‘Don’t worry, it’ll blow over,’ she said to Izzie in a low voice. ‘There’s no harm done, I’m sure.’

Famous last words. With Seren still sobbing and blood dripping onto the sand, George decreed that they should go back and clean her up. ‘She might need a stitch, but let’s see how her leg’s looking, once we’re back and able to assess it properly,’ he said.

Em felt her spirits plummet. A stitch? If Seren ended up in A&E – or, worse, came back from this holiday with a scar – Charlotte would never forgive George or her, especially if it was Em’s child to blame.

The mood in the car was sour, with Seren still sniffling tearfully, and Izzie scowling. George had gone all serious and a little bit cold, and Em felt worse and more responsible by the second. If she hadn’t been so quick to fob Seren off on Izzie, this would never have happened. Why had she been so petty and stubborn about not collecting shells with the little girl? She had behaved abominably!

Back at the cottage, they had barely got through the front door before Seren was saying, ‘Phone Mummy. Phone Mummy!’ again and again. ‘You promised, Daddy! I want to talk to her!’

‘Oh, great, so you can lie to her, too?’ Izzie muttered, scowling, but unfortunately her voice carried to George, who gave her a frosty look.

‘Izzie, that’s enough. She’s only seven and she’s upset,’ he snapped, as they trooped inside. ‘Have a bit more sympathy.’ He turned back to Seren, his features softening. ‘Let’s get that leg cleaned up first, lovely.’

‘She’s so mean to me!’ wept Seren, tears pouring copiously now. ‘Just because I heard what she said. About kissing a man’s boyfriend.’

‘WHAT?’ yelped Jack, honking with laughter. ‘Kissing a man’s boyfriend?’

‘Oh, shut up, Seren, you little—’

‘IZZIE!’ roared Em as Izzie lunged towards the girl. ‘That’s quite enough.’

Izzie’s face clenched and for a moment Em feared she was about to turn on her – she’d always had a hot temper, right from when she was tiny and her favourite word had been ‘NO!’ – but Izzie merely swung away, eyes glittering, and pounded upstairs.

Em tracked down the first-aid kit and George began dabbing some of the sand away from the scrape on Seren’s leg. And it was only a scrape, thank goodness. It had already stopped bleeding, leaving a graze where the top layer of skin had come off. ‘There, all done,’ George said, sticking a plaster on top. ‘I think you’ll live.’