‘You memorised it though.’

‘Sorry?’

‘His writing. That bit. You memorised it.’ I was surprised at how defensive I felt, how much I wanted to protect Max, remembering him telling me that writing was like bleeding.

‘Took me bloody ages. I kept forgetting the word continuous.’

‘Well, he’s got awards for it and makes a tonne of money so some people must love it. Also, they have a daughter. Did you know that? She’s really nice. So,’ I said, ‘they can’t be that bad if they’ve got a nice daughter, can they?’

He didn’t look convinced. ‘Never trust London folk. Your grandpa’d say the same thing. I dare say your dad would too.’

Ted turned away from me and I gave his back a hard stare.

‘Right, I better get going. There’s a quiz tonight and I’m feeling lucky. See you Monday.’ He opened the till and retrieved a bunch of keys as heavy as a prison guard’s. ‘Give that mother of yours a hello from me.’

Despite Ted trying to make me feel bad about the Davenports, it wasn’t long before the spring in my step returned. Eating with the Davenports had been incredible; new drinks, delicious food, in the company of glorious people from a different world. On top of that, Ted had given me some hours, which meant money in Mum’s pocket, the sun was still shining, and the summer holidays stretched out ahead of me with the promise of more time at The Cliff House.

‘I’m back!’ I called as I burst in through the front door. I was brimming over with stories I wanted to share with Mum, but when I charged into the kitchen, it wasn’t her I came face to face with but Gareth. Bloody. Spence.

There was no sign of Mum. Just him. And now me. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven o’clock. What on earth was he doing here at seven on a Friday bloody evening?

‘Hello, Tamsyn.’ At least Gareth had the grace to look awkward as he shifted uncomfortably and pulled on one of his shirtsleeves. I noticed then he was holding the seagull mug and my body tensed.

‘That’s not your mug.’

‘What?’ Confusion screwed his eyes into little piggy slits.

‘Put the mug down.’

‘Your mother—’

‘I don’t care. You’re not to touch that mug. Ever. Do you hear me?’ Tears spiked my eyes and I bit my lip hard to stop them falling. ‘Well, do you?’

I walked over to him and reached for it. He gave it to me without protest or question. His skin reddened as he clasped both hands behind his back. I tipped what was left of his tea into another mug, then squeezed dish soap into the seagull one and scrubbed it all over.

I passed him the new mug but he didn’t take it.

I hated him. Hated how he wouldn’t leave my mother alone. Hated how his lecherous eyes watched her move around the room. How they hunted her like a hungry wolf desperate to swallow her up. I’d seen him watching her when she wasn’t looking. Stealing glances at her as she wrapped fish, desire oozing out of him. I knew what he was thinking, what disgusting things he wanted to do to her, and it made my skin crawl.