I gulped down the rest of my drink and set the glass down on Marsha's mantelpiece. 'Will you excuse me,' I said, and left Carolyn and Charlotte staring after me, the grey lady side by side with the Goth. I was going to look for Sophie. I was going to see for myself.
It wasn't that easy, of course. It was like trying to pass through the enchanted thicket in the Sleeping Beauty story. I hadn't gone two yards before I was swooped on and snogged by a stocky sugar-plum fairy with chest hair. Toby was difficult to ignore at the best of times, but impossible to overlook when dressed in a spangly pink tutu.
He'd already formed some sort of alliance with Dirk and Lemmy, and was bantering away with them like someone who'd been awarded a Cambridge First in Lemmy-ese. The boys had been home to stock up on substances and change into costume, and had only just made it back. Dirk was swathed in toilet paper; strips of it dangled from his arms like semi-sloughed skin. 'Don't tell me,' I said. 'You're the Mummy.'
'Nah, 'said Dirk. 'I'm the Andrex puppy.'
I thought he looked more like a Bullmastiff with a spongiform brain, but at least he'd tried harder than Lemmy, who appeared to be dressed as normal, apart from the ragged white sheet he'd draped over his shoulders.
'And you're a ghost,' I said.
'Ummagumma poseidon,' Lemmy gurgled triumphantly, dropping to his knees and pulling the edge of the sheet down over his head so that I could see the blob of yellow duster material tacked to his back. There was a muffled comment from beneath the sheet.
'Pardon?'
'He's a fried egg,' Dirk explained.
'Of course he is,' I said. How could I have possibly failed to guess? 'And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and find Sophie.'
I shouldered my way through wall-to-wall rollickers, none of whom seemed to give a fig about blocking the hallway and stairs. No sign of Sophie yet, but halfway up the first flight of steps I found my face jammed inches away from a head of sparse sandy hair with a faint sprinkling of dandruff. It was Graham — the last person in the world I wanted to run into. But he wasn't paying much attention to passers-by.
It was Isabella who spotted me. 'He's so cute,' she squealed, disentangling herself from Graham's torrid embrace as I tried to squeeze past. 'He's so… eengleesh.'
And so utterly wet and a weed, I thought.
'And zucchini,' Isabella added mysteriously, slipping an arm around Graham's waist and squeezing hard. He let out the satisfied grunt of a merchant venturer whose ship had finally sailed into harbour laden with jewels and spices.
'I can't wait to take him home to Milano,' Isabella giggled, playing up her accent for all it was worth. 'I can't wait to present him to my mamma, so she can fatten him up with some of her famous lasagne.'
I congratulated Graham as sarcastically as I could, though since Isabella had her tongue in his ear, I doubt that he heard. As I pushed on up the stairs, I felt my stomach being eaten away by a steady drip of acid jealousy, though I couldn't work out whether it was Isabella or Graham I was the more jealous of. If only I'd made more of an effort to be nice to our amica on her whirlwind stop-overs, I too might have found myself invited to the Giordano family villa to hobnob with Signor Giordano's mob connections and watch old Italian movies starring Isabella's glamorous mamma in her Euro-cutie days.
Going upstairs was turning into an epic journey. The landing outside Sophie's flat was packed with people queuing for the bathroom, another obstacle for me and a captive audience for Grenville, who was showing everyone the label of his Armani suit.
'I see you couldn't be bothered to get dressed up,' I said.
'But I am in fancy dress,' said Grenville. 'It's up to you to guess what it is.'
From somewhere behind me, a familiar, slightly bored voice said, 'Don Johnson in Miami Vice.' I twisted round and saw Miles, who didn't appear to be in costume either, though he somehow didn't stick out from the crowd the way Grenville did. A single lock of hair flopped fetchingly over his forehead. I was so relieved to see him that I flung my arms around his neck and tried to give him a kiss, but Miles jerked his head up so my lips grazed his chin. I remembered Graham doing something similar once, but the difference was that Miles, unlike Graham, had moved his head on purpose.
'Have I got lipstick on me?' he asked anxiously.
I fell back. This was not the scenario I'd planned. But before I could muster my resources for a second attempt, Grenville butted between us and fumed, 'I'm a serial killer. The whole point is that I look the same as everyone else.'
'But you don't look the same as everyone else,' said a queuing woman in a bloodstained ballgown. 'You're wearing a poncey designer suit, while everyone else is in costume.'
'Miles isn't in costume,' said Grenville, unable to keep the whine out of his voice.
'Shouldn't you at least be carrying an axe?' I asked, trying to revive my spirits by being nasty to Grenville.
'He nicked the idea from American Psycho,' Miles said.
Grenville looked even more annoyed. 'I did not.'
Miles ignored him and said to me, 'What's going on?'
I assumed he was wanting to be brought up to date. 'Graham and Isabella are in love,' I told him. 'Grenville and Charlotte are having an affair.'
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my life,' spluttered Grenville.
'I mean what's going on with Sophie?' said Miles.
Sophie. I remembered I was supposed to be going upstairs to warn her about the company she was keeping.
'I saw her with this guy,' said Miles.
'God knows where you got that idea from,' said Grenville. 'Charlotte and I are just good friends.'
'Who was it?' I asked Miles.
'Some guy dressed as a bodysnatcher. All in black.'
'Oh shit,' I said. 'Where?'
'I'm fond of her, of course,' said Grenville.
'Upstairs,' said Miles.
'Show me,' I said. Miles nodded and began to force his way through the bathroom queue.
'You haven't told Carolyn, have you?' asked Grenville.
'Of course not,' I said, trying to wriggle past him.
'It's nothing serious,' said Grenville, still blocking the way. Up ahead, I saw Miles's head bobbing for a few seconds before it was swallowed up by the crowd. I tried once again to start after him, but now Grenville was hanging on to my sleeve. 'Carolyn would kill me if she found out.'
I felt like killing him myself. I was so desperate not to let Miles out of my sight that I said the first thing that came into my head. 'Why don't you ask Carolyn about her and Miles,' I said. 'Look, I've got to go.'
'Oh, Miles,' spat Grenville, as I finally managed to pull my sleeve out of his grasp. He was even more drunk than he looked. 'Everyone's trying to catch up with Miles.'
I left him fulminating there.
Sophie's living-room was full of people dancing like reanimated corpses, but Sophie herself was nowhere to be seen. I knew I had to keep searching, but I was short of breath, as though I'd just climbed a couple of hundred steps instead of a couple of dozen, and the thought of the laborious trek back down to Marsha's flat filled me with dread. The music was too loud, and I could feel the crowd pressing in all around me, so I put my head down and shoved my way through to a small breathing space on the opposite side of the room. I slumped against a wall, fanning my face with a paper napkin and trying not to have a full-blown panic attack. I wanted a drink so badly I was spitting feathers, and to cap it all, someone put on a tape of the Drunken Boats.