“It was this new construction system I saw,” said George, his voice taking on that slightly hectoring tone he used to talk about stuff he’d made. “It’s based on the tongue-and-groove principle. It’s a challenge to get the joints just right, but it makes for a very quick build.”

“That right?”

(Had she managed to get the paint out of her hair yet? Did she even care? Seven packs of Scampi Fries. Who ate Scampi Fries? They didn’t smell like anything a human being should consume.)

“I don’t know how well it’ll last, mind you. But they’re only going to be there until midwinter.”

“I heard that too. Reckon they mean it?”

Silence. Donald could picture the look on George’s face. A man who always said exactly what he thought and stuck rigidly to his word, he had difficulty with the concept of other people not doing the same.

“Seem nice enough,” said Mike, into the silence.

“They’re very nice indeed,” said George, with great authority. “Extremely polite.”

“That’s good.” Mike laughed. “Maybe they’ll start a trend. Things carry on the way they are, reckon a few of us’ll end up living in beach huts. I was saying to Anna last night… ”

“Can you go and see if Alicia’s here?”

(Donald banged his head on the top of the shelf.)

“Sorry, mate?”

“Alicia. Donald’s daughter.”

“Do you mind me asking why?”

“She helped me build the beach hut the other day. She did a good job for a beginner. I’ve got some work she can come and help with if she likes.”

“I’m not sure she’s in.” Mike’s voice had got louder and slower, making sure Donald would hear him. Donald began to crawl along the bar.

“Then can you go and look, please?”

“’Fraid I just work here, mate. Upstairs is their flat.”

“Oh, I’m sure Donald won’t mind,” said George. “I’ve seen you go upstairs before for things.”

“Ange isn’t here until twelve. I can’t leave the bar empty.”

(Just out of George’s eyeline, Donald reached the connecting lobby, gave Mike a grateful thumbs-up, and crept up the staircase, placing his feet at the edges to minimise the creak.)

“I’ll watch it for you.”

“If you hang on five minutes Donald should be back soon.” (Thank God for Mike, straight and honest and reliable as the tides. Donald was at the top of the stairs now, but he could still hear their voices.)

“I’ve got quite a lot to be getting on with, so now would be better. It’ll only take you a minute.”

“No, George, I don’t think I can do that… ”

“Alicia!” Donald tapped on her door. “Alicia. You decent, pet?”

She was writing in a flowery-covered notebook that she closed when he saw him. Poetry? Diary? Vampire novel? Kids these days didn’t seem to do much actual writing, it was all on computers. Odd to see her with that long black smudge down her ring-finger. He’d almost forgotten she was left-handed.

“What is it?”