“And that’s how I ended up vomiting in Madonna’s handbag,” Ben says proudly, while Alix slaps him on the back, howling with laughter.

The firelight flickers and dances around their faces, sparks flying in the air as they laugh so hard that tears stream from Ben’s eyes.

Alix’s ultimatum to Zee of only staying an hour turned into two hours, then three, then the whole afternoon and late into the night.

The availability of free beer and champagne might have something to do with it, plus the instant connection he formed with Ben.

The second Ben heard that Alix was a drummer, they got talking about Keith Moon and Ringo Starr and techniques, and it was basically a case of insta-BFF.

The rest of us have been burying Lyall in the sand, telling stupid stories, roasting marshmallows over the fire (even Felix) – all the things you’re meant to do when you’re camping.

As for a tent, Elliot has it sorted. When the boys were packing for the trip back at the cabin, Elliot went looking in the attic for anything we could bring along.

I’ve never gone into the attic (I’m sure it’s a total spiderfest in there), but Elliot says it’s filled with all sorts of weird old things, like a bohemian boudoir from the sixties left to gather dust. Probably Bea’s old stuff, and possibly some of gran’s too.

Right at the back, folded up neatly behind a tattered sofa, he found a tent. Not a normal tent, with zips and metal poles and a waterproof covering – nothing that sensible.

Tonight, we’re sleeping in what looks like something you’d expect to see in a fairytale, not in real life. I can picture an Arabian prince basking on silk cushions in the desert beneath the massive awning.

I still can’t believe the guys actually managed to assemble it, or the fact that it hasn’t fallen down yet.

A ramshackle framework of wooden poles holds up a vast sheet of thick golden fabric, draped in smooth velvety layers fringed with faded tassels. Every inch of the fabric is embroidered with tiny red roses, every petal perfect, every leaf and thorn accounted for.

The excess fabric spills over the sides onto the sand like a lazy golden ocean, and the material at the front is hitched up to form a makeshift entrance.

There’s only one word for it: magical.

Alix and Zee haven’t yet said they’re spending the night on the beach with us, but it’s too late for them to drive back to Portland anyway.

I hope Kitty packed enough blankets.

“I say old chap, how about you be a good sport and pour me some more of the good stuff?” Alix says in a very badly done upper class British accent, reaching his cup out to Alastaire.

“Poppycock. I don’t speak like that,” Alastaire says, grabbing Alix’s cup with a scowl.

“And I’ll have some of whatever that is you’re eating,” Alix adds, eyeing the bow of Christmas Pudding which Alastaire instantly snatches away out of sight.

“This is just for me,” Alastaire says. “And Cupcake, if she wants some.”

“What is it?” Alix asks, curious now as he leans over.

“Christmas Pudding, if you must know,” Alastaire says defensively.

“What? Why?” Alix asks. “I mean, it’s July. That’s kinda odd, bro.”

“Maybe,” Alastaire says enigmatically. “But I have my reasons. Besides it being the most delectable food known to man, of course.”

“Sure,” Alix says. “Whatever you say, goldilocks. Anyway, you’re dating… what’s her name… Zara Quinn, right? Nice one. You may be a pudding-eating poncy British nutjob, but you have a super hot girlfriend, and I respect that.”

He raises his fist towards Alastaire, probably expecting a fist-bump, but Alastaire just smirks.

“Not me,” he says.

“Really?” Alix says. “But it’s one of you Fable guys, right?”

The conversation around the bonfire goes quiet. I notice the other guys looking covertly towards Felix, their glances uncomfortable, uncertain.

Felix, who has been sitting next to Elliot for the past hour discussing how best to release the new album online, glares at Alix across the fire. The flames dance in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak.

Do I want him to deny it? Or to confirm it? At least if he said it’s true, I’d know for sure. “Birthday cake time!” Kitty shouts, jumping to her feet before Felix can speak. “Help me with the candles, Ash.”

