Ellen smiles, and hesitates by one of the parrot sun loungers.

'Christ, where on earth did you get the chairs?'

'Gran and Reg.'

'I'm glad I've got my sunglasses on.'

'They're very comfy.'

'They'd have to be.'

By six the beach is lovely, still warm, but without the chilly breeze that sometimes blows in at the end of the day. I'm wearing my grey mohair shawl with the silver beads around the edge, and everyone's complimenting me on my dress. Ellen's even painted my toenails for me, which I've pretty much given up on until I'm less spherical, and she's making her special punch, which is usually lethal so I've been adding lemonade when she's not looking. Not that I'm going to be drinking any, but I'm not sure any of us are quite ready for a completely plastered Elsie.

'God, this is perfect. Fuck spending hours in departures and then twelve hours on a bloody plane when you get a view like this.'

The tide's gone right out now, and the kids are building sandcastles and army bases to some complicated plan of their own devising, running backwards and forwards to the sea with buckets of water. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, and I've got more birthday cards than I've had since I was little. They all seem to have brought a present, which is sweet; Maggie from the library has given me a lovely old copy of Mrs Beeton, after we were talking about how much we love reading recipe books at last week's Stitch and Bitch, and Tina and Linda have brought me posh-looking bath stuff for pregnant people, and are busy admiring my fabulous new cream-leather handbag from Ellen. Olivia and Polly are giving it very longing looks in between trying to sneak glasses of punch when their mothers aren't watching.

The food has all worked beautifully, mainly because Mark arrived early and arranged rosemary twigs on the barbecue and did something clever to the chicken with olive oil and herbs. But the best bit is how relaxed it all is: everyone seems to be having fun, without me feeling like I'm in charge. People are sitting on blankets they've brought with them, chatting or wandering down for a paddle, or in Tina's case trying to stop Travis from swimming off into the sunset.

Fireman Graham is helping with the barbecue too, and Maxine and Bruno have arrived with a beautifully wrapped bottle of Caleche, which is my favourite perfume, as Maxine cleverly winkled out of me ages ago, and Bruno's sharing dog tips with Martin while Tom and Jerry and Trevor dash in and out of the sea with the kids. It's perfect, and I can't believe we've only been here a year, because it feels like we've lived her for ever.

I'm having a paddle when Maxine says she and Bruno have to get back to Grace.

'But thanks, Jo. This was great.'

'You're welcome, and thanks so much for the perfume.'

'No problem. I haven't been to a beach party where people actually eat anything for years. It was great nice normal people, really relaxing.' She turns to smile at Ellen, who's been busy trying to bond with her in the hopes of landing an exclusive with Grace. 'Good to meet you again, Ellen, and if she decides to do an interview you'll be the first to know.'

'Really?'

'No.'

Ellen laughs.

'Fair enough. But I promise I wouldn't do a hatchet job.'

'I know, and I'll add you to the list, I promise. Jo, I'll call you.'

She kisses me, and we walk up the steps with them and wave as they drive off, with Bruno tooting.

'Nice woman. Always a good sign when the PAs aren't desperate to tell you what bitches their bosses are. And Dovetail seemed to be getting on really well with Bruno.'

'They like sharing dog tips, and stop calling him Dovetail. He doesn't talk about wood nearly so much now.'

'He does if he's telling you all about his bloody barn conversion. What's it like?'

'Very muddy at the moment, but I think it'll be beautiful.'

'You should get a move on. I was watching him earlier where did he get that tan?'

'Working on his roof.'

'Well, take him out, get him drunk, and see what happens. At least you won't have to worry about getting pregnant.'

'Ellen, please.'

'Please what? Nice bit of flirting won't do you any harm. I know, let's dump the kids and go out clubbing. What are the choices round here?'

'Bingo.'

'Or?'

'Going home and making hot chocolate.'

'Dear God. I should have brought my slippers.'

'You haven't got any.'

