Then I awoke one morning to find it all but gone. The twentieth century.

It was 31 December. It was eight o’clock in the morning. There were just twelve hours to go before the start of the Great Millennial Ball.

I began to panic.

21

‘Wakey wakey, rise and shine.’ Norman came blustering into my bedroom, tea on a tray and the big portfolio under his arm. I gaped up at Norman. My panic temporarily on hold. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’ I asked.

‘Ah.’ Norman placed the tray upon a gilded bedside table. ‘That.’

‘That! I’ve seen thin hair before, but neverfat hair.’

‘A slight problem with the old Hairobics. I didn’t exercise the follicles for a couple of days and their new muscles have run to fat. I think I might sport a trilby tonight. Cocked at a rakish angle. Morning, Claudia; morning, Naomi.’

My female companions of the night before yawned out their good mornings. Naomi put her teeth back in and Claudia searched for her truss.

Norman sat down upon the bed.

‘Gerroff!’ cried a muffled voice.

‘Sorry, Kate, didn’t see you there.’ Norman shifted his bum. ‘I’ve brought you these,’ he said, handing me some tablets.

‘What are they?’

‘Drugs, of course. I thought you might be getting a bit panicky by now. These will help.’

‘Splendid.’ I bunged the tablets into my mouth and washed them down with some water. ‘Nothing I like better than drugs on an empty stomach.’

‘Naomi just took her teeth out of that glass,’ said Norman. ‘But never mind. I’ve brought you the guest list. It would be really nice if you’d have another go at trying to remember who’s who amongst the who’s whos. Oh and I’ve just spoken with Lazlo Woodbine on the telephone. He says that he will be unmasking the murderer tonight. And that you probably won’t recognize him, because he will be in disguise.

‘Why will he be in disguise?’

‘To make it more exciting. So I don’t want you to worry about anything. Everything’s under control. The transportation for the celebs. The food, the drink, the drugs, the music, the decorations, the floor shows, the lot. All you have to do is be there. Everything is exactly how it should be.’

I sipped at my tea. No sugar. I spat out my tea. ‘But will anyone actually come? I mean, the Doveston is dead, will people still want to come to his party?’

‘Of course they will. And it was written on the invitations: “In the unlikely event of the host being blown into tiny pieces in a freak accident involving dynamite and catapult elastic, the party will definitely still go ahead. Bring bottle and bird. Be there or be square.

‘He certainly was a class act.’

‘He was a regular Rupert.’

‘Bear, or Brooke?’

‘Bear,’ said Norman. ‘Definitely bear.’

Oh how we laughed. Well, it was a good ‘un.

‘Right then,’ said Norman. ‘That’s enough of that. I have to go and make a few final adjustments to my peacock suit. You have another run through the guest list. Ta ta for now.’ And with that said, he upped and left, slamming the door behind him.

I flung the portfolio onto the floor and myself on top of Naomi. I shagged and showered and shaved and shagged some more. And then I went down for my breakfast.

After breakfast, I inspected the great hall. Lawrence had finally completed his work and the vast Gothic room had been transformed into his personal vision of an oriental palace.

The ancient stone walls had been daubed a violent red, with Chinese characters crudely stencilled in yellow. Strings of plastic fruit — mandarin oranges and lychees — hung over the minstrels’ gallery. A few balloons lay scattered about and a sign saying ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’ had fallen down from above the doorway. Dangling from the central chandelier was something that I at first took to be a dead dog. On closer inspection this proved to be a Chinese dragon, imaginatively formed from sticky-backed plastic and Fairy Liquid bottles with their names blacked out.

Lawrence had gone a little over the five-hundred-pound budget. About one hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds over, according to his invoice.

I took up my mobile phone and tapped out a sequence of numbers. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Rapscallion. Masser Edwin here. Find Lawrence and kill him. Goodbye.’

The sun came out from behind a cloud and up on high the angels sang.

I won’t bore the reader with the details of my day. You know what it’s like when you’re trying to organize a big party and you want everything to be ‘just so’. You fuss over the silliest things. Should the Château-Lafite 1822 be served in champagne flutes or half-pint mugs? Big spoons or small spoons for pâté de foie gras, or just dig in with the fingers? What if the donkey you’ve hired for the floor show can’t get a stiffy on? Will the monkeys’ heads fit through the little holes you’ve had cut in the dining table? Does everybody’s party bag have the same number of Smarties in it?

Throughout the afternoon, Norman maintained a vigilant position at the gates. I’d had him up the security at Castle Doveston. Inner fortifications had been built; pits dug and lined with bamboo spikes (painted over with invisible paint, so as not to spoil the look of the grounds). But I was still very worried. The Doveston’s obsession with security had not been ill-founded, but they’d got to him and they might well get to me.

Norman was seeing to it that absolutely nothing that wasn’t listed in the big portfolio got through the gates.

The Great Millennial Ball was no secret. News crews and crowds had once more formed about the perimeter fence, eager to view the arriving who’s whos. Norman kept a careful eye on them.

Whenever I wasn’t bothering the chef, the catering staff, the performers, the dwarves, my long-legged lady friends, the human ashtrays or the donkey, I found time to bother Norman.

‘Watcha doing now?’ I asked him.

‘Bugger off,’ said Norman. ‘I’m busy.’

‘What are those?’ I pointed towards a convoy of long black lorries that was heading our way. Impressive-looking lorries they were, with blacked-out windscreens and the Gaia logo on their fronts.

Norman scratched at his head and then disentangled his fingers from his fat hair. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘They’re a bit of a mystery, actually. They’re listed in the big portfolio and there are special parking places marked out for them in the grounds. But I’ve absolutely no idea what’s inside them.’

‘Perhaps it’s the bouncy castles,’ I suggested.

Norman made the face that says ‘you twat’. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said. ‘But now please bugger off’

I buggered off

‘And bugger off from here too,’ said the chef I buggered off to my bedroom.

I sat upon my bed and worried. I wasn’t panicking too much, the drugs had seen to that. But I was worried. I was déjà vuing all the time nowadays. And getting flashes of what was to come. I knew that something awful was going to occur, for, after all, I had glimpsed the future. But it was all so confused and I just couldn’t get a grip on how things were going to happen.

As I sat there, memories returned to me. Memories of another time, long long ago, when I had sat upon my bed before another party. The now legendary Puberty Party of 1963. That party had ended very badly for me and even more badly for my dear old dog, Biscuit. Biscuit had been blown to buggeration by the Doveston, now blown to buggeration himself

How would this party end? Any better? I had my doubts.