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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

Their tasers raised as they peel back the foliage, the policemen discover that Carl hasn’t fallen completely down the well; he’s wedged in the top, his arm crooked over the brickwork. One policeman, kneeling down, holds Carl under the shoulder. He screams.

‘He’s popped his shoulder. Maybe his collarbone too. We’ll need help here,’ says the policeman to his colleague, who radios to the helicopter overhead. It pitches to one side and flies off.

The first policeman, returning his attention to Carl, tells him it’s going to be a bit of a wait. Carl screams again as the policeman’s grip tightens. ‘Get comfy,’ is the policeman’s stoic reply.

The second policeman turns to us, gingerly lifting my arm to check my elbow. The sparks and white lights come back each time he touches it, bringing my arm delicately across my chest. He tells me to hold it there and, taking off his jacket, gets Dana to help him slip it underneath me.

‘You OK, Miss? Not hurt all?’

Dana shakes her head, then turns to me, ‘It’s over. It’ll be OK, Josh. I promise. It’s over.’

I smile, or try to.

Dana’s smiling too. ‘Look.’

I turn my head. Beneath the wall, beyond the remains of the crocuses scuffed and scattered by the policemen’s heavy boots, a broken row of short, green spears are poking up out of the ground. At the top of each is a swell of papery skin and, from one or two, a waxy, yellow flower is emerging with a brilliant gold trumpet at the centre. They haven’t all come up – I probably put some of the bulbs in too deep, or too shallow – but in a weak ray of sunshine that’s coming through the gap in the wooden hoarding, the daffodils that I planted are dancing.

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY SEVEN

There’s explaining to do, after my arm is X-rayed and examined and put into a plaster cast. Sargant Prangle sits awkwardly in a plastic chair next to my hospital bed, her notepad on her knee, and asks question after question about the chase, about Carl hitting me, about how he fell down the well. Those are the words she uses again and again – ‘he fell down the well’, never ‘you pushed him.’

Mum sits on the other side, holding my good hand, stroking and squeezing it. She only speaks to agree with Sargant Prangle about how we should have stayed home and called the police. It was Mum who did that, in the first few seconds after Dana and I left. And she was right.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

She smiles a little, but won’t meet my eye.