‘Go back to school?’ she shouted. ‘With the form below? You can’t mean it?’

‘Just for one term, and you could have another go at the history too, perhaps? The school runs special classes for revision. You would resit the exams again in December.’

‘Special classes for dunces, you mean? Surely it’s not really that important? When am I going to need an equilateral triangle ever again?’

‘You’re no dunce and you know it.’ Pa’s patience was fraying, she could tell. ‘We just think you took your eye off the ball last term. Anyway, have a think about it, that’s all we’re asking.’

Think about it, she grumbled to herself later, throwing stones into the sea. The beach was always the best place if you were feeling a bit sorry for yourself: that great expanse of ocean, the wind and the waves going on forever. It seemed to even things out in your head a bit, just being there. They’ve thought about it, they mean, and that’s what they want me to do.

The trouble was, she knew they were right. She was no dunce. Yes, her teachers had warned that she was in danger of failing unless she pulled her socks up, but they were so easily charmed by a bright smile and her promises to knuckle down. Yes, her understanding of some subjects was a bit shaky, but she’d breezed through till now, confident of being able to pull it off somehow. She knew, inside, that Pa was right. She was perfectly capable of getting better grades. If only she’d concentrated harder in lessons, and done more revision instead of hanging around with Billy Bishop.

‘Oh Lord.’ She sat down on the shingle and rested her chin in her hands. ‘There’s nothing for it, Kathleen Motts. You’re going back to school.’

But there were still several weeks of the holidays to enjoy. The highlight of the summer was usually the regatta down at the ferry, where she and her mother ran a tea stall to raise funds for the lifeboat. They worked side by side for two days beforehand, baking and brewing home-made lemonade. Ma taught her how to make Victoria sponges, shortbread and carrot cake – this was the one Kath loved the most, transforming those simple vegetables into delicious moist mouthfuls.

The weather was perfect; the sun came out from time to time and there was a gentle breeze to please the sailors. Thank heavens it wasn’t raining like last year, when they’d had to take refuge under the porch of the Ferry Boat Inn. As the afternoon drew on the winds became increasingly gusty, and cries of ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ rose from the spectators as dinghies capsized in dozens, sails flattened against the waves like moths floundering in a rain shower.

Bert Stock’s Famous Funfair was in operation as usual. Kath loved to watch the little ones enjoying themselves on the rides, indulging in fond childhood memories of going round and round on the top deck of the miniature toy bus. Towards the end of the afternoon there would be a fancy dress parade with children dressed in various degrees of credibility as pirates, ballerinas, wizards or teddy bears. After failing to win a prize two years running, she’d refused to take part ever again.