Evie clapped her hands together. ‘Why don’t we make it a party? We could fork out for a taxi so we can all enjoy ourselves properly. It says the festival’s sponsored by the Cyder Farm.’

Sam could have hugged Evie. She’d probably guessed that Sam would be happier in a gang, even if it did include two pensioners.

‘That sounds like a much better idea,’ said Zennor. ‘I’m up for it if cider’s involved.’

‘You’re not eighteen yet, maid,’ said Troy.

‘One small one won’t hurt her,’ said Evie. ‘And we can all keep an eye on her.’

Zennor giggled. ‘Can I ask Ben? He’s having a shitty – sorry crappy – time at home at the moment.’ She shot a look at Sam.

‘The more the merrier,’ said Drew. ‘Shall I go ahead and book a minibus?’

As her companions buzzed with excitement, Sam peeled the flyer from the table and held it up. The evening rays shone through the soggy paper and the words had merged: bands, festival, food …

Their mother had loved a sing and a dance. She always enjoyed hearing the fishermen’s choir and the town band and liked nothing better than when everyone joined in at the end of the evening with a rousing chorus of ‘Trelawney’. And she loved seeing the streets packed on a sizzling summer day or taking the girls and Ryan to the Flora Dance at Helston or the Obby Oss on May Day in Padstow. Their father walked out on the family when Sam was very young and her mum, Roz, had brought them up on her own. She pictured her mum dancing on the beach at Newquay as the sun set, a flower garland in her hair, holding hands with Sam and Zennor … At the memory of those carefree times, and the reminder of what she’d lost, her heart physically ached. Sam longed to experience that again, to see Porthmellow’s streets alive with music and laughter, a buzz in the town … joy and fun …

‘Sam?’ Evie’s hand was on her arm. ‘Are you all right? Will you come?’

Sam forced a smile to her lips. ‘Yes … yes. Why not? Let’s go … but actually, I’ve got another idea.’

‘What’s that, my love?’ said Evie softly.

All eyes turned to Sam and before she could chicken out, she spoke her thoughts as they tumbled through her brain.

‘This might be mad but … why don’t we kill two birds with one stone? Go to the event, but treat it as a research trip too? I mean, look around us. The town’s going downhill fast right at a time when local people need help. We need to attract more visitors and really put this place on the map. Make it famous for something.’

‘Yeah, but for what? We’re just another Cornish harbour town with vicious seagulls, weird locals and crap weather,’ said Zennor.