26

The following Sunday, Bella arrives with Lewis, a strapping lad of sixteen who suffers from terrible acne but is an ace sportsman.

‘No football this weekend?’ Molly says.

‘Nah,’ he grunts. ‘Training pitch is being dug up. Going to make it all-weather.’

‘Lewis has got an idea,’ Bella says, nudging him. ‘Go on, tell your gran.’

‘You know those firemen’s-chair thingies,’ he says, fingering a spot on his chin, ‘they use for evacuation?’

Molly nods, although she hasn’t really got a clue.

‘Dad says we can borrow one from the fire station.’

A chair? How’s that going to work, she wonders? But he’s still talking.

‘He’s going to come too. Reckons we can manage it, easy, between us. Over the bits where the wheelchair won’t go.’

She glances at Bella. Her daughter’s divorce was acrimonious – he’s married to the ruddy fire service, she used to complain – but as the years have gone by, they have stayed civil for Lewis’s sake. ‘Andy’s going to help us? That’s kind.’

‘He’s always been fond of you,’ her daughter says quietly.

‘Well, thank you, Lewis. If you really think it’s going to work, we’ll give it a go, shall we?’

Two weeks later, Molly finds herself being bumped along that familiar path and down the slope. The bluebells are nearly over now, but they seem to have been even more widespread than she remembers.

Halfway down, Bella shouts, ‘There it is,’ and the little procession draws to a halt. She leans down to her mother’s level and points. ‘Look – between the trees, Mum.’

Molly peers. At first she can’t see beyond the greenery but then, between their trunks, she can just catch a glimpse of something white in the far distance. She tilts her head and waits for her eyes to adjust. Slowly a shape comes into focus.

‘Good Lord. I see it now. Look at that. It’s the outline of a giant dragon. Carved into the hillside. Whoever put that there, do you think?’

‘Apparently it was a millennium project, organised by the landowner.’

‘Now that’s what I call a real dragon,’ Molly says.

It has a fine set of wings and a long, curly tail and is apparently breathing fire. Perhaps this is how the crocodile ended up, proudly taking her place as a proper grown-up dragon. One day she might write the final chapter for Jimmy’s book. But she will never offer it to her publisher – it’s too personal. It is her brother’s special story.