She didn’t know his name. But she’d bumped into him on the high street yesterday when she was in Gateway getting some shopping for her mum. She’d spotted the flyers attached to lampposts and nailed to fences. The Smithwick travelling fair was back for its second year. It meant the town was flooded with new blood and she, for one, couldn’t be more ecstatic. She was fed up with the boys in her year at school and it wouldn’t be any different in September, even though she’d be in the sixth form. They either followed her around trying to twang her bra strap or they hurled offensive remarks at her, words like ‘dyke’ and ‘frigid’, just because she didn’t fancy any of them. She hated walking past them where they all seemed to congregate at the clock tower, drinking Diamond White and smoking, trying to look hard. She didn’t find any of them attractive or cool.

Flora had been leaving the supermarket, the handle of the plastic carrier bag digging into the flesh of her forearm, when they almost collided. She could tell straight away that he wasn’t a local by the dark hair that touched the collar of his patterned psychedelic shirt and his tanned face. No boys in Tilby would dare to dress to stand out, scared they might get beaten up. He was older than her by a couple of years at least, and when his sea-blue eyes met hers, she actually felt butterflies flutter in her stomach.

‘Oops, sorry,’ he said, in an accent she couldn’t quite place. London, perhaps. Definitely not West Country. ‘Nearly sent you flying.’ His eyes swept over her long black skirt with the tasselled hem, her lacy cream blouse, the many chains around her neck and her DM boots. And then he gave an audacious whistle. ‘Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry at all. You look like a beautiful gypsy girl.’

Flora had blushed, not knowing what to say or how to react. Instead she muttered something about having to go and scurried past him down the street, but he called after her: ‘Come to the fair tomorrow night. I’m working on the Waltzers there. I’ll look out for you, Gypsy Girl.’ She’d grinned to herself as she hotfooted home, her cheeks still burning in the breeze.

And now here she was. But where was he?

She felt Heather stiffen beside her and snatch her hand away. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said. Her voice sounded very small and Flora could hardly hear her above the cacophony.

Flora felt a flash of annoyance towards her sister. She didn’t want to walk around the fair by herself. Why was Heather being such a baby? It wasn’t as though their mother had forbidden them to come.