I suppose we’d become so used to him that we never saw his difference. Pa told me that when Jimmy was born, the hospital authorities suggested that he should be put into a special home, because children like him would never learn the skills for everyday life. But Ma had absolutely refused to let them take him away, and she’d been proved so right: he could walk and talk (sort of) and feed and dress himself reasonably well. He loved company, and his family, and his friends at school.

In London, where everyone is so varied, it didn’t seem to matter so much. But in Wormley they’d never seen anyone like Jimmy before, and although people were polite – how could they be otherwise, when he was the vicar’s son? – and no one said anything overtly, you could tell by the sideways glances that they were suspicious, even perhaps afraid. I felt like shouting at them, ‘For heaven’s sake, be friendly. He’s just a little boy with feelings like everyone else.’ But, of course, I never did.

So when he came rushing back from the churchyard one afternoon, buzzing with enthusiasm and an air of someone about to impart thrilling news, I couldn’t help getting a little bit excited.

‘There’s a . . . a . . .’

‘Spit it out,’ I said impatiently.

‘Drag . . . dragger. Dragon,’ he finished, with a triumphant grin.

A dragon. Just some silly little-boy thing. My excitement evaporated in an instant.

‘Where’s the dragon, Jim?’ Pa asked kindly.

‘In the M . . . m . . . Mere.’

‘What’s a mere?’ I asked.

‘It’s a marsh, or a lake,’ Pa said.

‘The Waddingtons’ lake, do you think?’ I said, perking up. The idea of the lake with the islands had fired my imagination. And if there was any chance I might see Kit again . . .

‘Down the . . . lay . . . lane.’

‘Have you seen it?’

He shook his head.

‘Then how do you know it’s a dragon?’

‘Old man said.’

‘Which old man, Jimmy?’

‘In the graveyard.’

‘Ah, that’ll be Eli.’

‘He’s a bit of a mystery, isn’t he?’ I asked. ‘He comes to all the services, but he always sits at the back and disappears before the rest of us come out.’

‘We pay him to dig the graves and tend the churchyard, but I don’t know much more than that,’ Pa said. ‘He was a Chapel man, he told me, till they closed it down. He was the last one left in the congregation. They say he lives in a shepherd’s hut somewhere in the woods, though I’ve never been there. But dragons, Jimmy? I’d take that with a very large pinch of salt, if you ask me.’

I didn’t care about the old man or the dragon, except that they provided the perfect excuse to discover for ourselves where this lake was, and perhaps get a glimpse of Wormley Hall. And even Kit.