She pulls me up, leading me away from the bonfire towards the tent, where our bags are piled in a jumbled heap near the entrance.

She crouches down to the sand and turns up the flame on an old gas lamp from the cabin (packed by the ever-thoughtful Elliot, of course) and unzips a bulky black beach bag, lifting a wide cardboard box out of it. She lifts the lid to reveal a chocolate cake on a silver platter.

Nodding, she rips open a packet filled with white candles. They’re not the small, thin candles you’d usually stick in a birthday cake – but regular sized candles like you’d put in a candlestick.

“Did you take these out of the chandelier at the cabin?” I ask.

“Damn straight I did,” Kitty says. “It’s not a birthday cake without candles.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“But why not just buy normal birthday candles when you bought the cake?” I ask, picturing the white wax dripping all over the icing.

Can eating candle wax kill you? Hmmm….

“Bought it?” Kitty says. “I baked this cake, I’ll have you know. After I was certain that you’d all gone to sleep, of course. My double chocolate raspberry cream cake is my secret weapon, Ash. Prepare your taste buds.”

She winks, as she plunges all five of the candles into the cake in a messy circle.

“Light ‘em up, Ash,” she says, tossing me the lighter.

There’s the faintest hint of a breeze, so I cup my hand around each candle as I light it, wondering at the sudden flash of déjà vu.

Something about the beach, and a big fire, and candles in the dark…

“Ok, we’ll start singing on three, got it?” Kitty says, walking carefully over the sand as she holds the birthday cake on its silver platter in front of her. Smiling and lit up by the soft golden glow of the candlelight, she looks more beautiful than ever.

“One, two, three…” she says, and we burst into song, joined by the others as we reach Lyall and set the cake carefully down in front of him.

“Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray!” We cheer, as Lyall blows out the candles on his first try.

“There’s a knife on the platter,” Kitty says. “Don’t forget to make a wish.”

“I bet I know what he’s going to wish for,” Ben says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows and cupping his hand over Lyall’s ear to whisper something, which makes Lyall’s face turn bright red.

The firelight glints off the silver blade for a moment as Lyall lifts it above the cake, closing his eyes as he cuts down through the thick chocolate. When he opens his eyes, he glances at me quickly, before lowering his gaze.

“Did ye pack plates, Kit?” Lyall asks as he cuts up the cake into neat slices.

“Damn, I knew I forgot something,” she says.

“No problemo,” Ben says, reaching down and picking up a slice. “Who needs a plate anyway?”

Everyone reaches in and takes a slice, apart from Alastaire, who says it’s barbaric to even consider eating cake without a proper cake fork, and he’ll stick to Christmas Pudding, thank you very much.

I end up taking only one bite and then offering my slice to Ben, even though Kitty was right – it’s insanely good.

Ever since I lit the candles on Lyall’s cake, I lost my appetite. Something about this – the fire and the sand – it’s like a dream I had once, or a memory maybe.

Maybe it’s from being so close to the ocean. I’ve managed not to think about it much since we arrived, but it’s still there. And beneath the dark waves, the metal skeleton of the bus is waiting, whispering to me across the currents, like a coffin waiting patiently for its corpse.

I’m the one that got away.

I belong down there, not up here.

I was meant to die. If Evan hadn’t… if Evan…

I’m broken out of my thoughts by the feeling of someone’s eyes on me. I look up and see Lyall staring at me, his warm brown eyes uncharacteristically serious.

I look away, expecting him to do the same, but when I glance back he’s still staring at me.

“Lyall?” I ask, not sure what to say.

“Ash, ye said ye’ll sing for me,” Lyall says suddenly.

“I did?” I say.

“Yeah, last night,” he says. “Benji was there. And Al too. She said she’d sing for me right? As a birthday gift.”

Ben says “yep” and Alastaire nods, while I rack my brain for a way to get out of it.

