The country was in the middle of a heatwave, and every day seemed hotter and more humid than the last. When they weren’t at the fair, they were at the beach, sunbathing or splashing about in the extremely cold Channel.

‘I don’t know why you keep mooning over that boy,’ Heather had said that afternoon, after Flora had begged her to go with her to the fair yet again. Heather was on her bed, an A4 sketchpad on her knee, getting away from the incessant heat. ‘You know the fair will move on in a couple of weeks and him with it. A girl in every town, I bet.’

Flora had scowled in response. It wasn’t like Heather to be mean, yet here she was acting like a jealous ex. ‘You’re my sister,’ she’d replied. ‘You’re supposed to be supportive.’

It had had the desired effect, as Flora had known it would. Nothing like laying a guilt trip on Heather to get her to do what Flora wanted. It worked both ways, though – they’d been doing it to each other for as long as they could remember. So Heather reluctantly agreed to accompany her to the fair for the fifth time that week. On the days that Heather had refused, Flora had gone anyway. Her mother hadn’t noticed, too busy with customers. The caravan park was only in its second summer and the business was starting to take off. But Flora didn’t like to disobey Margot’s rules too often, if she could help it. She knew her mother’s strictness came from a good place, and that she cared more than anything for her and Heather. Which was more than could be said about Heather’s friend, Jess: her mother didn’t seem to give a toss where Jess was half the time, or for how long. Jess might as well have lived with them, the amount of times she stayed over.

Jess was here now, standing by the coconut stall wearing a crop top and too much make-up. She was jigging along to ‘Saturday Night’ by Whigfield that was blaring out of a nearby ghettoblaster. God, Flora hated that song. Someone had brought a tape back from their holidays in Benidorm and unfortunately it seemed to have caught on. There was even a bloody dance. She’d caught Heather and Jess doing it the other night in Heather’s bedroom. They’d looked mortified, mid-pose, when she came bounding in, Jess in particular. Flora knew Jess wanted her to think she was cool.

Jess blushed now at the sight of them. ‘Hi, Heather, Flora.’

Flora smiled kindly, then cast her eyes about for Dylan. Where was he? She couldn’t see him in his usual spot on the Waltzers.