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Usually I would have said, ‘Dad will give us a free pint at the Oakley Arms.’

But I felt weird about drinking at Mum and Dad’s pub. Maybe because I didn’t want Alex to see the big wooden penis hanging on our Christmas tree.

So I was pleased when he said, ‘I was thinking the Yacht Club. It’s right over there. The wine’s very good.’

I said, ‘I didn’t know you drank wine.’ Because I’ve only ever seen him drink whisky.

And he said, ‘I don’t. But you do. White wine. And Guinness. Not together. Obviously.’

‘How did you know that?’ I asked.

He said, ‘Observation.’

I’ve only ever been to the Yacht Club for private parties (you have to be a member to drink there), so it was nice to go on a normal night.

The whole place is basically one long panoramic window built into pale, Swedish-style wood, so we had an amazing view of the river and all the boats bobbing in the water.

Mum would have hated the Christmas decorations – they were simple, tasteful white fairy lights twinkling along the wooden beams. Not a neon fairy or wooden cock in sight.

Alex was right about the wine – it was delicious. I mean, not that I really know much about wine. But it definitely tasted better than the stuff at Mum and Dad’s pub.

For a while, we sat watching the river, me drinking white wine, and Alex sipping some dark-coloured whisky with a Scottish name.

Then we started talking.

I found out that Alex spent part of his childhood in Shanghai, Singapore, Bahrain and a whole load of other places. Which explains a lot – namely why he and Zach weren’t around for most of the village events, but would magically appear at the Dalton charity balls with fantastic suntans.

I asked him how it was, growing up in lots of different places. He said it gave him an education.

I asked if Jemima liked staying in Great Oakley.

Alex gave me that half-smile of his and said, ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t she?’

I said, ‘I just thought … I mean, you Daltons are well-travelled. I thought Great Oakley might seem too small for her. She might want to live in London eventually.’

Alex said Jemima loved Great Oakley.

As we were talking, fireworks went off along the river.

Suddenly, I thought of the burn on Alex’s arm and said, ‘You must hate Bonfire Night.’

Alex said, ‘Loathe it. But that’s our secret.’

‘We didn’t have to go running tonight,’ I said. ‘You could have cancelled.’

‘Fire doesn’t bother me anymore,’ Alex replied. ‘Although I’d never let Jemima stay in Great Oakley on Bonfire Night. So I suppose I still carry a few scars.’

I was ateensybit drunk at that point – all that running had burned out the contents of my stomach. So I said, ‘There were rumours about that fire. No one knows what to believe.’

Alex’s expression didn’t change at all. But he said, ‘Great Oakley likes its rumours. Tell me. Would this be the rumour about my father setting our house alight for insurance purposes? Or the rumour that he left me in there to burn?’

I felt awful then. Because it’s true – they were the rumours.

Alex took a sip of whisky and said, ‘When the house was on fire, Dad got me out. And Zach. So you see, Mr Dalton Senior isn’t all bad. And no – it wasn’t an insurance job. A firework set the stables alight, and the fire spread to the house.’

‘So how come you got burned?’ I asked. ‘No one else was hurt.’

I knew I’d gone too far then, because Alex looked out at the boats bobbing in the water and said, ‘Let’s talk about something else.’