‘Hamish doesn’t like dancing,’ said Cass.

‘Yeah, well, he could come along for the company,’ said Stephen.

‘I expect he’ll turn up,’ said his mother.

‘You looking forward to going home, Steve?’ Bruce asked Stephen.

‘Yeah, we’ll see how it goes,’ said Stephen.

‘When are you off?’ Bruce persisted.

‘He’s with us for the summer,’ said Cass. ‘Ages yet.’

‘Guess I’ll head to London when I’m done here,’ said Stephen. ‘I’m not in any rush to go back.’

Hearing himself say these words surprised him. He missed his family, sometimes acutely, and yet his life at home felt almost like someone else’s life, now.

‘I did a season on a cattle farm up north when I was about your age,’ said Bruce.

‘In Australia?’ asked Cass.

‘Yes. They were old friends of my parents, who’d emigrated. They thought it would teach me some discipline, farm-work. It did, too. Bloody long days. We had to get up at dawn and ride for hours, some mornings.’

‘They’re pretty big, a lot of those cattle farms,’ said Stephen.

‘Huge,’ said Bruce.

‘I don’t think Stephen is going to learn much discipline from us,’ said Cass.

‘No,’ said Carolyn. ‘I don’t expect he is.’

Hamish appeared in the kitchen at Stony Hill Farm a couple of days later.

‘Oh good,’ said Nick. ‘I need some brawn, I want to shift around a couple of things in my studio. If you’re here I might go and find Stephen, then you can both give me a hand.’

‘Sure,’ said Hamish.

‘Dad! He’s not your private removal man,’ Georgie protested.

Georgie and Cass were out in the yard standing around when they’d finished.

‘Shall we go up to the orchard?’ Hamish suggested.

‘Or for a dip in the river?’ Georgie said.

‘Orchard,’ said Cass, and somehow that decided it.

Right up at the top, just below the summit of the hill, was an old dovecote. It was a round building, with many patches where the plaster had come off. There were holes in the roof and no door, but the walls still had the wooden partitions where the birds would have nested, stacked like so many open shoeboxes. It would have been nicer to sit on the grass beneath the trees, but they trooped in and sat instead on the earth floor of the dovecote, like children making a camp.

‘I’ve got something for us,’ said Hamish. He pulled a small leather wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and from it produced a little fold of paper. Inside were four tiny squares of paper.

‘What is it?’ asked Georgie.

‘Acid,’ said Cass.

‘But doesn’t that make you go crazy and think you can fly and stuff?’ asked Georgie.

‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want,’ said Hamish.

‘Will it be OK though?’ asked Georgie.