I was awake first, the next morning. Sunlight streamed through the less than adequate curtains around the motor home. I'd slept remarkably well, though my dreams had been tormented by persistent images of Niles. Waking up in the night, I'd suddenly become paranoid about talking in my sleep. It wouldn't have been the first time that had happened.

Of course, the dreams didn't mean anything. We never dream about the things we really want, do we? And in any case, most interpretations of dreams tend to be a million miles away from the actual images we see, right?

Right.

So I was probably worrying over nothing.

I was dressed, had the coffee machine going and was sorting out croissants to heat in the little convection oven, when Niles poked his head out from the curtains. "Hello," he said, and a fist appeared to rub at his eyes. His morning stubble was fair and looked soft to the touch.

"Good morning, slugabed," I smiled, determined to make a fresh start that day and not dwell on innuendo and double entendre. "Would you like your coffee in bed, or shall I turn my back until you manage to put your kecks on?"

"I'll join the household," he returned primly, then leaned out past me and scrutinised the rear cabin.

"She's still dead to the world," I commented. I turned around and busied myself folding up bedding and storing cushions so that we could use the table. Behind me I heard the sound of Niles vacating his cot, and the rustling of clothes as he dressed. By the time I was ready to shift the pile of blankets, a pair of arms reached past me to lift them out of the way. I rolled my eyes and let Niles hoist the stack of bedclothes, and of course, I was on hand to steady him when he nearly fell backwards under this burden.

Some things are as predictable as the sunrise.

The oven pinged as it came up to temperature, so I didn't have much chance to admire the white T-shirt tucked into those perfect blue jeans. As I carried on with breakfast, Niles opened the Winnebago door and stepped outside. "It's a beautiful morning!" he called over his shoulder. "Want to eat out here?"

"What a good idea!" I called back. "There's a picnic blanket in the storage unit by the door."

Twenty minutes later, I'd managed to drag Maggie out of bed and into some clean clothes while Niles had considerately busied himself outside. We sat down in the morning sunlight and enjoyed our breakfast. Despite it being not too far off noon, we seemed to be among the first risers in our own little corner of the festival site.

Maggie, as soon as she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, picked up just where she had left off the previous night. She reached over to Niles to flick a non-existent croissant crumb from his chin and then cooed over the softness of his stubble, demanding he not shave for the rest of the weekend. When he admitted that he'd forgotten to pack the adapter for his electric razor and had decided that wet shaving in the Winnebago was too much like hard work, Maggie reacted as smugly as though he had told her that he was hers to do with as she wished.

I said, "Well, shall we get packed up and head off?" in a tone that sounded a little abrasive, even to my ears.

Niles obligingly folded up the blanket outside as Maggie and I quickly cleaned up the breakfast things. As we washed dishes, she leaned in to me and hissed, "Am I going to have to sodding well fight you for him, then?!"

I glanced over my shoulder and out the open door. Niles was struggling with the heavy blanket, which appeared to have developed a mind of its own. He has this talent for turning the most trivial, straightforward task into a major production. I never quite know whether to find it exasperating or endearing.

I turned back to my friend and retorted, "Come on, Maggie, since we picked you up yesterday you've been gunning for Niles, Michael, Reggie, Timothy *and* Timothy's girlfriend!"

"So what?"

"Well, you're obviously not in the market for a steady relationship, and I don't want to see Niles hurt by you!"

"Why would he be hurt?" Maggie was genuinely flummoxed. "Why shouldn't *he* be interested in a no-strings, weekend fling?" I was silent, because I had no answer to that. I suppose I'd just always thought of Niles as a man who didn't go for casual sex, but when I considered further, I realised I had no real basis for that assumption, as I didn't know the first thing about his personal life since his separation from his wife. "And of course, you *really* care about him, don't you!" Maggie finished sarcastically, looking daggers at me.

I didn't know what that was supposed to mean, and I was too confused by my conflicting feelings to bother following it up. "Fine!" I retorted. "Make a play for Niles, flutter your eyelashes at him, smear him all over with body-paint and screw him behind the latrines until he goes cross-eyed, if you like. See if I care!"

Amazingly enough, Maggie dissolved into chuckles and nudged me playfully. "Cheers Daph," she grinned. "I'll do my very best!" There was a pause as I wondered what the hell it was that I was feeling, before Maggie added, "I reckon I'll give the latrines a miss, though."

Brother or no brother, I was beginning to wish I hadn't even bothered to come.