On the fourth side was nothing much except a wasteground of fallen brick and one tall chimney – all that remained of the Blackbury Rubber Boot Company. (‘If It’s a Boot, It’s a Blackbury’ had been one of the most famously stupid slogans in the world.)

Johnny vaguely remembered there’d been something in the papers. People had been protesting about something – but then, they always were. There was always so much news going on you never had time to find out anything important.

He walked round to the old factory site. Bulldozers were parked around it now, although they were all empty. There was a wire fence which had been broken down here and there despite the notices about Guard Dogs on Patrol. Perhaps the guard dogs had broken out.

And there was a big sign, showing the office building that was going to be built on the site. It was beautiful. There were fountains in front of it, and quite old trees carefully placed here and there, and neat people standing chatting outside it. And the sky above it was a glorious blue, which was pretty unusual for Blackbury, where most of the time the sky was that odd, soapy colour you’d get if you lived in a Tupperware box.

Johnny stared at it for some time, while the rain fell in the real world and the blue sky glittered on the sign.

It was pretty obvious that the building was going to take up more room than the site of the old boot factory.

The words above the picture said, ‘An Exciting Development for United Amalagamated Consolidated Holdings: Forward to the Future!’

Johnny didn’t feel very excited, but he did feel that ‘Forward to the Future’ was even dafter than ‘If It’s a Boot, It’s a Blackbury’.

Before school next day he pinched the newspaper and tucked it out of sight behind William Stickers’ grave.

He felt more daft than afraid. He wished he could talk to someone about it.

He didn’t have anyone to talk to. But he did have three people to talk with.

There were various gangs and alliances in the school, such as the sporty group, and the bright kids, and the Computer Club Nerds.

And then there was Johnny, and Wobbler, and Bigmac, who said he was the last of the well hard skinheads but was actually a skinny kid with short hair and flat feet and asthma who had difficulty even walking in Doc Martens, and there was Yo-less, who was technically black.

But at least they listened, during break, on the bit of wall between the school kitchens and the library. It was where they normally hung out – or at least, hung around.

‘Ghosts,’ said Yo-less, when he’d finished.

‘No-oo,’ said Johnny uncertainly. ‘They don’t like being called ghosts. It upsets them, for some reason. They’re just . . . dead. I suppose it’s like not calling people handicapped or backward.’

‘Politically incorrect,’ said Yo-less. ‘I read about that.’