I swing my foot like a golf club into the ferns, scything them off at the base. ‘What else can I do?’ I whisper aloud. I make no effort to search for an answer. I shrug my shoulders to an invisible judge. What can I do?

Should I just run? It means leaving my schoolbag behind in the classroom. Someone will find it, investigate it, discover its contents. I should go back for it. The room’s empty – it would take no time at all. No one will see me. Surely that’s the best move right now.

I turn in the direction of school, but I don’t start moving. In five or six minutes, I could be back here. The Plan aborted. The dream over. It’s a decision that could kill me. And Gramps. And destroy Sophia.

I need more time.

I wade into the thickening undergrowth. The tearing of brambles at my trousers and the nettles singeing through the material have no effect on my pace. I check behind me every few seconds, keeping the Smokers’ Hole within view. I reach the thick bank of fir trees. A few pinpricks of sunlight make it through from the park on the other side. Buried somewhere near the tree trunks is a barbed-wire fence; even if I could fight my way through the branches, I still couldn’t get to open ground. I tear at handfuls of ferns as I walk, shredding the vegetation through my fingers. I close my eyes. The cool leaves of the trees swat at my forehead.

As sudden as the flicking of a switch, I feel the atmosphere change. The air comes to life around me. It makes my skin tingle. There’s static in my hair, each individual strand repelling the next and dancing on my scalp. There is energy. It’s in everything.

I draw in a deep breath. The scent is no surprise: the smoke from the first drag of a cigarette, sweet perfume from sun-scorched skin.

I know she sometimes takes her work breaks in that corner of the park. Perhaps this is one last time before we leave. I can see only her outline as she sits cross-legged on the ground on the far side of the dense branches. I crouch until I’m level with her.

She is two or three metres away, facing me through the thicket, her head lost in shadow against the green that rolls out behind her.

Her voice silences everything. It’s full of sweetness and calm, wrapping round me and stilling every nerve. The road nearby becomes the sound of waves crashing; the shouts from the park are the distant chatter of gulls.

‘Why are you here, Ollie?’ Sophia asks.

I don’t know the answer to that.

The Normal

Last autumn