‘It’s just that I’ve been having these dreams,’ Tim continued, oblivious, his voice a whisper that echoed around the wooden corners of the dormitory. ‘They distract me. They’re with me all day. I see you all die, over and over again. You’re screaming, Captain Hutchinson, because you know that something’s about to fall on you. Merryweather’s only got one leg. Please… does anybody else have dreams like that?’

Hutchinson glanced at the other boys, a wide grin spreading over his face. ‘I think we’re made of different stuff to you, bug. You can’t scare us.’

‘I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just saying that I see it all the time, and it distracts me. That’s my defence.’

Hutchinson nodded. ‘Very well. What’s the verdict of the jury? Hands up for guilty.’

All the boys put their hands up but one. Anand. Timothy smiled at him.

‘So, guilty it is.’ Hutchinson banged the gavel again. He reached behind him, and put a black square of the material used to repair school uniform on his head. ‘I sentence Dean to be hanged by the neck until dead. Is the executioner present?’

Phipps raised his hand. In it was a noose made from gym rope. Timothy stared at it.

‘You’re joking, of course?’ said Anand, looking between Timothy and the rope.

‘You can’t go through with it.’

‘Shut up, darkie. Take him to the window.’ The boys rushed forward, pulling Timothy off his feet and carrying him towards the window. Somebody pulled it open and propped it up. The noose was thrown around Timothy’s neck, despite his weak protests. The other end of the rope was tied around the foot of a heavy wardrobe.

Anand turned and ran for the door, but a couple of boys grabbed him before he got there and sat on him, stuffing a handkerchief into his mouth.

Hutchinson leapt up on to the bed, swinging the cloth excitedly around his head.

‘Executioner, do your duty!’

Phipps supervised the frenzied dragging of Timothy to the window-sill. The boys grabbed his arms, and aimed him like a battering ram for the gap between the window and sill. Chill winds blew in from the darkness outside. The rope swung from Timothy’s neck, and he went limp, giving up his struggles.

Let them, the voice inside him said. Hang me, cut me down, spread my blood on the field. End my life. I’ll return.

With a great rush, the boys threw Timothy out of the window. The rope unreeled after him, and then snapped taut.

They piled to the window and gazed out. Far below, Tim’s body hung limp, swinging in the breeze, his arms dangling by his sides.

‘He doesn’t seem to have grabbed the noose…’ Merryweather whispered.