Right from that very first moment, in the car with you and Danny and April at the level crossing, a sense of purpose has nagged at me, a certainty that I have a job to do.

This is it, surely?

I need to make contact with you. How, I’m not yet sure …

I was seen, though. That’s a start. That man on the bus, he knew I was there. In fact, it felt like he was looking for me. That he was somehow expecting me.

He saw me, and I knew I was real. What a silly thing to have ever doubted perhaps.

But it’s one thing to be seen. It’s quite another to change things. And change things I must.

There it goes again. A bright flash. Just milliseconds and gone. Vile, vile scene. Hell itself. So many people. I can’t bear it.

I need to make contact with you, win your trust.

I have a job to do.

We have a job to do.

Sweet Seventeen

‘Go easy, party animal,’ Danny says as Will adds a glug of lemonade to his glass of Prosecco.

‘Just don’t like the taste of it much,’ Will whispers, careful that their mum doesn’t overhear. He knows the household budget has been stretched to pick up the three bottles.

‘Well, happy birthday, Wilbo,’ Nain says, raising her glass.

They’ve been through this ritual three times already but still Will and Danny chink her. She sits hunched at the picnic table in their back garden with Will’s puffer resting over her shoulders. It’s warm for late September, but still she shivers and sinks her wine and mumbles about getting her booze jacket on.

‘Cheers, lads,’ their dad shouts from behind a cloud of barbecue smoke. ‘Life begins at seventeen!’ He takes a gulp of beer, ejecting a belch from the side of his mouth.

Their mum slams another dish of marinated chicken down next to him. ‘Already cooked through,’ she says. ‘Don’t ruin them.’

‘Get some flavour into these bad boys,’ he says, finessing them on to the grill with long tongs.

‘Looking forward to those homemade burgers and kebabs you promised us,’ she says, sharp with sarcasm, as she turns for the kitchen.

‘Traffic was a nightmare, Tori,’ he says.

‘Yup, you said. London, weekday rush hour, gridlocked. Fascinating.’ She pats her hand to her mouth, miming a yawn.

‘Well, it was. Still, nice to make it over eventually. You know, see my house …’

‘It smells glorious, Mike,’ Nain shouts from her seat. ‘Fine teamwork.’

She winks at Will. It has to be the fifth time she’s made this comment. Each time it looks as though Will’s parents are about to break into a full-blown row, Nain starts jabbering away with compliments or another birthday toast to fill the airspace.

Will’s mum takes her seat and brims her glass with fizz.