47
When I got home I found Sandra had arranged a babysitter for the kids. It was a teenage girl we knew from down the road, the daughter of one of our neighbours.
“I’ve decided we’re going out tonight,” Sandra explained. “We’ve been under so much pressure. We both deserve a break. We need to let our hair down.”
I wasn’t about to argue.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“A party. It’s being held by a friend of someone at the Agency. It’ll be a good do, they’re loaded. Put on your glad rags. We’ll have to set off soon.”
When we entered the house where the party was being staged (a mansion at the posh end of Cheshire) I immediately regretted going. I didn’t know anyone there, and was distinctly ill at ease. I felt as if I somehow wouldn’t measure up, and wouldn’t be interesting enough, or
