‘Definitely, I think my liver had enough of a pounding the other night.’

‘Mine too.’

He holds his beer bottle, tilting towards me. ‘To one of not many.’

I clink the bottle back as we toast, and I can’t help hoping that we’re worrying about nothing.

There’s still no sign of Douglas by the time that nightfall takes a grip of the campsite. Joel and I crack and have a takeaway pizza, which we eat back at the lodge with a cup of tea. We’re both doing our best not to outwardly worry about what his no-show means for him, and how it’s left us here just the two of us. When Joel starts to pace the lodge I suggest we head out to the entertainment centre.

Joel tries Douglas one last time before we go in, worried that he won’t hear his phone over the music of ‘Daz’s Disco’, but it goes straight to voicemail again. At first when he got his voicemail we’d thought it was a good sign, assuming it was because he had a dodgy signal on the train, but it’s been like that for over an hour.

‘Do you think I should phone Suz and see if she knows what’s going on?’ asks Joel.

‘Wouldn’t that only worry her? He’s not that late. He could have got stuck for a while at Bournemouth trying to change trains or it might have broken down.’

‘You’re right.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Bloody hell, do you think this is what it’s like to be a parent?’

‘I imagine it’s worse. We just have to remember that Douglas is a grown man. He’s probably just run out of battery.’

He nods and we head inside. Daz’s Disco is everything that you would expect from a holiday park. Disco lights pulsing, overly cheesy music. Vanilla Ice is pumping out of the speakers and a staff member behind the entrance desk checks our neon-pink wristband as we walk in.

‘It’s request hour,’ she says, with far more cheer than I ever had working here. ‘Fill out a form, and you’re pretty much guaranteed to have it played.’

She hands us a blank slip of paper and a pen each.

‘My mind’s gone blank,’ says Joel, turning to look at me.

‘What about a song that reminds you of this place?’ I say, with a shrug. I jot down ‘Mr Brightside’ by the Killers and I go to look at Joel’s sheet, eager to know what song he put down, but he’s already handed it to the cheery woman.

‘What did you pick?’ I ask.

We’re right by a speaker and the music’s loud. Joel shakes his head to indicate that he couldn’t hear. I lean in closer and ask again.