Liza wasn’t dancing-on-the-table drunk. But she’d spent the evening getting stuck into the Friexenet with Rochelle and Angie.

And Adam’s mum, Ursula Überhostess, was semaphoring disapproval across the room with frowning eyebrows. You’re drinking too much, Liza.

Liza sent back a cheery wave. No, I’m not. Leave me alone.

Rochelle nudged Liza, raising her voice to be heard over the aunties and uncles singing along with Rihanna about her umberella-ella-ella. ‘Do we have to stay? If it’s supposed to be Adam’s birthday party, why are hardly any of his mates here? I’ve wasted an updo on rellies.’ She pulled at one of the blonde tendrils that had been allowed to escape artfully from the roll on the back of her head.

‘Because it’s a “do”,’ Angie put in, wisely. ‘Friends know there’ll be stacks of rellies, so they stay away.’ She drained her wineglass and Rochelle immediately refilled it from the satiny black bottle of Friexenet – the fifth of the six they’d brought from Liza’s fridge.

Glumly, Liza extended her glass for refilling, too. ‘The others are already clubbing at Muggies, waiting for us. They keep texting.’ She could see Adam, over the heads of those on the dance floor, on the stage, talking to the DJ – one of his army of cousins – and laughing. Adam wouldn’t hurt the family’s feelings by making an early escape. She sighed, tragically. ‘I’ll have to stay till Adam leaves. You two can go, though. I’ll survive wasting a new dress and pin heels on a hall full of balloons, paper tablecloths, cardboard plates and homemade buffet.’

Rochelle and Angie rolled their eyes but remained in their seats under the bobbing You are 30! and 30 Today! balloons as red-faced, laughing relatives gyrated on the dance floor under a glitter ball. ‘Booooring,’ Rochelle muttered.

‘Sorry, hon.’ But at least relieving boredom was one of Liza’s talents. Her gaze fell on one of the blue-and- silver foil balloons. Reeling it in by its slinky satin ribbon, she put its seal to her mouth, and giggled.

Rochelle brightened immediately. ‘Yeah, Liza, do duck- voice.’

The foil made Liza’s teeth feel funny as she bit down, but soon a little puff of helium hissed out and she could put her lips over the hole and suck, until her head gave a tiny telltale spin. ‘Hello Rochelle, hello Angie!’ Her voice felt curiously smooth as it hit a note at least an octave higher than usual.

Angie giggled. ‘Hello, Donald Duck!’

Liza laughed – like a cartoon duck – which made Rochelle and Angie snort Friexenet bubbles of mirth. She inhaled again. ‘Maybe I should talk duck to Ursula?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ they gurgled. ‘Ursula will love you talking duck!’

Squeezing the deflating balloon, Liza sucked her hardest, trying to see how high she could make her voice go. Then, suddenly, relatives began shouting and looking at her, beaming and applauding.

‘What’s up with them?’ she quacked.

Rochelle shook her head, unable to speak for laughing, wiping at her mascara with a fingertip.

Adam, still up on stage with Cousin DJ, boomed through the microphone. ‘Liza? Come up here, sweetheart.’

‘Oh. Shit.’ Suddenly duck voice didn’t seem such a good idea.

Rochelle laid her head on Angie’s shoulder and sobbed with laughter.

‘LIZA!’ Adam insisted.

‘Oh, SHIT!’

Clutching her stomach, Angie began to slide sideways off her chair.

And the relatives clapped harder, shouted louder, ‘Lie- zah! Lie-zah! Up on the stage, Lie-zah!’

‘You … you’ve got to!’ wept Rochelle. ‘It’s a “do”. Adam’s going to make a speech.’

And a scrum of relatives descended, arms outstretched. Liza, drink-drenched and helium-headrushed, was powerless to avoid being hoisted up the three wooden steps and left teetering at Adam’s side. He smiled, boyishly, taking her clammy hand in his warm one.

The room fell into waiting silence.

Adam pressed his lips gently to her palm then suddenly – hideously – dropped to one knee, dark brown eyes smouldering up at her. Enunciating every word, he said into the microphone, ‘Liza Reece, will you marry me?’

People whooped and began to clap. Others shushed, wanting to hear Liza say, ‘Yes!’

‘I think it’s what we both want.’ Adam held the microphone up to her lips and winked, playfully.

Liza recoiled from his hand and the spongy microphone that smelled like bad breath. In what universe did he think she’d want to be publicly cornered into relinquishing Singledom? Had she missed a discussion about radically changing her life? Tying herself to Adam? Her heart pounded in her ears, making it impossible to think logically about the audience, the occasion, or how to handle a delicate situation so as not to hurt Adam.

She just opened her mouth and the truth quacked out. ‘No, I don’t want to marry you.’