In contrast, she saw her mum as clear as day, as if she were standing in front of the girls now. Roz Lovell had been slim and pretty even in her late forties, always stylishly if Bohemianly dressed in clothes she’d ‘re-purposed’ from charity shops and festivals. With only one parent working as an art lecturer at the local college, there had never been a lot of money around at Wavecrest, but there had been plenty of creativity and laughter.

Zennor looked a lot like her mother, apart from the green hair. Sam’s own light brown curls were her mum’s too, but her mother, always honest, had said her oldest daughter had her father’s features. Barry Lovell had left them when she was only eight. From the few photos of him, Sam found it hard to judge. Ryan had looked like their mum, in Sam’s opinion, but maybe that was because she didn’t want to think her brother took after their father in any way.

‘I’m not even sure we all have the same dad. How do we know?’ Zennor had once said.

‘Because Mum said so. Her word was good enough for me,’ Sam had replied with a fierceness that surprised even herself.

Plus, the two girls looked just like each other. Or they would, if Zennor didn’t have mojito-coloured hair. She lifted a tendril.

‘Do you like it?’ Zennor swished her locks. ‘It is very mermaidy. Ben said it was “cool” and I didn’t even need to ask him first.’

‘Wow. That’s progress.’ Sam pictured Ben, six feet five of gawky awkwardness who took the idea of ‘strong but silent’ to the extreme, in Sam’s opinion. Half the time, you could hardly get a word out of him he was so shy. Sam had been amazed that he’d volunteered for the festival committee. On the other hand, Zennor had enough to say for the pair of them. ‘I’m still sure he’s completely smitten with you.’

Zennor sighed. ‘I thought so too, once, but he’s keeping it very well hidden if he does fancy me. We’ve known each other since school so I’ve given up waiting for him to say anything. He’s a brilliant designer and I trust him as a business partner one hundred per cent and he is gorgeous in a geeky has-no-idea-of-his-own-attractiveness way.’

‘Isn’t that the best way?’ Sam said, remembering how Gabe’s lack of ego and lack of respect for appearances had attracted her when she was younger. He’d brushed off all the abuse while he was serving at the fish and chip shop – some of it bordering on racist – but it must have stung.

‘Sam?’

‘Ow!’

Zennor had touched her arm with the cold glass, making Sam squeak like the pigs.

‘You were miles away.’

‘Yeah …’ Sam looked down at her hands. ‘Gabe’s coming back to Porthmellow.’