‘It was us Dutch who gave them the name New Zealand. When did you arrive?’

‘Today,’ Brenda said. ‘I met Alice in the pub.’

‘Are you staying at the youth hostel?’ Clara said.

‘Yep. In one of the dorms.’

‘Us too,’ Lizzie said. ‘Alice has her own room, but we’re in the cheap seats.’

‘Only because Ned wanted it!’ Alice said.

‘Where is Ned?’ Hendrik asked.

‘He went back to the hostel. He wasn’t feeling well.’

‘Oh,’ Hendrik said. ‘I hope he’s OK. Does anyone want a drink?’

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

It was a message from Ned.

Where are you?

She typed a reply.

Having a drink with the group

With your Australian friend?

Yes. And Donny and co

I’m sorry I stormed off. Why don’t you come back? Remember we’re getting up early to go to Grasmere.

For a second she was on the verge of replying yes, I’ll leave now, but she caught herself. She realized she didn’t want to. She had no interest in leaving the pub and walking back to the hostel so she could sit in a room with Ned and answer his questions about Brenda and Donny and Hendrik.

It wasn’t fun. Ned wasn’t fun.

She felt unmoored and slightly giddy, as if she’d suddenly seen how large and full of possibilities the world was.

She typed decisively.

Back later. Don’t worry. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning

His reply was a rapid-fire staccato of messages.

Fine

Enjoy your night out

Glad I know where – who – your priorities are

And by the way, fuck you, too

She rubbed her temple. Maybe there was a way not to go back at all. She could sleep in a spare bed in the dormitories. Or on the floor. Or by the lake.

‘Is that Ned?’ Donny said.

‘Yes.’

‘Is he feeling better?’

She shook her head.

‘Not really.’

Ambleside youth hostel was actually in Waterhead, a small town on the north end of Lake Windermere about a mile from Ambleside itself. Alice and Brenda walked along a road by an open field, the lake glistening under the moonlight to their right.

It was a warm, bright night – this far north it hardly got fully dark in summer – and Alice felt alive with the glow of the evening. She would remember it as one of the funniest nights she had ever had; it was hard to say why it was so funny, and it would have been impossible to explain to someone else. It was one of those nights where you simply had to be there.

‘Well,’ Brenda said. She sucked on a Marlboro cigarette she had bummed from a guy outside the pub. ‘That was a laugh.’

‘Yeah. Donny’s a riot.’

‘Good-looking too,’ Brenda said.

‘I have a boyfriend.’

‘Not a happy camper, though?’