Amelia raised her eyebrows. She had never been good at tennis. Never been sporty.

‘Ah, no, you’re thinking of Lark,’ her mum chipped in. ‘Lark is my sporty one. Well she was, until recently.’ She looked at Amelia. ‘Rosamund used to be the Northern Indoor Champion.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to play you then.’ Amelia knew she sounded stiff and awkward, and a strange little grunt – meant to be a laugh – was expelled from her mouth.

‘Rosamund’s an amazing swimmer too, aren’t you, Rosamund?’

‘Enough, Caroline,’ Rosamund said. ‘You’re making me sound like a superhero.’

‘Well, in some ways you are.’

Please stop, Mum! You sound far too needy. It was like she was trying to impress the most popular girl at school.

The man and teenage girl approached carrying holdalls, both smiling.

‘Ah, this is my husband – Neil,’ Rosamund said. ‘And my daughter – Elise.’

‘Stepdaughter,’ Elise snapped.

Neil put his arm around Rosamund’s waist. She stood taller than him, and although his stance gave off a confident, self-assured vibe, there was something jittery about him under the surface. He pushed back his neat brown hair with his fingers. ‘It’s good to put a face to the courageous woman Rosamund talks so much about.’

Amelia sucked in a sigh, and turned to the teenage girl with her nose in a phone with a glittery pink “E” on the case. ‘The signal’s bad up here,’ the girl said, shoving it in her pocket.

‘It’s erratic,’ Amelia agreed. And while she had her attention added, ‘I’ve got a sister about your age. She’s here, so maybe you two could team up. Have some fun. At least you won’t be bored.’

‘Does she like Monopoly?’

‘Maybe. Well, she used to.’

Elise shrugged. ‘No big deal if she doesn’t. I rarely get bored anyway.’ Her fringe was pinned back from her forehead with clips, revealing a rash of tiny freckles across her otherwise pale face and turned-up nose. She tucked her fair, collar-length hair behind her ears. ‘I like to read,’ she said. She was well spoken, but sharp. ‘I’ve brought some books to study.’ She looked up at her father, with her bright blue eyes, and smiled. ‘I hate taking time out of school, but as long as I make use of my time here wisely, it should be OK.’

‘Elise is a good girl,’ Neil said, ruffling her hair, and she giggled, looking up at him once more.

The girl was different to Lark, younger by a year or so – sixteen probably – and clearly a lover of pink, if her padded jacket was anything to go by. Amelia wasn’t sure they would get on anyway; Elise was still a child, Lark a young woman.