Brookie stared down at the textbooks, pens and mess of assorted rubbish, but his expression was not of dismay just of numb acceptance. Stuff happened. To him.

‘Come here, let me . . . Look at the state of you. Can’t you even find a new placky bag or what?’

Brookie started to scrabble about in the puddle. ‘No.’

‘Hang on, hang on, let’s do this properly. '

‘I’ll miss the bus again.’

‘Never mind that, I’ll give you a lift, and I’ve probably got an old bag in the van. Now hold these – no, not like that, they’re dripping wet.’

Fats went round to the back of the van and rummaged about, while Brookie tried to stop the rainwater dripping all over himself and the seats, even though the seats were already filthy and split here and there.

‘Here, better than that other rubbish.’

He held out something in a shiny new plastic cover.

‘What’s this?’

‘Present.’

‘Who from?’

‘Me. Now open it, shove your things in and let’s get going, I’ve got stuff to do.’

The rucksack that came out of the packaging had strong maroon waterproof fabric with black piping, and black straps, and smelled of its newness, inside and out.

‘What are you giving me this for?’

‘Must be mad. Anyway, it’ll do you, won’t it?’

Brookie stared at it, then stroked it, then very carefully stowed his things inside.

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, now shut up before I change my mind.’

Brookie was silent for the first bit of the journey, just holding the rucksack close to him, but as they turned onto the country road, he said, ‘Why were you at my school again?’

‘Seeing a man about a dog.’

‘You got a dog?’ Brookie dreamed hopefully and regularly of having his own dog.

‘Nah, it’s a thing people say, see a man about a dog.’

They swung round a corner too hard, almost tipping into the ditch. Brookie was glad when they stopped at the corner.

‘You’d better say you found it on a skip.’

‘Why? I want to tell my dad you –’

‘No, you don’t, you keep this between us. A skip, I said.’

‘Oh. Only –’

‘Only nothing. Get it?’

‘OK. Hey, thanks though, it’s really cool.’

‘You’re all right. Slam the door.’

The van rattled off. It had only one working back light. Brookie watched it go, holding the rucksack tightly, but worrying about it. Because you found a lot of stuff in skips but not shiny new bags in their wrappers from the shop. Not usually.

He raced upstairs with the bag when he got in, was putting it between his mattress and the wall when Tommy came in.

‘Where’d you get that?’

‘What?’

‘That bag.’

‘It’s old.’

‘Doesn’t look old. Where’d you get it?’

‘Found it.’

‘Liar.’

‘In a skip.’

‘What skip? Where?’

‘Mind yours.’

‘You nicked it.’