Clutching my knees, I rocked my head back and fought to quieten my breathing. I gazed up at the rusted cistern above my head. In the narrow gap between it and the wall, two slugs curled round each other among the cobwebs. Brown, shiny, engorged, they appeared to be engaged in some twisted act of copulation.

The sight repelled me. I tensed against the reflex heave of my stomach and my shoulder jangled the chain beside me. A laugh echoed in the open space above my cubicle.

‘I know you’re in here, Morcombe!’ Joey Mackie shouted.

Abruptly, the sound of doors being booted open and hammering back into their frames began to move along the line of cubicles towards my hiding place. I tucked my head against my knees and clung to my shins. A door crashed against the wall next to me. Then silence. I could see two pairs of feet outside – one in black Nikes, one in tan loafers – both foul of the school dress code, but never picked up on it.

‘And here he is,’ Nate said, his voice ringing with glee.

There was a tap at the door. ‘You gonna let me in, darling?’ Joey said.

Nate’s blotchy face appeared over the dividing wall. ‘Don’t look now, bruv,’ he said. ‘He’s fingering his own arsehole in here.’

Joey’s head emerged on the other side. ‘Thought you got your nearly dead grandad to do that for you. Give the old coffin dodger a bit of excitement before he gets thrown in the ground.’

‘Look at my brother when he’s talking to you,’ Nate snapped.

I did as he said.

Joey grinned at me. ‘You’re crying. Poor little love.’

‘We know it was you, Morcombe,’ Nate said. ‘We’re all going to die, are we?’

‘It wasn’t me,’ I mumbled.

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I swear.’

‘You, Morcombe,’ Joey said, his voice flat and lazy, ‘are the one who’s going to die.’

There was a slow tapping noise from Nate’s side of the cubicle. I looked round as they waited in silence.

‘Everyone’s gonna take turns,’ Nate said, switching his gaze from me to the tip of the knife that he was playing against the wall. ‘They all want a go. The whole class. Every single one of them. They want to cut you into pieces. Stab your eyes out. Cut your fucking cock off. They’ll be needing dental records by the time we’re all done with you.’

‘Do you reckon they’ll let your mum out for the funeral?’ Joey asked.

I wrapped my hands round my head.

‘You think you can threaten us, do you, Morcombe?’ Nate said. ‘With a can of spray paint?’

‘It wasn’t me!’ I yelled, my breaking voice echoing round the room.

‘She told me it was you.’

‘Who?’