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“IT’S DEFINITELY GIVING MIDSOMMAR,” RUBY says, looking at the guests who have already arrived on the lawns in their headdresses and white outfits. Ruby and I are serving champagne glasses of cider as they pass beneath a willow arch and join the crowds on the grass.

It’s so hot that all the ice in the crates for cooling the cider bottles has already melted. I keep fantasizing about pouring the freezing water left behind over my head. “And can you believe they’re making us wear these fucking things?” Ruby adds, gesturing to her get-up: the little horns and the flowing green robes all the staff have been told to wear. On her it looks like high fashion. I’m mainly concerned about whether you can see my bits, because the material’s pretty thin and the breeze keeps blowing it against me. It reminds me of being a Lost Boy in Peter Pan at school, when I had to wear a pair of too-small tights. Dad seemed to think it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. I remember, because my dad never really laughs. That gets me thinking about what I found this morning. My dad: one of the Night Birds.

“You all right?” Ruby looks at me. “Eds? You’ve kind of glazed over there.”

Before I can answer—am I all right?—a couple wanders up to us. The woman gestures at the tray of drinks I’m holding. “Does that contain sulfites?”

“Er... it’s cider?” I say.

Ruby rolls her eyes at me once they’ve drifted away (they each took one anyway). “That’s not what you say, Eddie. You say ‘No, of course we don’t allow any nasty common sulfites here,’ and smile.”

“I can’t! She might have some sort of reaction.”

“Guaranteed, Eds, a few years ago she would have been asking if it was gluten free. Sulfites are just more on-trend these days. Besides... would it be so much of a tragedy? One less of this lot?” She wrinkles her nose. “You know, sometimes I think this job’s OK. The pay’s all right. And then other times I think I’d really like to headbutt someone. Or just, like, torch the place.” She pauses for a moment. “Though maybe not tonight because did you hear the rumor about Nick Cave doing a set? And Wolf Alice. Oi! Are you listening?”

I just caught sight of a face that has no business being here.

“Yeah? Sorry... I thought I just saw someone.”

I search among the faces in the crowd. Now I can’t see any sign of him, just more guests arriving, flocking onto the lawns in their white outfits. Maybe I imagined it. But why the hell would I hallucinate Nathan Tate, skulking round the edges of everything like some underfed wolf?