Being Henry Applebee. Celia Reynolds

shelf below the till. She wanted to feel its sleek, black casing beneath her fingers and crouch down low like a photojournalist, whiling away the afternoon taking pictures of the tourists as they browsed, unsuspecting, among the stacks. White as death and slippery with factor fifty at the start of their holidays, by the end they’d be golden-fried and half a stone heavier from all the 99s, and the cockles and chips, and the drink.

      But today, nothing.

      Ariel trailed through the shop, along the cool, shady passageway leading to the back garden, and settled into a deckchair with a copy of The Adventures of the Wishing-Chair.

      ‘Hey, mind if I bring my coffee and join you?’ Frank shouted from the attic window. ‘It’s hotter than a Texan barbecue up here!’

      She looked up, saw a smiling face, a crisp white T-shirt, a swirl of glossy, jet-black hair, and waved to Frank to come down. She hoped he might be wearing his stage clothes, but so far he hadn’t worn them once during the day, not in the whole two weeks he’d been lodging with them, not unless he was on his way out to do a show. And yet Frank managed to look like Elvis no matter what he wore, with his jutting cheekbones, his immaculately sculpted sideburns, his perfect, china-white teeth. According to Estelle, Frank wasn’t far off Linus’s age, but Ariel thought he looked years younger. Linus was in his early fifties and already had grey hair.

      ‘The mercury’s gotta be well up over eighty today,’ Frank said as he launched his six-foot frame through the back door. He ran a hand through his quiff and reached for a pair of aviator sunglasses in his back pocket. ‘At least out here there’s a trickle of fresh air!’

      He crossed the lawn in four easy strides and lowered himself onto the grass next to Ariel’s chair. The turn-ups of his jeans rose to reveal a tattoo of an eagle on the inside of his left ankle. ‘I got that in Philly when I was eighteen,’ he said, rubbing his finger over the dull, black ink. ‘Thankfully, it’s pretty hidden away down there. I don’t like it so much any more.’

      Ariel smiled and stared at her reflection in the mirrored lenses of Frank’s sunglasses. Her face looked small and oddly distorted beneath the sunhat Estelle insisted she wore to keep the heat off the top of her head. Whenever she became too hot, her head began to pound and she broke out in a prickly red rash on her chest and arms. She wasn’t supposed to be sitting out here at all at this time of day, but she liked slipping on her yellow Woolworth’s sunnies and gazing up at the cloud formations sailing overhead. She was convinced there must be other people like her somewhere on the planet, daydreaming beneath the rolling, marshmallow sky. Sometimes she invented stories about who they were and where they were living. Sometimes she imagined them inventing stories of their own about her.

      Frank took a sip of his coffee and pointed a suntanned finger at her book. ‘Any good?’

      Ariel’s smile widened so much, her cheeks began to hurt. ‘It’s brilliant! Do you read, Frank? I do it all the time. It’s one of my favourite things to do, but I don’t think it’s because we own a bookshop that I like books, because the books we sell aren’t really storybooks at all. I think it’s because when you’re reading it doesn’t matter where you are or what else is happening around you, it’s impossible to feel alone. Do you think that too?’

      She was vaguely aware that her words had spilled out of her mouth in one long, breathless rush, but she hoped they made her sound smart all the same. She searched Frank’s face for a reaction, but it was difficult to tell what he was thinking without seeing his eyes.

      ‘Sure, I like reading!’ he replied. ‘But not as much as singing. That’s when I feel least alone in the world, when I’m singing and performing. Nothing can touch me then.’

      ‘What’s it like travelling around all the time? Don’t you miss home?’

      Frank took another sip of his coffee and cocked his head to one side. ‘Being on the road can be lonely, I guess. But like I said, singing and performing is what I do. Sometimes you get lucky and make a new friend or two along the way. Cyn is with me most of the time, though, so it’s not very often I’m completely on my own.’

      Frank’s girlfriend, Cynthia, was a Priscilla Presley lookalike. She may not have been American like Frank, but she was a living, breathing, raven-haired Barbie doll; the prettiest girl Ariel had ever seen. She still couldn’t believe they’d be renting their attic room for an entire month while they did their It’s Now or Never summer roadshow. It was the most exciting news she’d heard since Estelle and Linus told her they were at last expecting Baby Number Two.

      ‘I’m glad you’ve got Cynthia,’ Ariel said. ‘It must be nice to have a friend like that.’

      Frank smiled. ‘Well, sure! But you have friends too, don’t you?’

      Ariel pointed at her book. ‘Of course. My friends are in there. That’s why I’m not lonely.’

      Frank looked from her face, to the book, then back again. ‘That’s cool, Ariel. But I was thinking more about real friends,’ he said gently. ‘The kind you can call up and invite round to play?’

      Ariel shrugged. ‘They are my real friends. They’re always there for me when I need them and they never call me names.’

      ‘Why d’you say that?’ Frank’s voice tightened. ‘Has someone been calling you names?’

      Ariel gave a slow nod. ‘Just some of the children in school. They call me a weirdo.’

      ‘A weirdo?’ Frank cried. ‘Why?’

      ‘I don’t know… because of the shop and stuff. They say my gym things smell of incense. Mam says I should ignore them, but one or two are really mean.’ She sighed. ‘They’re the ones living in fantasyland. I’m sure they think we sit around all day staring into crystal balls and talking to pixies.’

      Frank ripped off his sunglasses and hurled them onto the lawn. ‘WHAT?! You mean the little fella with the pointed ears and the wings at the breakfast table this morning wasn’t real?’

      Ariel burst out laughing. ‘See, that’s why I like you, Frank! You’re a weirdo like me!’

      Frank held up his palm and high-fived her. ‘Loneliness is just an illusion, kid. Don’t let anyone dim your light! It takes an awful lot more courage to stand out than it does to blend in. When you’re older, you’ll understand. Anyway, where’s the fun in being ordinary?’

      He shifted his attention to a giddy chorus line of geraniums soaking up the sunlight in the border along the side wall. He’d put his sunglasses back on, but Ariel could tell he’d adopted that far-off look that grown-ups got whenever they were trying to solve a problem in their heads.

      ‘Hey,’ he said, turning back to face her, ‘are you excited you’re going to have a baby brother or sister?’

      Ariel almost squealed. ‘I’m nearly eight and a quarter! I thought it was never going to happen. A real-life brother or sister is going to be the best early Christmas present ever!’

      Frank gave her one of his megawatt smiles, then dropped his gaze to the grass between his feet. He was still ruminating over something, she could tell by the way he was chewing on the side of his lip. She had a pack of cards under her deckchair and was about to ask him if he’d like to play a game of rummy, when he said, ‘Is your mom in the store today?’

      Ariel nodded.

      ‘I’m just going to go inside and ask her something, okay?’

      Frank pushed himself up off the ground and walked back to the house, his chest thrown out like a soldier on parade, his shoulders kneading the air. The grass where he’d been sitting looked flat and lifeless, as though some spectral hand had slipped, unnoticed, over the garden wall and combed it flush against the earth.

      Ariel groped for her pack of cards and placed them alongside her chair where she could see them. She laid her book face down on her