Dan and I aren’t quite in touching range. Which is A Good Thing. We keep our eyes on Casey and Bear, again A Good Thing, because I am so close to begging him to tell me the truth: why he stopped feeling that connection, whether he thinks he might be able to feel it again . . .

‘Is Angelica just tired or is there something else to it?’ I ask instead.

At the edge of my vision I see him shrugging, that delicious languor in the way he moves his long, toned limbs. Are his shoulder muscles precisely defined underneath that T-shirt? Is his skin the same tan shade? What if he has a tattoo, something that would reveal more about him and—

‘I’m worried about her. On Friday morning she wouldn’t even get out of bed. I had to drive us all back to their village in the middle of nowhere and then get the train back here, so Casey wouldn’t miss her next treatment.’

On Friday morning. Could that drama be the reason he hasn’t called since our date on Thursday?

‘So she’s still not great?’

‘No. Apparently it’s happened before, but nobody’s telling me the full story. Her best friend treated me like a mass murderer.’ He looks at me directly, and this time I can’t resist gazing back.

Oh. You again.

‘Seems harsh.’

He stops walking. ‘I wanted to call you before all this happened. But I also didn’t know what I’d say.’

I gulp. ‘I get it. We are both in the middle of stuff, and perhaps this is one complication too far.’

Except that’s not how I’m feeling right now, as the world blurs around us and nothing else matters. This desire is the simplest thing I have experienced in months.

‘I usually run a mile from complicated, Gemma. But . . .’

And he is leaning down, his head tilted, and I think, Now. It’s going to happen.

But I step back, because Casey doesn’t need to see her dad snogging the woman who volunteers at her hospital. Or, in fact, snogging any woman. Today should be all about her. I should chat with Casey, fuss over Bear – anything to distract me. But I can’t see either of them.

‘Where have they gone?’ A second or two ago I was warm honey, sweet and liquid. Now red-hot panic surges through me, readying my muscles to take action.

Dan scans the crowd. His frown deepens and his pale eyes turn dark. ‘Casey? CASEY, where are you?’

I push past carefree people clutching their ice creams and souvenirs, towards the quay, where an excited girl and an even more excitable dog could easily fail to notice that the walkway suddenly turns into a steep drop into the harbour . . .

Water laps calmly against mossy stone: no splashing or screaming. Are they underwater already? I don’t have any sense of how long I was distracted by Dan, and he by me.

I’m too short to see above the crowd and I want to jostle and kick my way through the bodies. Something awful could be happening to Casey or Bear. If they’re not in the water, has someone led them away? You read about kidnappings, dognappings, predators who come to events like this because they offer easy pickings.