There was a knock at the door. I thought it would be Neil; it would make sense for him to arrive first because he was only next door, but it still surprised me: I’d popped upstairs to use the lavatory a couple of times and I hadn’t heard him have a shower yet. I adjusted the straps on my dress, wiped a smudge of lipstick from my teeth and hurried to the hallway.

A pale, chubby man wearing a white jacket and a pair of blue jeans stood on the doorstep expectantly. The smell of his aftershave, something soapy and alcoholic, wafted into my house as he stepped forward. He was carrying four cans of lager in one hand by the plastic loops, and a jumbo packet of crisps in the other. My heart sank, but because I’d vowed to make a success of the evening, I smiled and tried to shake hands with him. I’d forgotten that both of his hands were full and instead he gave me the bag of crisps.

‘Hello,’ I said, ‘you’re just on time.’

He nodded at me, I handed him his crisps back awkwardly and he came past me into the house. I could see my fat hands twiddling with my wedding ring and fluttering nervously, I waited for him to introduce himself.

‘I’m the first here?’ he said, as he entered the empty living room. He looked surprised; a little disappointed, and put his cans and crisps down on the floor. He shrugged himself out of his jacket, threw it over the back of the sofa, and sat down.

‘Raymond,’ he said, ‘your house, I take it?’ He opened one of his cans of lager and slurped noisily. I studied him. He was probably in his late twenties, like myself, and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. His trainers were spotlessly white, even the soles.

‘Hello Raymond.’ I smoothed out my skirt and perched on the edge of the armchair. ‘Can I offer you something to eat?’ He shook his head and opened the mammoth packet of crisps.

‘I always bring my own, thanks.’ For a minute or two he didn’t say anything, but occupied himself in finishing the first can of larger and making an impression on the crisps. He tipped his head back to drain the last drops from the tin, and I noticed he had a piece of toilet paper sticking to a cut on his Adam’s apple. I didn’t know if it would be polite to mention it or not. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans, lit one without asking, and flicked the ash into his empty can.

‘Would you like an ash-tray? I could get you a saucer, if you’d prefer?’ I said. It did look untidy, him sitting there with the can in his hand, and Neil would be arriving any minute so obviously I wanted everything to be neat for that.

‘I’m all right,’ he said, and flicked the cigarette into the empty can. I tried to think of something else to say while he leaned over, dropped ash on the carpet, and opened another beer. It clicked down his throat noisily and I realised I’d forgotten about music, forgotten even to buy a cassette player, and it was too late now.

‘You’ve been here a bit though, haven’t you?’ Raymond said abruptly, blowing smoke at the ceiling as he looked around the room. ‘I mean, you’ve got it all sorted out nice enough.’

I looked around at the patterned carpet and woodchip wallpaper, thinking of all the cleaning I had done and how bare it had looked when I first moved in. At first, when I’d come downstairs in the night and saw bits and pieces from the old house, it had unsettled me; made me wonder, especially if I was still half asleep or upset, whether I’d really moved house at all, and why all the things were in the wrong places. The two pictures of pigs I’d nailed up over the fireplace used to hang in our kitchen and Will had built a set of shelves in an alcove at home for the various ornaments I’d collected over the years. There was nothing like that here, and I’d dotted the ornaments about on the windowsills to try and make it seem a little more homely.

‘A month last Wednesday,’ I said, ‘but I’ve worked really hard getting it the way I like it.’

‘You haven’t changed much,’ he said. ‘Carpet, wallpaper. Just the same. Didn’t feel like giving it a lick of paint?’

‘You’ve been in here before?’ I was surprised. It hadn’t been long, but with enough careful hoovering those impressions in the carpet had faded and I had trouble imagining anyone else had ever lived in my house.

He winked at me, and threw out a smile that revealed his gappy teeth.

‘Charlotte and me,’ he tailed off vaguely and raised an eyebrow. ‘Lets just say I was invited round a couple of times and leave it at that.’ He laughed. ‘That’s not why she moved though, and,’ he pointed at me, ‘don’t you go around saying that it is.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ I said, aghast at the thought that this man had been in my bedroom, and shaking my head eagerly before I realised he’d been joking.

‘Had you there!’ He said. ‘Nah, we were friends. I came round a few times. She could never afford to do the place up properly. You got some plans for it?’

I’d want someone to mention it, I really would, if I had a bloody piece of tissue sticking to my throat, but perhaps he was the kind of person who didn’t mind about things like that, and me mentioning it would just betray me for the kind of person who did mind, and so make things awkward. It happens at the parties they have on the television all the time.

‘I thought about some yellow, for the walls,’ I said at last, and he nodded approvingly, ‘but I don’t think I’d be very good at painting. I’ll have to wait until there’s a man around to give me a hand!’ I giggled gently, seeing as he was the sort of person who liked a bit of bantering in his conversation, but he looked away and didn’t respond.

