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Then she turns to Claire.
“Your hair’s dropping at the back, darling.” She taps her own nape to indicate. “Powder room’s along the left corridor, third door. Ask for a pin.”
Claire’s fingers flex on my arm so lightly I almost miss it. “Right.”
“Sam. So lovely to see you. And, of course, you too, Kath. I have so many people I want to introduce you to, Sam. You’re sitting with Claire and Sophia later so I really want to use the drinks reception as an opportunity for you to meet everyone. There are a few specific people I want you to have a chance to talk with.”
Sam gives me a pained look as he and Kath are whisked away.
Claire, Sophia and I are released back into the current of satin and tuxedos, clinking glasses and polite laughter. Sponsor boards line the corridor and a camera is flashing. I have no idea where I should stand.
“You ok?” I murmur to Claire.
She exhales through her nose, a half-laugh, half-sigh. “It’s fine. It’s always like this.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” I angle my head towards the powder room corridor.
She looks up at me, the corners of her mouth tipping. “To the ladies’? Bold choice.”
“Supportive choice. Terrible at bobby pins, but very supportive.”
“Give me two minutes. Save Sophia from her date for a bit.”
“On it.” I brush my thumb once over her knuckles before I let her go. “Your hair looks perfect to me, by the way.”
Claire rolls her eyes as if to say you’re biased, but some of the tightness eases from her face. She slips away, heels clacking on the marble. Sophia sidles closer, eyeing the mountain of florals in the ballroom doorway we just entered through.
“Is that an ice sculpture?” I ask her.
“I think it’s an Olympic torch. Very on brand.” She cocks her head looking at it critically before taking a sip from the glass she managed to snag from a waiter earlier. “At least the champagne’s cold. And at least you’re here to save my sister.”
I consider asking what exactly Claire needs saving from, but Sophia points towards another sculpture on the opposite side of the room.
“Go on then,” she says. “Guess.”
I squint at the vaguely abstract shape. “A swan?”
“Don’t think so.”
“A bear?”
“Closer.”
“Brexit?”
Sophia snorts loudly into her champagne.
A few minutes later Claire’s mother reappears at Sophia’s side. I’m beginning to suspect the woman can teleport. A moment ago she was across the room talking to Sam and Kath.
“Sophia, darling, your posture,” she murmurs, adjusting the strap of her daughter’s dress before her attention flicks briefly to me. “And where’s Claire gone now?”
“Fixing her hair,” Sophia says mildly. “Like you told her to do.”
“Has she eaten?” Mrs Robinson asks Sophia, then grabs a canapé from a passing tray. “Give her this when she comes out, I always worry that she doesn’t eat enough before these events. Remember that time she felt faint? I don’t want a repeat.”
She seems to consider it, and then takes the food back from Sophia. “Actually, I’ll go give it to her.”
Mrs Robinson disappears towards the corridor leading to the powder rooms. Sophia watches her leave, then drains the rest of her champagne in one resigned gulp.
