So I began. I made my way from one end of the row of windows to the other, defacing each pane in turn, hearing Sophia’s words of encouragement over the hiss of the aerosol. With each sweep of the can, I forgot what I was doing a little more. I stopped listening out for approaching voices. I gave no more thought to the consequences of being caught. The fear evaporated. Just like big piano performances, my nerves were at their worst in that moment of lonely thought before beginning. But once underway, as I entertained the most perfect audience, that old familiar performance high kicked in. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

The can started to splutter as I reached the end of the top row, running dry just as I finished the fourth word. I jumped to the ground and picked through the stack for another. In a shade of maroon, I finished my statement along the timber panel below the windows.

For a final flourish, I wrenched the remaining lengths of guttering from the roof, launching them like frisbees across the field. I considered kicking in a window, but held myself back in order to preserve the integrity of my artwork.

I joined Sophia as she stood back and appraised the finished masterpiece. Each letter was nearly a metre high, the wet paint bleeding down the panels.

‘The runs really add something, don’t you think?’ she asked.

They really did. ‘That is quite chilling, isn’t it?’

‘It’s actually scaring me,’ she said.

Reluctantly, I started packing away the paint cans. Sophia ran her fingers along the woodwork. ‘Nice timber,’ she said. ‘I bet it would burn well.’

‘No way.’

She sparked her lighter in front of her face, staring at me with a demonic grin, the shadows from her features falling upward from the flame below.

‘No. We’re not ruining my lovely paintwork.’

‘OK,’ she said laboriously, drawing the word out.

‘Another time.’

I didn’t mean it, of course. Then. I had no idea how my enthusiasm for the idea would bloom in the days to come.

She knelt beside me and stroked the small of my back. ‘I suppose this is the bit where we both have to run off home. Square our alibis, pretend we never saw each other this evening.’

‘Probably.’

‘Your grandad must be worried about where you’ve got to. It’s got to be half nine at least.’

Just the mention of him risked jarring me back to my usual frightened self. ‘He’s cool – he’ll be fine.’

In truth, he was probably pretty concerned. I buried the image of him at home, peering round the living-room curtains every ten seconds, my dinner fossilizing in the oven. I couldn’t let it matter. Dull routine and normality could hold no allure when Sophia was around.