'I have. Mules. With feathers on. Harry bought them for me. One of his guilt presents after one of his disappearing acts. Let's bring Dovetail home with us and play strip bingo then.'

'Mum, tell Jack to stop bossing me. Boss, boss, boss. That's all he does.'

'Ignore him, love. You're not spoiling his game, are you?'

'No, me and Nelly are doing our own boat, in the sand. And it's much better than his. Come and see.'

Ellen's talking to Gran as I collect up the bowls from the barbecue. She looks very pleased with herself.

'Right, that's all sorted.'

'What is?'

'Your gran will take the boys home, and we can go off for a drink. I thought we'd head to a bar in Whitstable. There's bound to be somewhere there.'

'I suppose, but '

'It's fine, the kids are fine. Shut up.' She turns to Martin. 'Do you fancy joining us?'

'I'd love to, but I've got Trevor. I could ask Dad if he'll take him home for me though.'

'Great.'

Ellen winks at me.

Oh God. Poor Jeffrey.

Whitstable's pretty busy when we arrive, at least the wine bars and restaurants are, but Ellen somehow manages to wangle us an outside table on a terrace overlooking the beach; being Britain's Favourite Broadcaster definitely has its advantages.

She's introducing Martin to a selection of her favourite cocktails while Harry tells me how much he wants to move out of London.

'What are the prices like round here? Maybe we could get a weekend place, something with a view of the sea.'

'It would set you back a fair bit in Whitstable, but there are still a few villages near by that are pretty reasonable.'

'I've always wanted to live by the sea. What do you think, darling? Shall we buy a house down here?'

'No, I'm trying to get Jo to move back to London, not the other way round.'

'I've told you, Ellen, I like it down here.'

'See? She's not moving, so what do you say, light of my life? Fancy a weekend cottage?' He starts kissing her shoulder.

'No way.'

'We could get something to do up, like Martin.'

'Yes, except DIY isn't exactly your strong point, is it, my darling? Unlike Martin, who knows what he's doing.'

'Well, we'll get the experts in then, and I'll have you know I sanded my uncle's boat one summer, and that went all right. And we varnished it as well. It took bloody days.'

Martin puts his glass down.

'What kind of wood was it?'

They're off, talking about boats and special deck wax as Ellen shakes her head.

'Let's order something else.'

Ellen turns to look for the waitress as a woman comes over and stands staring at her, swaying slightly.

'Are you that one off the telly?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

She goes back to her friends.

'Bloody hell. I definitely need another drink now.'

The waitress comes over, and returns with something involving vodka in three tall glasses.

'Are you sure you don't want anything? Another juice?'

'Actually, what I'd really like is tea, but I don't suppose '

'Sure, no problem.'

Brilliant. I'm out on a Saturday night in my best frock, being a grown-up, and I can still have a cup of tea.

Ellen's laughing.

'Cheers, darling.'

'Christ.'

'What's the matter, Martin? Is the vodka starting to hit home? Drink it slowly and you'll be fine, darling Aunty Ellen will take care of you.'

'No, it's Patricia.'

'Who?'

'My ex-wife. With Phil.'

Ellen and I exchange glances, and turn towards the doors on to the terrace. There's a tall woman in a minuscule dress, with dark hair. I always thought she'd be blonde. She's hesitating, looking for a table, and then she sees him, and so does Phil, in his casual shirt and jeans with slightly too high a waist.

Martin seems to be shrinking into his seat.

'Oh no, she's coming over.'

Ellen laughs.

'Let me handle this, darling. Just follow my lead, OK?'

I give her a warning look. Which she ignores.

'OK. Bandits at ten o'clock. This is going to be fun. Harry, put your arm around me.'

'Why?'

'For fuck's sake, just do it. Christ, you really can't get the help any more.'

He smiles and puts his arm across her shoulders as she moves her chair a bit nearer to his.

'Just watch it, OK? I don't want anything kicking off I'm too knackered.'

She smiles.

Oh God.

'Martin.'

'Hello, Patricia.'

'Fancy seeing you here.'