She’d show him. Heather and her mother too. She’d been good her whole life. Always toed the line and done everything that was ever asked. But where had that got her? Wasn’t she allowed a bit of fun? To have a wild night out?

‘Where is the party?’

‘In Bristol.’

Bristol? Bristol was a bit far. How would she get home?

‘Oh, I don’t know. That’s a bit far. My mum would kill me.’

Deirdre’s laugh was tinkly, like a fork against glass. ‘You’re a young girl. You should be going to parties and having fun.’ She shifted her weight so that she could see Flora in the back. ‘I grew up in the sixties and I expect your mum did too. I bet she had her fun back in the day.’

Flora doubted that. Her mother was born sensible. Like Heather. And Deirdre looked twenty years older than Margot, who was probably closer to Clive’s age. She did a quick calculation. Deirdre must have been at least in her late twenties in 1964. Clive was born before that.

‘I live down there,’ said Flora, pointing to a road that led towards the caravan park.

But Clive ignored her and kept driving. ‘Oops, sorry, missed the turning,’ he said, laughing. ‘Looks like you’re going to have to come to the party now.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Deirdre. ‘I’ll make sure you get home safely. I’ll call you a taxi later. And you can ring your mum from our house.’

Our house? Clive still lived with his mum?

‘I don’t think I can afford a taxi home,’ Flora admitted, ‘but maybe Mum or Uncle Leo could come and collect me.’

‘That’s it. You call them when we get there,’ said Deirdre, flashing Flora a reassuring smile. The dog fidgeted on her lap, then jumped between the two front seats to join Flora in the back. ‘Oh, he likes you and he’s a good judge of character.’

Flora smiled, trying to quash the unease that rippled through her. She sat in the back seat and cuddled the dog as the rain lashed down and Clive’s windscreen wipers whooshed back and forth. She shivered, her wet skirt clinging to her legs. She just wanted to go home but she also didn’t want to offend. And part of her couldn’t resist the thought of letting Dylan see her at the party. She’d show him she wasn’t some provincial mummy’s girl.

‘I’ve got some hot chocolate in a flask if you want some,’ offered Deirdre. She handed it to Flora. ‘Just pour it into the little cup. That’s it.’

The hot chocolate was delicious and slid down her throat, warming her instantly, although her lip throbbed. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and before she knew it, she had finished the whole cup.