I walk between the parked cars and cross the road onto the square. Jake’s dad is working on his car, but I can’t see Jake. I walk towards our tree, expecting him to leap out any minute and pelt me with e—

‘Wha—?’ I stop dead in my tracks.

Ahead of me, Granddad is standing by his gate with a plate in his hand.

My heart beats like a drum. He takes two steps across the pavement and stops at the kerb. I look around to see if he’s come out to feed Samson or check on the gnomes, but he doesn’t even look at the lawn and I can’t see Samson anywhere.

Granddad crosses the road onto the grass. For a moment I see him smile, or it might just be the sun shining in his eyes. He walks slowly towards me. I take a step forward, then another, pausing in between like I’m a pawn on a chessboard. Granddad is moving like a grandmaster and is now halfway to the tree. Did he see me come out of the house and decide it’s time to talk? What if Jake’s going to ambush me, but ambushes Granddad by mistake?

I keep walking and Granddad does the same. Slowly we get closer until we stop in front of each other under the tree. I still feel so bad that I don’t know what to say or do. I look down at my feet. Then Granddad says, ‘I think someone has been missing me . . . Or maybe they are just missing playing chess.’

‘Yes,’ I say quietly and look up.

Granddad nods at the base of the tree. A chessboard has been set up on the grass.

‘When did you put that there?’ I ask.

Granddad gives me a confused look like he does when he’s lost the remote.

‘I didn’t,’ he says. ‘I would not have a chessboard with the squares coloured in.’

I look down at the chessboard and see the white squares coloured by red crayon.

‘But . . .’ I narrow my brow.

Granddad pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘And I suppose you didn’t write this, either?’

I read the scrawly writing:

Granddad, meet me at the tree at 2 p.m.

Love Felix

PS That’s on Saturday.

‘But I was meant to be meeting—’ I shake my head slowly. I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. It’s the same handwriting as on the school toilet door, the same as the handwriting on the Isolation Room wall, and the same writing that’s scrawled all across the front of my maths book. I look back at the crayoned-in squares on the chessboard.

‘Jake!’

I look across at Jake’s bedroom window to see if he’s watching, but all I can see is the sun reflecting on the glass. I feel my face crack into a smile.