I’d made up my mind to ask Edie to do the tattoo for me when I went up to bed after Jago and Mum’s last row. My shock and sadness at seeing Mum kissing Gareth bloody Spence had solidified to a stubborn underlying anger. If she was going to do something to upset me like that, then I no longer had to worry about upsetting her by getting a tattoo. And anyway, Edie said she’d do it somewhere hidden, so Mum wouldn’t even know.

I had to wait a few days as Edie and her parents had to visit a godfather in Herefordshire or something. The days without her passed so slowly it was painful, not helped by two of those days being blighted by incessant rain, the type that kept me confined to the house and climbing the walls. Too wet to sit at the rock with my binoculars. Too wet, even, to enjoy a swim. By the time Tuesday came round, and with it the planned tattooing, I was champing at the bit to get back to The Cliff House.

I sat on Edie’s bed and crossed my legs, my tummy jumbled with nerves, hoping it wasn’t going to be so painful I’d cry. Edie had her back to me and was rummaging around in the pile of clothes on her wardrobe floor and then turned and thrust out a three-quarter-full bottle of vodka.

‘Get that down your neck. I’ll be back in a sec.’

I hesitated but then remembered Gareth’s hand squeezing Mum’s waist as his ugly sandy head bent over hers. With that, I grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the lid and tipped it to my lips, wincing at the taste of the vodka as it hit my mouth.

Edie’s room was such a tip. Everything she owned which wasn’t shoved into her cupboard was scattered over the floor. The pillow had half-escaped its case and there were smudges of black make-up all over the sheet and duvet as well as balled tissues littering the top of the chest of drawers and the area of carpet around the bin. Dirty coffee mugs were dotted along the windowsill and bedside table. There was something sophisticated about the state of it. My mother would never have stood for it and the fact I did as I was told, and kept my box tidy, made me feel childish and trapped. I couldn’t wait to get the tattoo.

‘Nearly ready.’ Edie came back into the room and chucked a white slip of cardboard onto the bed. It was wrapped around in different coloured threads with a couple of needles, a button and a safety pin tucked into them. ‘From one of Max’s book tours. He collects souvenirs from the places he stays. Drink,’ she said, tapping the bottle.