‘It’s not far to yours from here, is it?’ April says. ‘Shall we do that?’

‘It’s …’

April waits on the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t arrive. ‘It’s what – ten minutes from here? If that?’ She hunches her shoulders, the rain falling harder now.

‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t know if that’s –’

‘I have been to your place before, you know, Will. A few times.’

Will is beginning to panic. He hasn’t taken a friend home for years. He’s never taken a girl home. Sure, April’s been over with Danny, but his room is set up for such visits – designed with them specifically in mind, actually. Will’s room is most certainly not. Inviting April in is a sure-fire way of revealing himself as a total weirdo. And anyway, what if Danny’s home? He’d have something to say about it no doubt.

‘Maybe meet up next week?’ Will says. ‘At school? Lunchtime or something?’

Will doesn’t look at her. Instead his eyes have wandered to the scruffy old man. He’s ten metres away but the acrid smell of his damp ciggie sticks to Will’s nostrils. Head tipped forward, his deep brown eyes – so alive, so good-looking – stare deeply into Will. His expression is hard to read, amused slightly, but somehow disapproving too.

‘Not even for half an hour, Will?’ April says, half turned to get going. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time than that.’

Will grimaces. He’s made excuses too many times now. Another straight no would be plain rude.

The old man is still staring at Will over April’s shoulder. He’s surely too far away to hear the conversation. But he’s grinning now. The nod is slow but unmistakable. A Magician’s Nod.

Will knows it’s the only answer, that the time for resistance is gone.

The man adds a wink, like he knows it’s enough to push Will into the right decision.

‘Look, it can’t be too long,’ Will says. ‘I’ve got some things I’ve got to –’

‘This way, isn’t it?’ April replies, bounding several steps ahead.

‘You got it.’ Will glances back at the bus once more as he turns to leave, but the old geezer is gone.

‘This street?’ April asks, taking a left turn.

The wind whips down Will’s road. Raindrops needle his eyes as he strides to keep up.

They shelter in the porch. The keys jangle in Will’s shaking hands and twice he uses the wrong one before succeeding in opening his own front door.

‘We’ll go straight up,’ he says quietly, guiding her like he’s cabin crew. There are voices in the living room at the far end of the hall.