‘Right, I’m off to find Dylan,’ she said to Heather, undoing the top button of her lacy blouse and repositioning her yin-and-yang velvet choker. She gathered her hair away from her neck. It was nearly seven thirty but it was still stifling hot and the air smelt sickly sweet. ‘I’ll meet you back here about nine fifteen. Okay?’

Heather folded her arms across her chest. ‘Fine. But don’t be late. I don’t want to piss Mum off.’

Flora sighed. Heather was such a party-pooper. ‘I won’t be late.’ Over her sister’s shoulder she spotted Dylan in the distance. He was with another bloke. Someone she didn’t recognize, not that she’d met many of Dylan’s friends yet. This bloke looked a lot older than Dylan, with a hard face and lots of piercings. Flora didn’t want to sound all middle-class about it, but she thought he looked a bit … unsavoury.

Jess took Heather’s arm and led her away, chattering in her ear, although it didn’t look as though Heather was listening. Flora wanted to reassure her sister, tell her not to worry. But she knew it would fall on deaf ears. Even though Flora was the elder, it was Heather who was more sensible and reliable, Heather who had looked out for them both when their dad died.

Flora waved at Dylan, who raised a hand in return, but he didn’t smile. He was in deep conversation with Mr Piercings. She stood where she was, waiting for them to reach her, not wanting to interrupt.

There was something different about Dylan tonight, thought Flora, as he approached. He was attempting a smile, despite a tension around his mouth. ‘This is my gypsy girl, Flora,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘And this,’ he indicated Mr Piercings, ‘is Speedy. My mum’s boyfriend.’

‘Hi,’ said Flora, wondering why he had that nickname.

He held out a hand. She noticed his fingernails were yellow and bitten down. Flora took it dutifully, not wanting to appear impolite. Manners. Manners. Manners. Her mother had drilled it into them since they were little. But really Flora wanted to recoil. He was even odder-looking up close, although younger than she’d initially thought. He had a distinctive tattoo on his neck of a green parrot. How could Dylan’s mum fancy this guy? She’d not met her, of course, considering she’d only known Dylan a week and he was living on-site with the other workers at the fair. But he’d shown her a photo of a delicate pretty blonde, with the same dazzling blue eyes as his own. His mum had had him young, he said. She’d only been seventeen, and he’d never known his dad.