The sea seemed to glitter more invitingly than ever; boats bobbed in impatience as they awaited their passengers and the smell of coffee and frying bacon wound its way through the streets. Cars started arriving even earlier than usual as eager visitors claimed their pitch, wanting to make the most of their day of freedom. Angelica, however, woke with a sense of dread, ready for confrontation. She’d been steeling herself for it all night. She rolled out of bed and padded through the house in her pyjamas. Everyone was still asleep, of course. She was the only mug who had to work. She opened the door to her mother’s bedroom. Inside, it was pitch black. Trudy never opened the heavy dark-purple curtains. Angelica picked her way over the discarded boots and clothes. There was a brimming ashtray next to the bed; empty glasses and cups everywhere. A large-screen telly on the wall shone green in the darkness. ‘Mum,’ she called. ‘Come on. You’ve got to get up. Dill’s football thing is at ten.
