I do a double-take when I see Chloe. Yesterday she’d been wearing one of those floaty things women wear on holiday, but now she’s in a bikini. Her legs are long, smooth and a pale gold. She’s sitting on a sun-lounger, rubbing oil down her shins. Her dark hair has fallen forward over her shoulder and she looks like a young woman. How did this happen? It doesn’t seem two minutes since she was Ruby-May’s age.

I never saw her as often as Lotte and Theo – I know they’re only six and eight, but I’m not as clued up about Chloe, so when I did see her, I’d make those ridiculous comments adults always make about children: Wow, you’ve lost your baby teeth; God, you’ve grown; What, you’re at secondary school? You’re fourteen? She’s still frozen in my mind aged ten, with braces and bony knees and her hair in plaits, and it was kind of okay because of being her step-uncle and not a proper relative, as I wasn’t expected to remember her birthday or anything useful. And now she’s almost sixteen.

I glance at Luca to see if he’s noticed Chloe’s practical nudity, ready to be belligerent on my niece’s behalf if he so much as glances at her toes, but he’s completely absorbed in playing with Lotte and Theo. Not that the other men on the beach have any such qualms. It’s packed with Italians as brown as hazelnuts. I watch the men as their eyes drift lazily over Chloe, assessing her, and as if their skulls are as transparent as fish tanks, I can see the flicker of their thoughts shoaling through those shallow depths. I know what they want to do to her. Bad enough being the kid’s uncle; Matt must constantly be contemplating murder.

I pull a sun-lounger over to the side of our group and drop a towel over it. It’s from the holiday house. We’re not supposed to take them to the beach, but I don’t own such a thing as a beach towel. I keep my T-shirt on and roll my shorts up. I’m nearly blinded by the glare from my white legs. I glance at Chloe again. She’s got her headphones clamped over her ears, a pink iPad and her phone peeking out of her bag. She doesn’t look particularly happy. I wonder if it’s a teenage phase, or boyfriend trouble, or that she really doesn’t want to be on holiday with a bunch of grown-ups and two small kids. Not that I blame her. Amy and Matt don’t seem to have noticed or, if they have, they’re ignoring her mood.