The summer before I started university, I’d had my heart set on going interrailing. I’d been dating my boyfriend Scott for almost two years, and back then that felt like a lifetime. I’d been heartbroken at the thought that he and his best mate were going away for a whole month around Europe. On one of the many occasions when I’d been moaning about our impending separation, he’d invited me to tag along, and I’d jumped at the chance. The only slight complication was that I’d have to convince my parents, who’d ultimately be funding the trip, to let me go.

Despite the comprehensive presentation about the cultural experiences I’d have and how I’d pay them back working at university, my parents weren’t thrilled about the idea. At first, I thought they were saying no because they wanted to exploit a cheap labour source by having me work at Porter’s over the summer, or that they wanted to keep me close for our last summer together before I moved away. But then they tried to make me see it through Scott’s friend’s eyes and how I’d be turning him into a third wheel on his own trip. They suggested that I concentrate on earning money for university and that Scott and I could go the year after. And when they put it like that, a trip just the two of us did sound more appealing, especially when we could visit places like Paris and Venice, the cities of love.

‘So, I take it you think I should work for you at Porter’s then?’ I said with a groan.

My dad went to speak, but my mum put her hand on his arm and interrupted him.

‘Actually, I think you should go to Hartland’s. The summer I spent working there changed my life.’ She looked over at Dad and they shared one of their sickeningly in love glances. ‘Lionel’s still there, running the show. I could give him a shout.’

It was a story I’d heard many times before: Mum met Dad when she was working at the reception at Hartland’s Holiday Park when she was sixteen and he was holidaying with his friends. Mum got roped in to judge a knobbly knees competition in which Dad was taking part. He might have got last place in the competition, but he ended up with her phone number, so he always said he was the true winner.

We used to go there on holiday a lot when I was little. It was a special place for our family. But as the business started to do better, they had the money to holiday abroad and instead we visited Westerly for daytrips.

‘You never know, you might meet the man you’re going to marry there just as I did.’

I groaned. ‘I’ve already met him, and he’s going interrailing.’