‘Oh. I’ll be forty in August.’

He shrugs. ‘I’m much older than that.’

‘I wouldn’t have guessed,’ she says politely.

He nods. ‘It’s the May dew.’

The horn sounds again. He looks up. ‘They’re coming.’

The Queen and some woad-streaked courtiers emerge from the forest, some shirtless and carrying torches. Around the circle people start drumming. Pete looks at Mel and moves closer to her. The courtiers shake blossomed branches in time to the drums. Their eyes are hectic.

‘Pinned,’ says Pete.

‘Not the queen,’ says Mel.

‘No, not her. But the others.’

The Queen’s face is smeared with charcoal, and some of her eyeshadow has come off. Her hair is frizzier than ever.

Chris stands. He is wearing a heavy mantle, and his pelt over it. He carries the horned headdress, the veil and the cloak.

The circle breaks to let the Queen through.

‘The axis of the earth is increasing its tilt relative to the sun,’ she shouts, her voice big and hoarse, and everyone cheers and pummels their drums and shakes their branches.

‘She’s got a pair of lungs on her, hasn’t she?’ says Pete.

‘We shall be blessed with abundance this year.’ She flings her arms skyward.

‘It sounds like a threat.’

‘And we welcome the Horned God, king of the forest.’ She throws out an arm and there is Chris, wearing the headdress. The cheering and drumming crescendoes. The female recorder player gives the loudest wolf-whistle Mel has ever heard, and the Morris men wave their sticks and bells in the air.

‘I need a woman,’ shouts Chris. There is laughter. His eyes fall on Mel.

‘Melanie,’ says Pete.

The Queen, too, looks at Mel. ‘A woman in her childbearing years who is not yet a mother,’ she shouts, and takes a step towards her. Around the circle the gaze travels towards Mel.

‘Melanie…’ says Pete, and grips her arm, but Mel gets up.

The Queen holds out a mantle to her and fastens it around her shoulders. It reaches to the ground and the hem is weighted.

‘The fire won’t burn you,’ says Chris.

‘Sit down,’ says the Queen to Pete. Rainbow pulls him back down again. The Queen and her courtiers attach the veil to Mel’s head and replace her crown.

The Queen takes off her own appliquéd sash and slips it over Mel’s head.

‘Walk on the edge of the fire,’ says Chris. ‘Just on the edge.’

‘What about my boots,’ she says, and tries to avoid the embers.

She leans experimentally into the flames for a moment. The mantle doesn’t catch.

‘Mind your hair,’ says the Queen, quietly.

The Queen lights a torch in the fire and raises it above her head. ‘Now is the time,’ she shouts.

Around the circle there is a flurry of people taking off jackets and shirts and putting them back on again. The Morris men reverse their waistcoats.