freaky marionettes again. Please, no.’
‘You love it really,’ I grin, turning it up. ‘And it doesn’t matter if you don’t know the words because anyone can warble a yodel. Come on, let’s sing!’
Despite Hope’s protest, she is soon yodelling along with the rest of us, Connie and I linking arms and whirling in a dance that’s more Cotton-Eye Joe than an Austrian reel. It’s liberating to be spinning, the room passing by in a blur while we make nonsensical noises that we pass off as singing. Most of all, it’s fun and we don’t stop twirling and yodelling until Julie Andrews herself flops at the end of the song.
‘Lay-ee-odl-ee-odl-oo!’ sings Connie, determined to get in one last hoorah. The booze has gone to her head, I can tell by the way her strong yet thin legs are wavering. She gives in to the wobble, landing on her bottom with a giggle and a bump. My own head is muzzy with the hazy rush of alcohol and a light-headedness from pushing my burdens to the back of my mind.
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