He pulls a face like that’s no big deal then says, ‘You’re the kid with the weird granddad, right?’

‘You say this every time we’re in here,’ I sigh.

‘I know I do – that’s because he is weird.’

‘You don’t know him.’

‘Don’t have to,’ James King says. ‘But picking you up every day in a pink car is weird.’

‘He’s just my granddad,’ I say.

‘James, move along, away from Felix.’

‘Get him to move.’

‘No,’ says Mrs Ewens. ‘I asked you.’

James King huffs, then picks up his bag and moves.

It’s only a few seconds before he starts tapping again.

I stare at the wall, and try to block him out. Some kids do homework in here, some read books. Jake said he fell asleep once, but I just stare at the wall to make time go quicker, to forget where I am. If I stare long enough, I see colours and shapes and they merge together and it’s like I’m watching a film – my house, Jake’s house, my granddad’s house, around the edge of a grass square. And in the middle of the square is my and Jake’s tree.

In the winter we’re soldiers crawling across the grass on our bellies with guns, talking on a two-way radio, and when the coast is clear we fix our bayonets and run through the snow. In the summer we load cannons and fire them at the horizon where the enemy are camped. Sometimes I get grazed by a bullet; sometimes they hit me full on, right between my ribs. I can still feel the stabbing pain in my heart, and if I lift up my shirt I can run my fingers over the ridge in my skin where the scab fell off.

Me and Jake take everyone on. It doesn’t matter who they are or what country they come from, it’s any soldier who dares to come near us and threaten our tree. I imagine I’m there now and I can see them advancing through my binoculars. There’s a sniper on top of Mrs Flower’s roof, sweeping around the square, over the parked cars at the front doors of our houses. He keeps sweeping, sweeping, until he suddenly stops dead in line with our tree. I need to stop him. I need to . . .

I pick up my rifle and rest the butt against my shoulder.

Snap!

The sniper locks right onto me and I’m locked onto him. We’re two eyes at the opposite ends of a giant telescope.

‘Don’t shoot!’ he whispers.

‘Don’t shoot!’ I whisper back.

Click.

He’s pulled his trigger.

Click.

I’ve pulled mine.

I duck as a bullet whizzes past my ear.

Ha. Got you! The sniper’s head explodes like a giant tomato.

‘Felix! Felix!’ Someone taps me on my shoulder.