Zennor was just one more kid who thought they were invincible … same as their brother, Ryan, had. Same as Sam’s ex Gabe used to do when they were kids. She could picture Gabe now, in his board shorts, lean and slender, his smooth olive skin glistening with water as he climbed again to the top of the wall around the pub.

People would jeer or urge him on, but Gabe never cared what anyone else in Porthmellow thought – except perhaps for Sam.

She’d stand by, trying to act cool while all the time her heart would be in her mouth. What if he hit his head on the rocks or some piece of rubbish under the water? She remembered the time he’d vanished underneath and not come up as quickly as usual; he’d been under just long enough to make her squeal out in horror and cause everyone to stare at her. Then he’d popped up yards away by a boat. She’d been ready to jump in after him … ready to risk it all to save him.

Not anymore.

At twenty-one, her days of risking life and limb for a bit of a laugh were long gone, She had too many responsibilities these days.

A loud scream startled her out of her reverie, but it was followed by gales of laughter from the teenagers.

Troy clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Bloody dangerous. Harbourmaster would like to stop it but there’s no point. Kids’ll do it anyway.’

‘Zennor’s no kid,’ Sam said, ‘but I can’t stop her. I thought she’d have grown out of it by now.’

‘She’s just having a bit of fun. I’d have a go myself if my knees would let me. How old is she? Fifteen?’ said Evie.

‘Just,’ said Sam.

‘She’ll soon stop when boys get on the scene,’ said Drew.

‘They already are. Ben Blazey’s up there too,’ said Sam, spotting a skinny young lad in a shortie.

Evie laughed. ‘Young Zennor will eat him for breakfast. He never says boo to a goose, that boy.’

‘He creates enough racket on that scooter of his,’ Troy grumbled. ‘How he makes it over from Mousehole to here without killing himself I don’t know.’

Drew smirked at Sam and she bit back a giggle.

Evie held up a finger. ‘Ah, thanks for reminding me, Troy.’ She delved in a large shopping bag. ‘Have you seen this?’

‘What’s that?’

She spread a crumpled flyer on the table. ‘Picked it up in town the other day when I went to my computer class. Thought you might fancy coming?’

Sam peered at the leaflet. ‘Autumn Festival on Mousehole quayside. Folk Bands. Hog roast. Food fair. Cookery demos. Cider tent. Sounds good.’