‘Not helpful, Tom,’ sighed Huw.

‘Weren’t you meant to be in work at nine?’ asked Liz. She loved the fact that her student son had a summer job at the bakery – he brought home all sorts of lovely treats.

‘Taken the day off, haven’t I? To say goodbye to Frog Head.’

‘Oi!’ Catrin laughed and threw a toast crust at him. Tom had called her Frog Head ever since she was brought home from hospital at one day old. Aged three, he’d stared at her in silence for ten seconds, then announced to the world that she looked like a frog.

Catrin Kelly couldn’t look less like a frog if she tried. She’d inherited her grandmother’s pale Irish complexion, ‘which must be protected with Factor Fifty when you’re out in that sun,’ Liz had warned her, over and over again. She’d also inherited Nana Kelly’s laughing green eyes – which she liked – and her strawberry-blonde hair – which she didn’t. Mainly because it stubbornly grew in an unruly abundance of corkscrew curls. They’d appeared when she was two and had never left her since, defying gravity and copious amounts of hair-straightening products. ‘I wish I had your hair!’ people would say. And Catrin would smile politely, thinking, ‘No you bloody don’t – it’s like walking round with a Highland cow on my head.’ Catrin had a catalogue of complaints when it came to her physical attributes: she thought her nose was ‘pixie-ish’, her legs were too short and her knees turned inwards – none of which anyone else could see, of course. She was also blind to her other endearing features – such as her open-heartedness, her massive capacity for compassion and her staunch loyalty to those she loved. But Catrin’s parents thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, both inside and out.

‘Just think – we may never see you again, you go fallin’ in love with some Greek hippie!’ Tom continued.

‘Nobody is doin’ no fallin’ in love with no hippies,’ said Huw, without conviction. ‘And stop throwing food at your brother.’

‘Do they even have hippies in Greece?’ Liz wondered in all honesty.

‘Will you please take this seriously, the lot of you!’ Huw exploded in frustration, the Irish accent of his childhood creeping through as it always did when he was even mildly upset. He passed Catrin the money belt. ‘Now try it on so I can demonstrate adjusting the width.’

‘OK.’ Catrin did as she was told. She’d learned over the years that it was easier to just go along with her father when he was anxious like this. It would at least put his mind at rest, even though she knew she’d be hiding the belt under her bed before she left, with no intention of ever using it.

‘Thanks again for last night,’ Catrin said as she placed the belt around her waist. ‘Everyone had a crackin’ time.’

‘Ah, it was a pleasure, wasn’t it, Huw? You’ve got such lovely friends.’ Liz smiled.