I know it’s stupid to be shy about this – after all, I sing in chorus with the guys in the recording studio all the time, and I just sang Happy Birthday with Kitty a moment ago – but this is different. He’s asking me to sing sing. Alone, with my real voice. That’s something far more intimate than singing alongside someone else.

But everyone starts cheering and making song requests, apart from Felix who watches Lyall with a guarded expression.

“Anaconda!” Yells Ben enthusiastically. “Do Anaconda! And do the moves too!”

“No!” Yells Zee. “Sing them a Fable song! Sing Déjà vu!”

She’s only had one glass of champagne all night (that I know of, anyway) but she seems to be drunk on the very presence of the boys, and has been in a dazed, happy stupor for most of the day.

“Ahem,” Lyall says. “I’m de birthday boy, and I want a love song.” His face flushes again as he says this. “Or something Irish. A ballad from de old country would be just fine.”

I think for a moment, before remembering a song that my gran used to sing to me from time to time. I still remember the tune, and every word.

“How about an Irish love song then?” I ask.

Lyall nods.

Everyone goes quiet as I move closer into the light. The silence is broken only by the cool sigh of the breeze, the distant whispering ocean, the crackling fire.

I start to sing, feeling the familiar joy of song wrap me up as I slip into the first verse.

A gypsy rover came over the hill

Down through the valley so shady.

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady.

Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-doo-dah-day

Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-day-dee

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady.

She left her father's castle gate.

She left her own fine lover.

She left her servants and her state

To follow her gypsy rover.

She left behind her velvet gown

And shoes of Spanish leather

They whistled and they sang 'till the green woods rang

As they rode off together

Last night, she slept on a goose feather bed

With silken sheets for cover

Tonight she'll sleep on the cold, cold ground

Beside her gyspy lover

Her father saddled up his fastest steed

And roamed the valley all over.

Sought his daughter at great speed

And the whistlin' gypsy rover.

He came at last to a mansion fine

Down by the river Claydee.

And there was music and there was wine

For the gypsy and his lady.

"Have you forsaken your house and home?

Have you forsaken your baby?

Have you forsaken your husband dear

For a whistling gypsy rover?"

"He is no gypsy, my Father," she cried

"but Lord of these lands all over.

And I shall stay 'til my dying day

with my whistlin' gypsy rover."

As I finish, I realize I’ve been swaying slightly, as if trapped in a trance. I glance around the circle.

Zee and Alix are beaming, Felix is watching the others’ reactions, and the others are wide-eyed, spellbound – Ben’s jaw looks like it’s about to fall off.

Even Elliot, cool and unflappable Elliot who never seems phased by anything, is staring at me with eyes a big as dinner plates.

“Your voice is… it’s…” he says, knitting his brows as he struggles for the word.

“Amazin’,” Lyall says dreamily, as he gazes at me across the flames.

“Like a siren of the deep,” Alastaire says, sprawling out on the sand. “Luring men to their watery graves with her musical enchantments.”

As he says it, my blood runs cold.

Siren of the deep. Watery graves.

There’s some realization forming at the back of my mind, and I fight it back, afraid to realize, not wanting to see the thing that’s staring right at me.

I feel my skin prickle over with goosebumps, and my breath catches in my throat.

“I need some… fresh air,” I say, rising to my feet.

“Umm… we’re outdoors genius,” Alix says. “There’s fresh air all around us.”

“I’m going for a walk,” I say, ignoring him.

“I’ll join you!” Zee pipes up.

“Me too!” Kitty says.

“No!” I say too sharply, causing the smiles to disappear, replaced with worried looks. “I just need to be alone for a bit. I won’t go far. I promise.”

“Cupca-” Alastaire starts to say, before kitty hushes him.

The last thing I see before I turn around and walk away across the sand is Felix’s eyes. Hazel brownish green flecked with gold, reflecting the dancing flames as he stares into my own pale green eyes.

His gaze is filled with something, something lonely and hungry I’m struggling to name.

As I walk away, I realize what it was.

Longing.