‘The bunkhouse was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted.’ His words come out slowly and loudly but I’m not hearing them. Problems? Did Granddad really just say that I’ve got problems? Who’s been talking about me? Mum, Dad, the teachers! The neighbours! Is that why Mrs Flower looks at me weird when I go past her gate? Is that why the woman in the chip shop counts my change out slowly? Is that what the teachers say about me when I walk past the staffroom? Felix has got ‘problems’? Is that what I am? A problem child? My only problem is I can’t sit still. It doesn’t matter where I try to read – in English, in the library, in my bedroom, at Granddad’s – you can put me in any room, anywhere in the whole world, but the problem is still there.

‘In three walls there were small, square windows,’ Granddad continues, ‘and in the fourth, a solid door with a wooden latch. Against the walls were eight bunks—’ Granddad stops suddenly. ‘Now you,’ he says, like I’m five years old (at least that’s how old I feel). A five-year-old with problems!

I look at the next sentence.

On the wall there were pegs, on which hung broken harnesses . . .

I say it once more in my head, then out loud:

‘On the wall there . . . On the wall there . . .’

Problems? I’ve got problems?

‘I can’t do it,’ I say.

‘You can,’ says Granddad, ‘you just have to—’

‘I said I can’t do it!’ I push the book away and stand up. ‘My brain’s all wrong.’

‘What?’ Granddad chuckles.

‘It’s not funny,’ I yell. I turn and run out into the hall.

Granddad shouts, ‘Felix, come back now,’ and then something else, but I’m too far down the garden path to hear.

Up Our Tree

The soldiers are creeping like cardboard cut-outs across the sun and there’s smoke billowing on top of the hill.

I’m up in the tree after storming out on Granddad an hour ago. I’ve got ‘problems’ he said and now I’ve got another one, because even though I’ve been fighting hard, the enemy has me surrounded. There’s a spotter on the horizon, between the new office block and the sports centre. I need to get the cannons ready, pack the magazines with powder and load the ball, but I can’t take them on my own.

I look across the square to Jake’s house. I need his help. I need a whole platoon, but all I can see is Mrs Flower walking her old dog. Can’t she see what’s happening? The enemy is coming and I’m the only gunner here.