I made a lame attempt at a "cheers" gesture with the tankard then opened the lid. In the brief glimpse I got as I brought the brim to my lips I saw that the liquid inside was purplish red, wine of some kind I presumed – but as the liquid slid past my teeth and across my tongue I instantly realised it was like no wine I'd ever tasted. Thick and raw and earthy, it left a tingling numbness at the back of my throat as I swallowed it. Then, of course, I worked out the second word of Julia's message: don't swallow. I lowered the Loving Cup and saw that Mr Stephens was smiling at me.
I felt the liquid trace icy fingers down the inside of my chest. As it reached my stomach something strange happened: the sudden twist of panic that had formed there when I'd understood Julia's warning just as suddenly unravelled and went away. A warm, fuzzy glow began to spread outwards through my body.
'Please,' said Mr Stephens, 'have some more.'
I did.
It was very kind of Mr Stephens (I decided, drinking) to be so generous. In fact I suddenly felt enormously impressed and touched by the hospitable way I'd been treated by the whole Stephens family. It wasn't just the chicken; it wasn't the Loving Cup and what it contained, though whatever the liquid was (I reflected, gulping more) it was definitely extremely special and delicious and good. No: what got to me most at that moment was the way that the Stephenses had opened up to me. They'd let me in, accepted me as one of their own without prejudice or preconditions – me, an outsider, someone they'd barely met. Surely the trust they'd shown me deserved my trust in return. After all, they might be strange but - like I'd told Julia in the car - all families are weird.
'What's more important than family, Ali?' asked Mr Stephens, while I continued to drink.
'Nothing,' he answered for me, kindly, so I didn't have to stop. 'Nothing's more important than family.'
I swallowed the last of the liquid. I tipped back the tankard hoping for more but it was all gone. Very carefully and almost soundlessly except for a clank when my hand shook, I set the tankard back on the table.
Then I began to feel strange. There were purple-brown shadows at the corners of my eyesight. There was a high, piping whistle in my ears. My mouth started watering furiously and I was suddenly and horribly afraid I was going to be sick.
'Excuse me,' I said, getting to my feet, then grabbing the chair-back as I nearly fell over. 'I'm just…' I looked for the rest of what I'd been trying to say, but it wasn't there. 'I'll be right back,' I improvised. Then I headed for the doors.
...
'Ali!' Someone was shaking me. 'Ali, wake up!'
I was lying on a bed. It was the softest, most comfortable bed I'd ever slept on. It felt wonderful, and I was particularly delighted to be lying on it because I had no memory whatsoever of how I'd got there. My only wish was that whoever was shaking me would stop so I could go back to sleep: for a moment, as if in answer to my wish, the shaking did stop. But then Julia slapped me across the face.
'Ow! Julia, what do you want?'
'Get up,' she told me in a hoarse whisper. 'We've got to get out of here, right now.'
We were in the red room. I was lying on the four-poster bed, on top of the covers, with all my clothes on. Beyond the velvet curtains, which were open, I could see a full moon. That was the only light in the room.
'How long have I been asleep?' I asked, rubbing my eyes.
'You're lucky to wake up,' hissed Julia. 'What were you thinking? Didn't you see me trying to tell you not to drink it?'
