didn’t really suit him. He looked far better in the black T-shirts he wore at the café. The thought of Tom standing bare-chested in his little studio apartment, conscientiously ironing his unflattering shirt, filled Jane with tenderness and lust.

“Hey, can you taste mint in this?” said Tom to Jane.

“That’s it!” said Jane. “So it’s just strawberry puree, champagne—”

“—and I’m thinking vodka,” said Tom. He took another sip. “Maybe quite a lot of vodka.”

“Do you think?” said Jane. Her eyes were on his lips. She’d always known Tom was good-looking, but she’d never analyzed why. It was possibly his lips. He had beautiful, almost feminine lips. This really was a very sad day for the g*y community.

“Aha!” said Madeline. “Aha!”

“What’s that?” said Tom.