‘Yeah, I mean I could come and see you, but I don’t often have the car at weekends as Brett takes it, but I could catch the train. I think I only have to change at Bournemouth. Alfie does like the train, although I’ve never done it on my own with a pram, but I’m sure it’s doable. I’m sure someone would help me off with it.’

‘It sounds like it’ll be easier for me to come to you but—’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ She practically jumps at the suggestion.

‘Are you free this weekend?’

I think of the invitation to Julie’s village fête. Dad’s still hounding me to go with them, but maybe if I explain Soph had got back in touch and invited me down he might let me off.

‘Actually, my boyfriend’s on a stag do so I’m at a loose end.’

‘So you’ll come?’

‘Yes.’

‘You will?’ She’s just as surprised as I am that I’ve said yes.

‘I will.’

‘Amazing. I’m going to give you my number and you can text me as I don’t have a pen and Alfie’s asleep on me. Then I’ll text you directions and we can make a plan. Perhaps we can do a barbecue on Saturday afternoon.’

‘That sounds nice.’

She does a little squeak down the line. She rattles off her number and I jot it down, promising to text.

‘Thanks for making my week, Edie; I can’t wait to see you.’

We say our goodbyes and I put down the phone and stare at it. A shiver runs over my body.

I think of my new note to self. Going to Westerly to see Soph is exactly the type of thing past me would want me to do; I just hope that I’m brave and bold enough to actually go through with it.

Chapter 8

The traffic starts to lighten as I turn off the main road towards Westerly. Everyone else is heading off to the thatched cottage villages or the golden beaches further towards the coast. The town of Westerly boasts a nice little street of waterfront houses, but they’re on the banks of the river rather than the sea, and it doesn’t get the same number of day trippers as other more picturesque towns in the county. But it’s a big, bustling market town nonetheless.

I come to a roundabout on the edge of the town and Hartland’s Holiday Park is signposted. I grip the steering wheel tighter, almost tempted to drive right round the roundabout and head back home, but I make my way to Soph’s.