‘He’s nothing like you, is he?’ he said, his eyes fixed on Harlan. Milly thought that Nipper was Harlan’s puppy. Harlan could kick his arse, and he’d still roll over and let Harlan tickle his tummy, even after that.

‘Harlan? Christ no.’

Milly turned her attention to Belle. She let out a sigh. ‘She’s so good-looking.’

‘Fancies herself, don’t she?’ sneered Nipper.

‘Must be great, looking like that.’

Milly thought that it would be easy to hate Belle for being so perfect, but somehow you couldn’t: Belle was so kind, always willing to pitch in and help with anything. And she always tried to include Milly, always making sure she was OK. Belle called them the ‘can-do’ girls. Milly thought that Belle had a can-do attitude, for sure. But her? She was never going to set the world on fire and she knew it. Belle was like the sister Milly had never had; she loved her.

‘You’re nice looking too,’ he said.

He was only being polite, she knew that.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got nice eyes. And great legs.’

‘And a fat arse.’

‘I like your arse,’ said Nipper.

‘Well you’re the only one that does,’ said Milly, colouring up.

‘It’s like a peach,’ said Nipper. ‘A big . . . what’s the word? Yeah a big, sweet peach.’

It occurred to Milly then that something was going on here. For the first time ever, she was being chatted up by a boy. Granted, Nipper wasn’t the brain of Britain, but he had nice thick straw-coloured hair. She glanced at him, reassessing. He was big, bulky and tanned from the summer sun. And he was tall. So what if he was Harlan’s lapdog? He thought her enormous arse was nice.

‘Milly!’ It was her mother, waving from the French doors leading into the big house, the better house, where the Stones resided. Belle might be the golden one, the outgoing and lovely one, but it was Milly’s father, Charlie Stone, who had all the power and the dosh around here. ‘Come give me a hand with the drinks?’ said Nula, who was currently at home and not for once locked up in what Harlan laughingly and unkindly called ‘the bug hutch’.

Milly got off her sunbed, aware of her hot flesh sticking to the chair, aware of her own ungainly movements, hotly aware of Nipper watching her.

‘See you tomorrow?’ he said.

Milly paused and stared at him. ‘OK,’ she said.

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