“But it’s all right, it’s going out … I reckon we’ve got a couple of hours to kill.”

“A couple of hours to kill?” asked Gracie. Marty thought she’d be annoyed, but her face lit up.

“Ooooh! I’ve got money for ice cream,” she said breathlessly. “Can we go on a donkey?”

And so they spent a yellow, warm few hours doing things that Marty hadn’t done … well … ever. Gracie laughed and laughed as she saw him on the donkey, his feet almost touching the ground. They ate french fries from paper cones while dangling their legs off the promenade and chucked any that were left over at the seagulls and then pretended to be terrified when they flew too near. Grandad even took off his jacket and opened the top buttons of his shirt so his chest hair was on display.

“Don’t get too excited now, ladies!” he shouted to anyone who could hear. “Control yourselves…”

Marty’s cheeks blushed red as Gracie laughed, and then Marty and his grandad watched as Gracie danced on the beach, her feet kicking up the sand around her, her body like it was full of water tipping and turning in time to the waves. When she’d finished, she switched her sound processor back on and flopped onto the sand by Marty as Grandad excused himself to go buy a cup of tea.

“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” she said breathlessly.

Marty felt his legs warm on the sand.

“It is,” he answered, listening to the sea.

Then Gracie reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper that was a bit frayed around the edges. She opened it up and offered it to Marty. Marty smiled, a question on his confused face.

“It’s a competition. A dance competition. To win a place at the School of Dance in London.”

Marty read the text.

“It’s an open call for people to try out.”

“That’s amazing!” replied Marty. “You’ve got to do it.”

Gracie’s breath was slowing now. Her cheeks still flushed pink. She was raking the sand between her legs with her fingers.

“What?” Marty asked. “You’re not going to try out? Are you serious?”

Gracie was uncharacteristically quiet.

“It’s just that. The other kids. They’ll have had training. Proper training.”

Marty had never seen her looking so unsure.

“Mum and Dad, I asked them if I could have classes, but they were worried. They thought I’d make a fool of myself. Get picked on.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. So, I’ve never been trained. Not properly. I’ve just done it myself.”

“But you’re a brilliant dancer!”

“It doesn’t count.”

“Oh, come on! Has your dad even seen you dancing?”

Gracie looked away again.