Though it had been an unforgettable ten days, it was the first time either of them had been away from their families for Christmas, and they’d both found it strange not having turkey or a tree. They had brought a few tokens of festive familiarity with them. They’d packed miniature stockings for each other and opened them on the beach on Christmas morning with their bare feet buried in the sand. They wore cheap Christmas hats on their heads and ate melted Terry’s Chocolate Oranges for breakfast. Leila gave Minnie some beautiful emerald earrings and a chef’s hat with the words ‘Minnie’s Pies’ embroidered on the front.

‘For when you have your own pie business,’ she said, nudging Minnie with an elbow.

A lump formed in Minnie’s throat. Running her own catering business was something she’d often daydream about. She’d only ever mentioned the idea to Leila once, when she was drunk – she was amazed Leila even remembered the conversation.

Minnie scratched her leg irritably. Little red welts had erupted all over her skin.

‘I think I’m allergic to that suncream you lent me, Leils.’

Leila’s head popped up over the side of Minnie’s hammock; her bright green hair had gone wild in the humidity and the fake tan on her face had come out a little too orange – she looked like an unhinged Oompa-Loompa. Minnie jolted in surprise, sloshing coconut water down her front.

‘Don’t creep up on me like that,’ she cried, brushing water off her kaftan.

‘Your little friend is back,’ said Leila, raising her eyes skyward while pointing an accusatory finger down at the dog standing next to her in the sand.

‘Fleabag dog!’ cried Minnie, leaping down from the hammock to greet him.

The dog launched himself at Minnie and started licking her face. Fleabag dog was a mangy-looking grey and white stray with a stumpy tail and a limp. He had been following the girls around all week. Minnie had become fond of his friendly little face and given him a few fish scraps on their first night in the beach hut. As a result of her kindness, he’d been following them around like a little dog-shaped shadow.

‘Don’t let him lick you,’ said Leila, grimacing.

‘Poor thing,’ said Minnie, giving him an affectionate rub on the head. ‘It’s like he knows we’re leaving and he’s come to say goodbye.’

‘You’re only going to make life harder for him when we leave. Where is he going to get food from now?’ said Leila.

‘He’ll be OK, look at him – who could resist that face?’ Minnie nuzzled her face against the dog’s nose.

‘Minnie, I don’t think that rash is a suncream allergy, I think it’s flea bites,’ Leila said, holding up both hands in disgust.

‘Do you think?’

‘Well, if you will insist on having a holiday romance with Fleabag dog.’