Jonny stuffed his cold hands into his coat pockets as he watched his father make the final preparations. He had been helping stack the wood in the back garden for the last week.

Every year he had asked for a bonfire, every year his mother and father told him no.

But not this year. This year his father had been surprisingly enthusiastic. He had even taken a load of old papers from his study and put them at the bottom of the pyre. ‘Perfect for kindling,’ his father had smiled at him.

Now Jonny stood with his mother’s arm around his shoulder as his father added lighter fluid to the base of the bonfire. He then stepped back and took out a box of matches.

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