‘I swear you’d fit optics on the wine bottles if you thought you'd get away with it, Clive. You really are one mean host when it comes to pouring drinks. I didn’t know where to look; I was so embarrassed. Careful with that small plate - it’s the last of the wedding set.’

Normally, Janice knew better than to accept Clive’s offer to help wash up; he just got under her feet. Tonight there were one or two things she wanted to say to him.

She twisted the tap and Clive stepped back to avoid the jet of water from the edge of the washing-up bowl. He steadied himself against the fridge, took a clean drying-up cloth from a drawer and turned to face her.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘there was no point in everybody getting drunk. Linda was driving, as usual, and Jack always feels he has to drink her share as well as his own. You know what he’s like when he’s had too much.’

‘Too much?’ Janice stretched a rubber glove then let go with a loud snap. ‘Not much chance of that, at the rate you were pouring. It was more likely we’d all die of thirst.’

Clive opened a cupboard door and checked the contents. Having satisfied himself he’d chosen the right one, he started re-arranging plates and dishes on shelves, matching sizes by holding them up to the light in front of his face.

‘And I couldn’t believe what you produced from the sideboard – I’ve never seen such tiny wine glasses. I told you when we cleared your mother’s place that we should send most of the kitchen stuff to Oxfam. It was like drinking out of egg-cups.’

Clive ranged cutlery in a drawer. Why were some spoons designed to look like forks? No wonder they got mixed up.

‘It didn’t help, either, that you kept disappearing. I wonder why we bother giving dinner parties at all. The idea was to celebrate your boss's birthday, not to alienate him!'

‘Disappearing?’ Clive turned, a fork in either hand. ‘Well, if I can’t answer a call of nature in my own house without being interrogated…’

‘You’d better make an appointment to get your prostate checked. ’ Janice squirted liquid into the bowl and swirled the bubbles round with her hand. ‘I hope you’re not up to your old tricks.’

She dried her hand on her apron then bent to the cupboard under the sink. ‘Did you remember to get the washing up liquid, Clive? It was on the list but I can’t see it here. Now what can I use inst...Oh!’

Clive suddenly darted between Janice and the sink. He hunkered down and began to shift the bottles and boxes on the shelf. Then, red-faced, he hauled himself upright again by clutching the edge of the sink. He placed a plastic bottle of green liquid on the draining board.

‘There you are. Panic over!’

‘I wasn’t panicking.’ Janice raised a tiny cut-glass goblet so it glinted in the light, before plunging it into the water. ‘I'd challenge even Jane Austen's women to get drunk with these.’

She gave Clive a thoughtful glance. ‘And what do you mean, I know what Jack’s like when he’s had too much?’

Clive examined the pattern on the edge of a plate then straightened his shoulders and looked at Janice.

‘You know very well what I mean. He gets too silly - laughing like a drain at your jokes, which we’ve all heard a dozen times before.’

‘Well, I’m just amazed he tolerates your meanness with the wine. Especially as he provided it.’

‘There was no call to repeat that one about could you borrow a saw because the top half of your glass wasn’t really serving any purpose. As for the wine he brought, he can’t complain. He certainly didn’t bankrupt himself. I re-corked it and slipped it into Linda’s bag as they left ’

‘You did what?’ Janice slapped the gloves down on the draining board and removed her apron. ‘Right, that’s it! I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed and you can finish up by yourself.’

‘Oh… alright, yes. Fine with me,’ said Clive. He stretched an arm to the radio as he turned to the sink. ‘I’ll just see if I can catch tomorrow’s weather forecast’.

‘There could be a storm brewing,’ muttered Janice, as she left the kitchen.

She made her way, scowling, up the stairs. Passing the book-case on the landing, she stopped to straighten a leather-bound volume of Dickens. Something clunked. Janice lifted the book to examine the gilt lettering on the spine. Great Expectations.

Swearing under her breath, she snatched at the half-full bottle of vodka hidden behind the row of books, then entered the bedroom. She paused and looked around.

After a few moments she crept to the other side of the room, opened the sash window and placed the bottle on the window sill outside, before drawing the curtains.

She chuckled as she turned back the bedcover, and retrieved a small bottle of brandy from under her pillow. She sat on the edge of the bed and unscrewed the stopper.

Downstairs, Clive turned up the radio volume as he rummaged among the packets and bottles under the sink. He finally stood up, clutching a bottle of multi-purpose cleaner. At least, that was what the label said.

‘A close call,’ Clive reflected, as he put the bottle on the table and took a tumbler from the cupboard.

He’d smiled when he heard the clunk that told him the book decoy trick had worked. What a brainwave to use an old hiding place. Janice would never know it was water in the bottle, and she'd even believed the left-over wine story. He'd retrieve that from behind the sofa later.

He drew up a chair and adjusted the volume knob on the radio again. ‘Got to keep one step ahead of the game,’ he told himself. Then he poured himself a large drink from the bottle and settled to listen to the weather forecast.