Mr Peterson stumbled on for a few more minutes that felt much longer, before he took his applause and shuffled offstage.

The show’s host – Eddie Crichton, who ran the village’s sports and social club – wandered on to the stage looking mildly baffled.

‘Er… well… um…’ he said, possibly trying to work out how year after year Mr Peterson failed to improve his act. ‘Now for a little bit of a change from the ordinary.’ He was regaining enthusiasm. ‘As we set off on a voyage into the mysteries of the human mind. I’d like to hear a big Millgrove welcome for… THE GREAT DANIELINI!’

Simon nudged me in the ribs, really hard and raised his eyebrows.

‘Danielini?’ he whispered. ‘What kind of name is that?’

‘Not a particularly good one,’ I whispered back.

I looked around at the people watching, acutely aware of just how badly this could all go for Danny if his act didn’t match up to the billing he’d just been given.

I could see Danny’s mum a couple of rows forwards of us watching the whole thing through the viewfinder of a tiny camcorder. I remember thinking how cruel it was to be filming him, and how at least I had been spared the humiliation of having my own talent show appearance filmed by my parents.

For some reason I had a sudden urge to check the crowd for Danny’s sister, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

Maybe she was sensible and had found something more fun to do.

Like hammering nails into her feet.

Then Danny stepped on to the stage.

04

You know sometimes you see a person you know, but there’s something different about them and you have to look again – do a double take – because you’re suddenly not certain it’s the person you thought it was. Maybe it’s a haircut that makes you suddenly uncertain, or a look on their face that you’ve never seen there before.