‘Have some more if you want it,’ said Deirdre. ‘It will warm you up.’

Flora poured herself another cup gratefully and swigged it back. It wasn’t piping hot but it was more than lukewarm. When she’d had enough she returned the flask to Deirdre with thanks.

Clive didn’t say much and Deirdre faced the front again, fiddling with the radio. ‘Let’s have some music to get you in the mood for a party,’ she said, settling on Ace of Base’s ‘The Sign’.

Flora appraised Deirdre, although from where she was sitting she could see only her profile. But she was attractive, she suspected late fifties, with blonde Marilyn Monroe hair and a full figure. She was wearing a blue spotted 1950s-style dress, which suited her figure, and a white raincoat.

‘Will you be at the party too, Deirdre?’ she asked politely.

Deirdre laughed again. ‘Oh, no, dear. I’m too old for that kind of thing now. No, I’ll leave you young people to have your fun.’ She touched Clive’s hand where it rested on the steering wheel. Flora wanted to laugh to herself. Clive had to be nearly forty. He was far from young. Why did he and his brother hang out with people half their age anyway?

‘I like to provide the entertainment,’ grinned Clive, his eyes flashing at her from the rear-view mirror. Of course. He provided the drugs. That was why he was having the party. It was a job for him. Still, it didn’t mean she’d have to touch them. She’d go for a few hours, then ring her mum and Uncle Leo would come and pick her up. And, okay, they were bound to be angry with her. But she was sixteen. She was entitled to a bit of fun. And it would piss off Heather. She smiled at the thought of her irate sister. Her eyelids were heavy now. It must be the lull of the car and the sound of the rain. It was sleep-inducing. Soporific. She liked that word. Yes, it was soporific.

Ace of Base sounded very far away now, as did Clive’s voice. She thought she heard, ‘I like her. She’s a keeper.’ But she couldn’t be sure. Then she felt the car stop and she tried to prise her eyes open, but they kept falling closed. She felt strong arms lift her from the back seat and something being thrown over her, covering her face. Maybe a blanket. It smelt damp and fusty. Then the click of a door opening and closing, a dog barking.

‘Where’s the party?’ she muttered, although her tongue felt too thick for her mouth.