Halfway there, Jimmy began to sniffle. I took his hand and dragged him along, so roughly that he started to stumble. ‘Come on, Jimmy,’ I snapped at him.’ We haven’t got all day. Once we’ve found Eli, we can ask him where he wants to live.’

How I wished, looking back on that moment, that I’d shown more patience, more compassion. What I failed to realise was that Jimmy was as worried and upset as I was – and just as determined to fight for his friend – only he didn’t know how to show it.

The place was still a building site: dusty, bare ground was littered with concrete mixers, bulldozers and other rusting equipment, with no greenery and scarcely a tree or bush within a hundred yards. I couldn’t imagine a greater contrast with the beautiful woodland glade Eli loved so much. Although four of the ten semi-detached houses looked finished, none of them seemed to be occupied. Bare windows stared at us like the blank eyes of empty souls; it made me shiver.

The place was deserted. And Eli was nowhere to be seen.

‘Don’ like it here. Want to go home,’ Jimmy said.

On the way back down the hill, we argued. Kit was all for going ahead with the sit-in, regardless. ‘They’ve issued an eviction notice, Molly. What other proof do you need?’

I insisted that we must wait until we’d found Eli. ‘What if he’s changed his mind, found somewhere else to live? We’d be dragging his name through the newspapers when he’d rather be left alone.’

‘But it’s wrong. Immoral. Didn’t you say so yourself? The Blackness wants the land for himself, to cut down the woodland and sell for more housing. And that’s not enough to demonstrate against?’

I had no answer.

‘Where’s your passion gone, Molly, your fire? I thought you were so brilliant: determined to stand up for the underdog against the evil forces of the Blackness. And now we have genuine proof, with his signature on that eviction notice and all, you’ve gone soft.’

‘Not soft, just cautious,’ I muttered, trying to hold back tears.

We parted in ill humour, agreeing that he would come to the vicarage the following morning. I was going to ask Mrs D and other people where Eli might have gone, and Kit reluctantly agreed, although I could see he was disappointed in me. I’d been so flattered that he had agreed to help me – thrilled and perhaps a little blinded by his energy and enthusiasm. And the fact that I adored him. Now I was filled with doubts.

When we got back to the vicarage I discovered my father in our bleak front room, perched on one of the sagging armchairs with his head in his hands, cigarette between his fingers. The ashtray at his feet was already full, the air muggy with stale smoke.