It was the Timpson twins, a pair of indistinguishable sisters about a year younger than me, whom I’d met briefly at the Christmas Day party.

We waited for them to catch up.

‘What school are you going to?’ asked Jane, or was it Juliet?

‘The Girls’ High. It’s my first day.’

‘We go there too. We’re in the upper fourth. What about you?’

‘Lower fifth.’

‘Ooh, that’s when it gets serious, isn’t it? Lots of homework.’

‘I expect I’ll find out.’

They chattered non-stop on the bus and the short walk to the school about the various rules, the foibles of different teachers – strict, kind, mean, inspiring, dull – the cleanest toilets, the most generous dinner ladies and the best buys at the school tuck shop. By the time we got there the place felt almost familiar.

We met again at the end of the day. ‘How did it go?’ Jane/Juliet asked.

‘Brilliant.’ It had been easy enough to get my bearings, the girls in my class were friendly, I hadn’t been late for a single lesson and had earned praise from the hockey teacher for my passing skills. A good day, all round. Hopefully it wasn’t some kind of honeymoon period, like the one Pa talked about.

On the homeward bus I learned more about the twins. I knew that their mother ran the church choir, because she’d been pestering me to join it ever since that very first service. Besides the twins, the choir consisted of six older women and a couple of men.

‘You should come,’ they chorused. ‘It’d be fun.’ I protested that I couldn’t read music but they insisted it was only a matter of learning the tunes, and I promised to think about it. Before arriving in Wormley I had no idea that girls could sing in a church choir. At St Martin’s they had a proper choir, all men, who sang in four-part harmony with choirboys and male altos.

The twins lived in one of the thatched cottages further down the street from the vicarage, while their father, who was something rather important in the Civil Service, had a flat in London and came home at weekends. The twins’ mother was friendly with Jane Waddington and Melissa Blackman, and Melissa gave them lifts in her red sports car to the life classes they attended. Life classes? I didn’t like to ask.

‘Did you talk to Kit Waddington?’ Jane – or was it Juliet? – asked. ‘He was at your party on Christmas Day. Isn’t he dishy?’

‘Yes, we said a few words,’ I said, trying to sound casual, even though I’d thought about him almost every day. ‘Have they really got a lake? With islands?’

‘Ooh, yes. Get yourself invited if you can. It’s amazing.’

‘But I haven’t seen him since,’ I said.