She looked in amazement as a spiral of rose gold vapour rose from her cupped hands.

‘Kiss me and then blow, blow hard,’ he’d said, ‘and you’ll call up the genie.’

She’d thought it was the spliff talking, after all, who believed in genies?

She shivered, and the shiver ran the length of her pink hair, right down to her silver shoes, as a large rug uncurled on the grass. She looked around. The trees remained rooted, the cows grazed disinterestedly in the next field, planes droned overhead. She wasn’t tripping, she wasn’t stoned.

‘C’mon down here, it’ll follow you.’

He reached his arm out to her, pulling her onto the rug. The genie followed.

‘It’s your protector, your guardian angel, so kiss me again.’

Later, he sent a text. Better than GHB.