She smiled politely, and took the money from Mother. ‘I’ll bring the change,’ she said. With it, she brought a little pot of hard-boiled sweets, which she placed on the table between Delilah and me. ‘You help yourselves,’ she said. ‘They’re pretty good.’

‘What if we want another drink?’ Father said. ‘You didn’t ask us if we wanted another drink.’

‘We’re closing. There’s a bar next door – that’s open late.’

‘OK. OK. We get the hint.’

We stood outside on the seafront. Father, still holding a wine glass, complained about the abrupt end to the evening. Tonight, the promenade was quiet and the Ferris wheel was dark and unmoving. It was just starting to rain. A couple hurried past us, hand in hand and trying to assemble an umbrella. I expected to say goodbye to Jolly, but he accompanied us back to the Dorchester, up the little staircase and to the two bedrooms on the top floor. Neither Mother nor Father made any attempt to discard him. It was as though the evening had long been rehearsed, and was proceeding just as they had planned it. ‘Good night, little ones,’ Jolly said.

‘You go in there,’ Father said, opening the door to our room. ‘Go in there, and quiet, now.’

‘Alexandra,’ Mother said. ‘Take Eve.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘She’s staying with you tonight. Leave her in the pram – she’ll sleep into the morning. No disturbances tonight, please.’

‘Why is he in your room?’ Ethan said. Mother smiled, and cupped his cheek in her hand.

‘Don’t be rude, Ethan,’ she said. ‘Come on. It’s time for bed.’

As soon as our door was closed, Delilah clambered onto one bed and jumped to the other. ‘I’m not tired,’ she said. ‘Can we play with the baby?’

‘No, Delilah,’ I said.

‘Hey,’ Ethan said. ‘Do you still want to go on a rollercoaster?’

We constructed the rollercoaster as follows: the desk formed a bridge between the two beds. For the dip, we lay the freestanding mirror face down and sloping from Ethan’s bed to the wall, and slid down it on a hotel coffee tray. You had to abandon the tray just before hitting the wall, which only added to the excitement. After a few solo trips, the three of us sat on the coffee tray together and crashed straight through the mirror and onto the carpet, and lay groaning and giggling and shushing one another amongst the shards. Next door was quiet, and nobody came to us.

We became bolder. Ethan stood on his bed. ‘I have a sermon,’ he declared, ‘which goes as follows. I am the Lord.’

‘Shut up, Ethan,’ I said.

‘I’m the Lord,’ Delilah shouted, and snatched for him. He ran across the desk and onto my and Delilah’s bed, and bounced from one foot to the other.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to be my loyal servant, instead.’

Evie twisted in her pram and started to cry.

‘Stop it, Ethan,’ I said.

‘Or you can be a leper,’ Ethan said. ‘That’s your choice.’

Delilah pounced after him, shrieking between laughter and tears. As soon as she was on the same bed, Ethan tackled. The two of them collapsed onto the mattress, and the legs of the bed buckled. The frame hit the floor with an almighty crash.

There was a long, silent moment when it seemed that we had got away with it. Then the footsteps came, both up the stairs and from the room next door. Father emerged at one threshold, shirtless, and as he did, a stranger opened the door from the corridor. He wore a black suit, and the name of the hotel was embroidered onto his breast pocket. His name badge said: Nigel Connell. Welcome to Blackpool.

‘Charlie?’ Nigel said. ‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’

He looked at Father, then at the rest of us. His eyes paused at the broken bed, and again at the shattered mirror.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said. ‘Is this your whole family?’

‘The rooms weren’t being used,’ Father said. ‘I just thought—’

‘But you can’t just stay here. You can’t just come here in secret and stay, without telling anyone. Without paying a penny.’

‘Well, I can,’ Father said. ‘And I did.’

I crossed the room to Evie, who was still crying, and knelt next to the pram. ‘It’s OK,’ I whispered.

‘I’ll have to escalate this,’ Nigel said. ‘After the speakers, too.’

‘Do whatever you want,’ Father said. ‘You’re a little jobsworth, Nigel. Aren’t you. You’re a sad sack of shit.’

He turned to us.

‘Pack your things,’ he said. ‘Now.’

Outside, it was really raining. We hadn’t had time to pull on our coats; Delilah had lost one of her shoes; Mother’s lurch was the material of a cruel caricature. And Jolly – where was Jolly? The red Tshirts clung to our bodies, like cold hands between the bones. I reached the car just after Father and opened the door, but he pulled me back into the night. Ethan and Delilah were already waiting, there on the pavement. The firing line was complete.

‘I’m going to hit one of you,’ Father said. ‘But I’ll be fair. I’ll be generous. You get to decide. Ethan. Who broke that bed?’