She still had to pinch herself at how the festival had grown since that first mad idea outside the Smuggler’s Tavern. Blinking raindrops from her eyes, she tried not to look down. She was only six feet up on the stepladder, but it was more than enough for someone who hated heights at the best of times. This was most definitely not the best of times. The rain and wind had been torrential since she’d set out from the cottage at six a.m., hoping to get the posters up before she had to get things going at Stargazey Pie. It was hard to believe it was the start of May.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to clip the cable tie around a council sign warning people not to drive off the quay. One false move and she could topple onto the cobbles or plunge through the deck of the Marisco. Now, that would go down really well with Drew: a great big Sam-shaped hole in his precious boat. Her fingers were slippery and numb with cold, but she wanted to have the posters up now spring was – allegedly – well underway. Hordes of people would start to flock to the town and hopefully flock back again at the end of June for the festival.

‘Woof! Woof! Woooffffff!’

Sam gripped the ladder as deafening barks rang out across the harbour. Her foot slipped and she had to let go of the poster to hang on. It fell onto the wet cobbles and into a large oily puddle. Still holding on for dear life, Sam twisted round to see a Rottweiler jumping up and drooling as it tried to sniff – or possibly taste – her feet.

A woman in a long leather coat and a Megadeth T-shirt glared up at Sam as she struggled to hold the beast back. Sam steeled herself. ‘Morning, Bryony. Mizzly out here today, isn’t it?’

Bryony prodded the laminated poster with the toe of her Doc Martens. ‘I’d hoped you’d decided to give the festival a rest for a year.’ The dog barked again so Bryony ramped up her own volume. ‘My Sacha hates all the noise and smells.’

Bryony stroked Sacha’s head while Sam tried to let the words wash over her. It didn’t do to argue with Bryony, Cornwall’s self-declared canine expert and the most unlikely metal fan on the planet. Woe betide anyone who dared question her views on dogs, music … or the festival, or tourists, or the weather, or anything else. Sam had often thought that if Professor Stephen Hawking had ever visited Porthmellow, Bryony would have been sure to take issue with his theories on black holes. She lived in a small house not far from Wavecrest Cottage. Sam often heard Sacha barking from fifty metres away.