‘Stretches clean out the gates,’ Will says. He feels a spritz of goose pimples at how successful the publicity has been. ‘Looks like Ebbswick’s gonna be getting itself a new library.’

April high-fives him.

‘How many tickets you sold?’ Kris asks.

‘Seven hundred and something, across all the schools. Eight hundred maybe.’

Will looks outside again at the snaking line. Kids swig from passed-around bottles that probably don’t contain what the label says. Snowballs cannon up and down the queue. It’s hard to imagine they’ll all fit inside.

‘Everyone ready?’ April shouts to the sixth-form volunteers around the hall.

Mr Leavers checks his watch and nods authoritatively to Ms Simon. They reappeared half an hour ago, having been ‘missing, presumed shagging’, as April put it, for the bulk of the afternoon.

As they file in, Will is surprised by the effort the kids have made – neon stockings and eye shadow, Keith Flint mohawks and fluorescent framed shades. Every one of them looks blown away as they round the corner, past the enormous inflatable baubles and into the dark, smoke-filled hall. A year eleven girl kicks off the first DJ set of the night – chart stuff together with a bit of Saturday Night Fever era disco. The volume is staggering, with the sort of bass that rumbles around inside your chest.

Will works the door with Kris till even the foyer is jam-packed with bodies. And still they come. A poster on the door invites attendees to surrender knives, alcohol, cigarettes, lighters and illegal substances. Will has so far amassed an empty packet of Superkings, some spent laughing gas capsules, a snowball the size of a basketball, and a Smirnoff bottle that someone appears to have been sick into.

‘Who’s got some more old shit for me?’ he shouts into the crowd.

The place looks more like an Ibiza superclub than a school hall. If Will had been expecting a disco with a void down the middle of the room separating boys and girls, he would have been mistaken. Under the darkness and darting UV lights, these kids have forgotten their inhibitions. Will’s almost jealous of them as he squeezes through the crowd like he’s chest-deep in the sea. It’s not yet eight, but already a boy in a highlighter-green singlet and a girl in pop socks are snogging aggressively against the wall. The hand in each other’s pants seems inappropriate to Will but he doesn’t feel qualified to intervene. So what that these thirteen-year-olds are more sexually experienced than him? He hopes to have overtaken them by the end of the evening.

‘This is ace!’ Will yells when he eventually locates April.

She’s standing next to the stage beside a five-metre-high billowing flame graphic that appears to be made from the sort of shell suit material that you’re not allowed to wear at firework parties. She looks stressed, doling out orders as best she can over the music.