‘I live in the one over there,’ he gestured vaguely with his cigarette. ‘Bit of a state since the wife left, but you can’t put a price on peace, heh?’ I looked at my watch discreetly and then back at his piece of tissue. Perhaps he really didn’t care. I decided to leave it.

‘You live alone then?’ I enquired politely. The new books I’d been reading said that asking questions of people at parties made them think you were interesting but that didn’t really make sense, and the book also said not to make the questions too personal, but they didn’t tell you what too personal was. Nevertheless, I ploughed on.

‘So do I,’ I added.

Raymond looked at me strangely. ‘Yes, for the past few months,’ he said. ‘My lad’s round every weekend though. I take him into Blackpool for a go on the slot machines, to McDonald’s, sometimes the pictures. He’s a good lad.’

I nodded, and smiled encouragingly, which was supposed to make him continue, feel at home, comfortable, and in the mood for giving me more information about himself. He scratched his neck, inadvertently dislodged the scrap of paper, and drank from the can again.

‘You have any children?’ he said, at last. I nodded without thinking about it, shook my head, and then nodded again. I felt like opening one of the bottles and pouring myself a glass of wine, but decided it would be more polite to wait until the others arrived. The paper had fluttered downwards and was perching on one of his shirt-buttons. Whenever he moved or spoke it fell further downwards. Eventually it was going to end up on his lap where everyone could see it and he’d be embarrassed and would go home thinking we’d been staring at him all along.

‘A girl,’ I said, and imagined myself smiling wistfully, looking serene and somehow motherly. I could have kicked myself in the teeth as soon as I opened my mouth, and I clenched my fists so hard with frustration that my knuckles hurt. Luckily, Raymond didn’t seem that interested and was looking around the room again, as if he’d lost something.

Time to keep it together, I said to myself. Keep smiling, make sure everyone has something to drink, and he’ll forget about it. Say he must have been hearing things, or drunk, if anyone asks about her. I gulped a few deep breaths and unclenched my fists.

‘A bit quiet for a party, this, isn’t it? Haven’t you got a stereo or something?’            

I turned my damp palms to the ceiling casually, shrugged, and laughed. My dress was starting to stick to the back of my legs; it was made out of a shiny, stiff material that rustled every time I moved, made me feel sweaty, and worse than that, was a lot tighter on me than it had been the last time I’d worn it. I wanted to stand up and pull the skirt away from my thighs, but resisted the impulse.

‘Well, its only just past half past seven. I’m sure Neil will be along in a moment or two.’ I hesitated. How much to tell without being boring, without hogging more than your fair share of conversation?

‘That’s the man who lives next door to me. We get on really well – and it’s good luck we do, with us living right next door to each other.’

‘Yes, we’re good mates, he’s a decent bloke, is Neil. He’s lived here for a good five years or so now. He jump-started my car once, when I was late for work.’

‘Oh yes, I know. He mentioned it,’ I said, ‘he’s like that though, isn’t he?’ I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling because I found the thought of Neil going out of his way to help someone he obviously had so little in common with very endearing. Helping a woman obviously in distress was one thing, but to come to the assistance of this man: he was obviously one of those Good Samaritan types, and liked looking after people.

‘You expecting him then?’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘he’ll be along any minute.’

‘Thank God for that!’

Things were getting going now, they really were, and just as I was thinking about proffering the plate of fairy cakes the doorbell rang. It made me jump and I sprang from the chair.

‘That’ll be him now. I’ll just go and answer that door. You make yourself at home, Raymond.’ He nodded and spread himself out on the sofa: the cushions flexed under his weight and sagged between his knees, and I caught myself wishing he’d sat on one of the hard chairs so Neil could have the couch.

It wasn’t Neil. It was more people I hadn’t met before: an Indian couple. The man was wearing a pale suit with a brightly coloured tie, and the woman with him was wearing a green sari and carrying an African violet in her hands. The man shook my hand expertly (I’m never quite sure to take the hand or not, because sometimes when they’ve got hold of your hand they lean in for the kiss, and then you’ve only got a second, if that, to decide whether to present the cheek or mouth). He pumped my hand three times, dropped it and then presented the pink rectangle. They both smiled at me, flashing rows of perfect straight teeth. Will would have loved them.

‘Baravesh Choudhry,’ his hand was dry and cool, like a dentist’s hand. I imagined if he’d brought it near to my face, it would smell of antiseptic hand soap and TCP. I still didn’t know whether to lean over and kiss his cheek, or not. Find your Inner Goddess advised it, said it showed warmth and confidence, but it could be against his religion. I smiled doubtfully, and remembered that Come Out Of Your Shell had recommended shy people behave authentically and did not try to over compensate because it could come across as drunkenness or instability.

