‘Beer?’ Alice said.

Brenda turned to her; her expression was flat and emotionless, and, for a moment, there was an odd look in her eyes. Contempt, almost.

‘Shit, yeah,’ Brenda said, and smiled. ‘Sounds perfect.’

‘Are you on Facebook?’ Alice said. ‘I was looking at my friends. The ones in Australia.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Sydney. They took a photo at the Opera House.’

‘Of course they did.’ Brenda opened a beer and took a swig. ‘And no, I’m not on Facebook. Can’t stand it.’

‘Really? It’s a great way to keep in touch.’

‘Too public for me,’ Brenda said. ‘I don’t want the world knowing where I am and what I’m doing.’

‘You can change the settings so only your friends can see what you post. Or your family. Your parents would be interested.’

‘You’ve not met my parents.’

Alice hesitated. She did not like to interfere in other people’s lives; her mum had had a friend, Pru, who gave unsolicited advice on everything from politics to choice of car to home decoration. Her technique was to introduce a subject and then link it to the topic she wished to give advice on – I was reading an interior design article yesterday and thought of your living room. You could put the couch by the window and paint the walls purple – and then from then on you were fighting a tide of well-meaning but unwelcome advice.

After Pru had been at the house, Alice’s mum used to sit at the dinner table and go through all the advice she’d been given; any time anyone else did it, it was called ‘doing a Pru’, and Alice had decided never to do a Pru.

But sometimes you needed to, and maybe it was OK, if you trod carefully.

‘I don’t want to poke my nose in where it’s not wanted,’ she said. ‘So take this as me offering a different perspective – but I’d give anything to see my parents again. Whatever’s between you, it might be worth putting it in the past.’

Brenda closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. That was insensitive. And you’re not poking your nose in. But really – you don’t know my parents. They’re not like yours. I’m better off on my own.’

‘OK,’ Alice said. ‘We should get going. The others’ll be in the pub already.’

They walked along the road towards the youth hostel. The night was warm and soft in the moonlight.

Hendrik and Clara were ahead of her; Brenda and Lizzie were a few steps behind them, the smoke from their cigarettes drifting back to her and Donny.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Hendrik and I leave tomorrow.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to Rotterdam. We came to Hull on the boat and visited Durham and Northumberland and Newcastle.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Newcastle is famous in Holland for nights out and now I know why.’

‘You had fun?’