Entranced by the moment, I quickly forgot to worry. My arms worked rhythmically to pull the little boat through the water, the lake spread out before us, and a handsome boy was grinning at me from the stern. It was like a daydream.

We landed and pulled Robin up onto the shore. ‘Don’t want her floating off,’ he said, tying the rope to a tree. I wouldn’t have minded. Cast away on an island with Kit: what could be more romantic?

The summer house was a large shed painted in peeling eggshell-blue, with French doors and windows all round, in which hung sun-faded blue gingham curtains. Kit retrieved the key from under a stone and opened the door.

‘Welcome to my humble abode, sweet maiden,’ he said, giving an exaggeratedly dramatic bow.

The shed was furnished simply but charmingly with a small table and chair, also in eggshell-blue, and a scruffy settee covered in soft rugs along the back wall. On the table was a jam jar with pens and pencils, and a notebook browned and curled from the sun. I longed to open it.

A bookshelf held faded paperbacks and magazines, and on the walls were pinned amateur watercolours and children’s drawings. It smelled cosy, of warm cedar and dried leaves. A butterfly rested on the windowsill, long dead but its colours still iridescent. If only there was some kind of stove, I thought to myself, you could live here forever. Like Eli.

‘It’s so pretty,’ I gasped. ‘The perfect place for writing.’

I sat at the table, took up a pen, pretending.

‘Do you write, Molly?’

‘Just my diary and a few stories. I’d like to be a proper writer one day, though.’ I wasn’t going to tell him about the dragon book, not yet.

‘Then you can come here any time you want, and we’ll be able to say it was where the famous author wrote her bestseller,’ Kit said, resting back on the settee.

‘Don’t tease.’ I wanted to move beside him, but decided it was best to wait until he asked.

‘I’m deadly serious.’ His eyes twinkled in the most unserious way.

‘Does anyone come here much?’

‘Not these days. Except me, when I want to get away from things.’

‘Is that often? I mean, that you want to get away?’

‘When it gets too difficult at home.’

‘What do you mean, difficult?’

‘Pa’s a bit of a brute, you know. They argue a lot. It gets ugly sometimes. It’s better when he’s in London.’ Kit stopped and stared at the floor. I was curious to know more, but didn’t want to press him. ‘I like you, though,’ he said suddenly. ‘You’re quiet and calm. You talk about interesting things. And your brother’s a great kid.’

‘You’ve been so nice with him. I really appreciate it. Not everyone is kind to people who are different.’