‘You can call me Barry, most of my English friends do,’ he said.

‘I will,’ I said, ‘and you must call me Annie.’ I looked at the woman, who was very short. She smiled again, and proffered the African violet.

‘You said to bring a bottle, on the invitation,’ they both nodded sincerely, apologetically, ‘but we don’t drink alcohol. So we thought, a gift. In lieu of a bottle.’

I felt the clay pot pressed into my hands, the warm dampness of the soil and the fleshy leaves under my thumbs stung like a reproach.

‘Thank you,’ I said, quietly ashamed. I found myself unable to look at them and with my face flushing and sweating I turned and led them through the hallway with my head bowed to the hairy petals of my new African violet like a bride making the long trip back down the aisle alone. Baravesh and his wife followed me, politely admiring the cleanliness of the carpet and skirting boards in the hall. I noted their confidence, how well it came across. I’ve always wondered whether complimenting people on cleanness could be construed as an insult, as if you expected them to be filthy.

‘Raymond, can I introduce you to our neighbours, Barak- Barry Choudhry, and his wife, er..’

‘My name is Sangita.’ She laughed delicately, ‘but Raymond and I have already met,’ she nodded at Raymond and turned back to me, ‘my husband and I are quite active in the local community. I run the Neighbourhood Watch – you should get involved, when you’re more settled.’

Raymond grunted, and nodded at them. I deposited the potted plant on the mantelpiece next to the bowl of crisps, turned, and noticed the Choudhrys were still standing.

‘Please,’ I gestured towards the armchairs, but remained standing myself. They shuffled into their seats and there was a moment of silence. Raymond had lit another cigarette and was staring at the blank television screen as if he wished someone would turn it on.

‘Doesn’t it look nice up there? What a lovely colour. I hope it’s not too difficult to take care of, I always manage to kill things that need looking after,’ I said.

Sangita shook her head, ‘I have six of them on my kitchen windowsill, all grown from cuttings. Just remember to water it every now and again and you’ll be fine.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘it’s much nicer than wine, anyway. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee perhaps?’

‘We’d like some tea, I think, if that’s convenient.’ Baravesh stretched his legs out into the room. ‘Well.’ He sounded pleased, and rubbed his dry hands together gently, ‘well, Annie.’

Sangita tucked her sari between her knees, flicked her thick plait over her shoulder and tittered, as if he’d made a joke. ‘You’ve certainly made yourself at home here. The decoration is lovely,’ she said.

I paced across the room and picked up the plate with the hedgehog on it. I was quite proud of this and so far no-one had commented on what I thought would be a conversational piece. What I’d done was covered the grapefruit half with tin foil, and spent a long time doing it so that it wouldn’t look cheap and creased. The eyes were the smallest pickled onions in the jar impaled with a cocktail stick into the side of the grapefruit. I’d had a stroke of genius late on into it and stuck raisins on the end of the sticks holding the eyes on, for the irises. It had a slightly bug-eyed, shocked look, as if it had a neck and someone had their hands around it and was slowly squeezing.

‘That’s very kind. I sewed the curtains myself. I have a machine, just an old one, but it does. The hems are a little crooked, but not so you’d notice,’ I was babbling. I remembered my exercise, took a deep breath and imagined a pleasant scene from my childhood. 

‘Help yourself,’ I gave the hedgehog to Barry, who said ‘well,’ again, and held it in front of him like it was a bomb. ‘I’ll just go and make the tea.’ I gestured towards the hedgehog, ‘dig in, all of you. There’s plenty to go around!’

‘Can I give you a hand?’ Sangita started to rise out of the chair, and I shook my head.

‘No, no, I’m fine. You stay here and mingle.’

I hadn’t drank a drop and all the laughing and nodding and shaking my head was making the blood in my skull slosh about like fluid in a brandy glass. My face felt hot and I planned to kneel in front of the fridge for a couple of seconds to collect myself.

In the kitchen, the floors and walls started to sway suddenly, as if I was in a soap opera and the whole house was just a cheap cardboard set. I put my hands on the wall over the sink to brace myself and let my head hang between my arms. I waited for the kettle to boil. Sometimes when I ate too much and needed to vomit I stood like that, and the association was making me feel queasy. Tea, I hadn’t thought anyone would want tea. There might not be enough milk. I opened the fridge and predictably enough, there was only a green-looking chicken breast on a saucer, a rind of cheese and a bottle with two inches of lumpy-looking milk in it.

I only stopped panicking long enough to despair: if I wasn’t going to make the effort to take care of myself and make this work out, who would? Who would ever come into this house and help me with the shopping list, unload the bags onto the kitchen counter, notice when the food was going bad?