Poor Dan.

Still, as my sister said, this is the best way to find out if we have a future.

I try to chat to Mel, but it’s hard not to tune into the conversations around us. My left ear picks up Dad extolling the many virtues of crazy golf to Casey, and my right hears my mother interrogating Dan.

So far, he’s surviving. More than that. He’s telling her nuggets about himself I’ve never heard before: the bands he’s worked with, the places he’s visited. I try to focus on Mel’s stories about potty-training Felix . . .

‘Right, Casey has never been on the pier, or in fact any pier,’ Dad announces, ‘and it’s high time we corrected that very sad state of affairs.’

I haven’t been to the pier since Andrew died, though we came on our one and only wedding anniversary.

A lifetime ago.

Being here with new people helps take away the sting. Mel stays with Charlotte and Bear down on the beach, and Dad buys wristbands for us, so we can go on all the rides. I take Casey into the Hall of Mirrors, and even though the first one gives a true reflection, she jumps as soon as she sees herself.

‘I’d forgotten about my hair.’

‘It looks incredible.’

I start to walk towards the first of the distorting mirrors, but Casey hasn’t moved. ‘It’s semi-permanent, but Mum hates chemicals so she’ll go mental if I don’t manage to wash it all out.’

Yup. From my one encounter with Angelica, that’s the most likely outcome.

But I smile at Casey. ‘She might be surprised at first, but I’m sure she’ll be so delighted to see you that she’ll get over the shock pretty fast.’

‘Maybe.’

We turn the corner and the vast mirror in front of us turns our bodies into huge round balls with tiny marble heads, and we both giggle.

‘This is so retro. It’s like Snapchat from the olden days.’

I laugh. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never been on a pier.’

‘Where we live there’s no sea, remember.’

‘But you go on holiday?’

Casey shrugs. ‘Sometimes. Mostly to other boring bits of countryside, though. Mum doesn’t like crowds. Or noise.’ The next mirror elongates us, and she points. ‘I used to be almost that skinny. Before the steroids.’

‘I like you exactly how you are now,’ I say. ‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you want, but has your mum always been quite anxious?’

In the mirror, Casey’s pencil-thin head nods. ‘A bit, but a lot more now. It took ages for the doctors to believe anything was wrong with me, and she blames herself, so now she’s extra-cautious. That coin waterfall in the arcade would have made her freak out. Think of all the thousands of people who’ve handled those coins. Think of the bacteria, the viruses, the sweat.’

She stops abruptly. When I turn to glance at her, she looks ashamed that she imitated her mum.