Right from the start, Anna and David wanted me to see my adoption as a positive thing, and he always made sure that I knew the character of Evangeline the time-travelling adventurer was based on me. Rather than paint her as someone tragic and lost, David had made her a pioneer. Evangeline had been chosen to lead a bigger life than the one she was born into, one where her intrepid spirit and natural courage could help others. This was all very well and made for a series of fun stories, but it also left me forever trying my best to match up to my literary twin.

I had enjoyed the notoriety at first. The Evangeline And … books began to take off when I was in my final year at primary school, a time when being the centre of attention suited me just fine. It was only when the film rights sold, and four big-budget movies were made during my tricky teenage years, that the comparisons started to rankle. I no longer wanted new acquaintances to know that this globally recognisable character was based on me, because they would inevitably look at me differently once they did. It felt almost as if they would stop trying to get to know the real me. I resented the assumptions they made, not to mention their misguided envy, and as the years passed, I started to dislike the character.

The larger the Evangeline And … brand grew, the further I retreated. I went from being the noisy centre of a large circle of friends to spending every spare minute at the stables. Horses judge you purely on your own merits, and I found that most of the people working at the yard had little interest in stories about time-travelling children. There are no airs and graces when you spend the vast majority of your time shovelling manure, and while my family might have been well off as a result of my fictional frenemy’s fame, I never acted as if I was, or took advantage of the fact. I think Anna and David did desperately want to spoil me, but aside from delighting in their decision to support my riding obsession with a series of ponies, I resisted their offers of holidays abroad and a new car. The way I saw it, I had a roof over my head, parents who loved me, a handful of trusted friends, a job I was passionate about and a horse, called Suki, that I adored – I didn’t need or want anything else.

I look up to find Hayley staring at me, a look of concern beginning to take shape on her face. She has the lived-in skin of someone who spends every season outdoors, and her nails, like Billy’s, are framed with the remnants of ground-in dirt. My own hands were not dissimilar once, but the past year’s idleness has softened them.