Kit was the first to react, leaping over the box hedges like an Olympic hurdler and sprinting across the lawn at impressive speed. He climbed a low wall and reached up for Jimmy, calling to him to turn and come down backwards, the way he’d climbed up. The rest of us were rooted to the spot, watching the drama unfold.

After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jimmy turned to look at Kit, but at the same time he let go of the stone swan and lost his balance, wobbling for a second before starting to topple. Kit stepped forward on the wall and managed to catch him, but couldn’t keep his own balance, and the pair of them tumbled down together, with Jimmy on top and Kit below, breaking his fall.

By the time we reached them, Jimmy was already on his feet, looking a bit dazed but apparently unharmed. Pa grabbed him by the arm, rather roughly, shouting, ‘For goodness’ sake. Whatever did you think you were doing? You’re a big boy now and should know better than to run off like that.’

Jimmy burst into tears.

Kit was still sprawled on the ground, his face a funny shade of grey. His mother kneeled beside him, lifting him up tenderly into a sitting position.

‘Oh, my darling, are you hurt?’

‘A bit . . . strange.’ His head slumped to one side, and there was blood all over his white shirt and his mother’s sleeve.

‘Call for a doctor,’ his mother cried.

‘Don’t fuss, dear,’ Mr Waddington snapped. ‘He’s only bumped his head.’

Kit came round soon enough. His father helped him onto his feet and then half-walked, half-carried him back to the house, where he collapsed into a chair. We stood back, feeling rather helpless as Mrs Waddington appeared with a first-aid box. Her husband elbowed her out of the way and began to investigate Kit’s injuries. He must have cracked his head on something hard and sharp, because they found, concealed under his hair, a rather large wound still oozing blood.

‘We need to control this bleeding. Lint-compress, quick sharp.’ Mrs Waddington produced a white pad that he held to the wound. ‘He’ll need stitches. Ring the doctor. Say it’s urgent,’ he commanded, and she scuttled away.

Pa whispered, ‘Time to make ourselves scarce, I think.’

We offered profuse apologies and thanks, and let ourselves out. We walked home in silence, wrapped in our own thoughts. Jimmy was sulking because Pa had ticked him off, and my own footsteps were heavy with guilt. The accident would never have happened had I not allowed Jimmy to wander away like that. Kit had been a hero all right, saving Jimmy’s fall, and it could have been so much worse. But now he would probably never want anything more to do with us.