Maisie keeps her eyes fixed on the pool tiles. ‘What? It’s not even five. Can I meet you later? I’m kind of having a nice time swimming.’

‘Sorry, chick. We’re going now, and you’re coming with us.’ Becky tries so hard to sound light and casual, but she is declaring a done deal. Maisie will hate her, but the alternative is worse: giving her trust to someone who will steal from her. ‘We’re going to have fish and chips in Dungeness.’

‘You can go. I could just stay. I’m not even that hungry.’

Becky squints at the boy in the pool, and he takes her steely gaze as his cue to swim away.

‘Here, I’ll give you a pull-up,’ says Becky.

‘Jesus, Mum …’ Maisie hisses at her like an aggravated snake as she pulls herself out of the pool, spurning the offer. ‘Could you be any more annoying?’

The boy wades into the shallow end and emerges slowly out of the water like he thinks he’s in an aftershave advert. He is a few years older than her daughter. Eighteen, perhaps. He is wearing red swimming trunks that fit well around his slim waist. It is clear that he cares about his body, that he runs or lifts weights or something.

‘Maisie?’ he says. He holds himself well: his face shines with health, his hands rest on slim hips and his smile is easy. ‘I’m heading down to Camber Sands later, if you fancy it? After dinner, or something? Just if you’re into it.’

‘Sounds fun,’ she says.

Maisie, in her tangerine bikini.

‘Maybe when you turn sixteen,’ says Becky to her daughter, ever so lightly. Even as she says it, she knows she’ll pay for it but she sees the boy make the calculation. As she intended. Fifteen-year-old girl: that’s a prison sentence.

Maisie looks away from her mother, at her feet and then at the boy. She rests her hands on her waist, above where the bikini ties at her hips in bows. ‘Maybe see you later then,’ she says to the boy. ‘I’m sixteen at midnight. Maybe I’ll come and find you on the beach at 12.01.’

‘Sure,’ he says, though he seems embarrassed, caught between mother and daughter. He lowers himself back into the water.

Becky’s vision dims. ‘What did you mean by that? You’re not going out tonight.’

‘What did you mean by telling him I’m fifteen? I’m not stupid. You might as well just write “It’s illegal to have sex with me” in permanent marker on my legs. Or just draw a big “Stop!” sign over my pussy.’

‘Fucking hell, Maisie!’

‘Don’t pretend you weren’t doing that.’

‘I don’t want you skulking around on a beach on your own after dark looking for some sketchy guy you’ve known for all of two minutes.’