There’s no way Will can stand still. He’s half walking, half jogging in the direction the bus disappeared. His free hand sinks nails into his forearm and draws blood.

‘That’ll be eleven pounds, sir.’

‘Can you just send the cab?’

‘With you in twenty to twenty-five minutes, sir.’

‘Please! I need it now.’

‘I’m afraid the weather –’

‘Look, please just fucking listen. There’s going to be a terrible accident. Down at the front. At the level crossing. Can you warn anyone? Send anyone? Please? Please? Anything.’

‘Maybe you need the emergency services, sir?’ the controller says, more patronizing than ever. ‘Rather than a minicab?’

Will ends the call. The emergency services. Why didn’t he call 999 to start with?

What does he say to them, though? That he’s had a premonition hundreds of people are about to die? That a voice in his head tells him about things before they happen? What the fuck does he say?

‘Which service do you require?’

‘There’s going to be a terrible accident.’

‘Police, fire or ambulance?’

‘Erm …’

‘Or coast guard?’

‘Police! Police, please.’ Will continues to run, even though he has no idea where.

A different voice: ‘What’s your emergency?’

‘There’s about to be a massive accident.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m near ECS. Well, I was. Doesn’t matter.’

‘A road name, perhaps?’

‘Look, listen. Something really bad’s about to happen. At Patten’s Island. A train.’

‘Try to calm down, please. Now can you tell me what’s happened.’

‘Hasn’t happened yet. There’s going to be …’ He stops himself, remembering the lie he told the kids a few minutes ago. ‘The number 83 bus. Towards the seafront from ECS. You need to stop it. A wheel’s about to fall off. There’s loads of kids on board.’

Silence.

‘Did you get that? The number 83, yeah?’

Nothing.

Will shakes his phone. He stares at the blank screen. He stabs at it till his finger buckles. ‘No!’ he shouts. ‘Fucking no! Not fucking now!’

His phone’s been ringing non-stop most of the afternoon and evening, and for an hour it was next to the decks with the torch switched on. And now the battery’s flat.

Will stops himself just short of launching his phone into the night. Instead he punches it, cracks spidering across the black screen.

Did the police get the bit about the bus? Or did his phone die before he said it? It’s impossible to know.

What now?

He could run back to school. Use someone else’s phone. Try to raise the alarm. How long would that take? Five minutes maybe.