That song in my head again. Over and over. Through the teardrops and laughter they’ll pass through this life hand in hand. The sun in my eyes and May at home getting everything sorted so I don’t need to worry, so I can just climb into bed and drift off without a care in the world. The sky is shifting. All the blood rushing to my head. I steady myself on a bench then sit down and shade my eyes. The rose garden could do with some care and attention. Those kids again, getting nearer, coming from the path by the duck pond. They stop a few yards away. Three lads in nothing but football shorts, shaking their wet heads like dogs swimming after ducks in the canal.

‘Come on then!’ The one who shouts it is the cockiest. Taller than the others, tanned and well built, like he’s been lifting weights in his bedroom. His head doesn’t quite match his body.

‘Get your tits out!’

His mates laugh, but they’re nervous, not sure whether to join in, not sure how far to push it. They look around, squinting into the sun. The girls come round the corner, in their tight jeans that flap at the bottom, T-shirts with big stiff collars.

‘Piss off, Dickson,’ one of them says but she doesn’t sound angry. ‘If you think you’re such a man meet us round the cricket hut in five minutes.’

‘Oh yeah?’ he says and his sidekicks giggle like children, ‘oh yeah?’

‘Not so talkative now are you?’

‘See you in five, hot stuff.’

I watch them walk off across the grass, practising their not-scared-of-nothing swagger, grinning like idiots. I could’ve taken Billy on into town. I’m still young. I’m young enough.

The girls are still by the pond, in an excited huddle. I look at them properly for the first time. Karen’s there. I sit up. She is. Has she been there all the time, hiding behind the others, out of sight? Press myself back into the hedge. Bloody hell. Karen. I should go straight over there and drag her home. I should do something – not just sit here a little bit pissed like the useless article I am. Too young to be out at this time, surely. Nearly fifteen. Next to the others she looks small, but not as small as I remember from seeing her yesterday at teatime. Is it possible she’s grown since then? They’re talking, arguing. I lean forward, try to concentrate. She’s shrugging at them, looking fed up, staring down into the mud.

‘Come on,’ one of them says, ‘you don’t have to do nothin’.’

The other girl grabs her arm and pulls her towards the grass.

‘Don’t be so shit-scared all the time, Kaz.’

And she’s going with them across the grass and I’m just sitting and watching and letting it happen.