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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

‘Josh is angry, Vince. He’s angry and he’s right to be angry. It’s disgusting that the school’s let it happen, given the circumstances. It makes you sick, right, Josh?’

I want the world to turn vague, to unhook and float away. But it won’t. It’s clear and it’s hard and it’s right in front of me, pressing against the tip of my nose.

‘It makes me sick, Josh. Watching him walk around like it’s all OK. Like it’s all forgotten. I can’t imagine how it must be for you.’

And it feels like I’m falling into the hardness and the clearness. Falling so fast I want to scream but I can’t.

‘I can’t imagine being you, Josh. One of those people walking around your town. Going to your school. One of those mudskins who killed your dad.’

Then something snaps and I’m running, running hard, my bag thudding into my back, my lungs burning, my legs trying to break the realness of the pavement and the puddles, the pure fire in my stomach rising higher and higher, the prickling sweat under my arms. Vince runs after me and I don’t care, then I hear Alan call him back like a bad dog. The last thing I hear Alan say is ‘See you on Sunday!’ But I’m not listening, just running, running, and I don’t know where I’m running to.

Until I do.

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY FOUR

When I was eight, we went to my grandma’s funeral – my dad’s mum. It was an open casket, and she had been made up to look healthy and glowing. But Dad’s coffin at Westminster Abbey had been closed. There was nothing in it anyway. It was just for the ceremony, glowing with polish but completely empty.

At his private funeral, the week before the Westminster Abbey one, we’d stood around Dad’s actual closed coffin as they lowered it into the ground of the woodland cemetery. As the first handful of cold earth landed on the dark wood, and the noise of its landing became muffled by the earth we threw on next, it got even more closed. And then we planted a tree.

I sometimes wonder – if all the thirty-nine people who died that day had trees planted for them, how big a forest would that make?

Not a very big one.

Dad’s tree is still pretty young and limp. There’s a cylinder of dirty, once-transparent plastic around the bottom of it to keep it from being eaten by deer.

They get a lot of deer in the woodland cemetery.

I don’t come here very much. I know I should do more often, with Mum, but I don’t know what I’d do or what good I’d be. I don’t know what I’d say to him.