Grandad had tried helping her years ago. He came over with a few of his friends. They rented a dumpster, a big yellow bucket thing, and got a truck crane ma-jiggy to drop it into the garden. They opened the back door and started to carry stuff out. Mum had followed them around all day, wringing her hands and saying “Not that! Not that!” and “I’ll find a use for that, that’ll come in handy.” Marty kind of understood her wanting to keep books and things like that, but who on earth would find a use for six broken radiators or a stack of mismatched window frames? He remembered her and Grandad shouting at each other. Louder and louder until all of Grandad’s friends went to sit in their van. That was the last time they talked to each other. Grandad hadn’t been to the house since, and he barely asked about mum anymore.

The timer rang. Marty fished out the pie with a fork onto two plates and turned sideways to walk down the back corridor where Mum now sat, exhausted in her old armchair. Marty passed her her plate. She blew out her cheeks …

“Gosh, what would I do without you? Eh?”

Marty shrugged. Sat down on the pile of newspapers he usually sat down on.

“You really are an angel.”

Marty watched her as she started to eat, and his smile slowly straightened.

THREE

IT WAS ALWAYS the ones with new sneakers who started it. Being the top predators at school, they seemed to have super vision or something. They could sense kids like Marty scurrying around in the undergrowth and they’d pounce on them when they least expected it. In the lunch line, “Oi, stink fest!” At break, “What a loser!” and as Marty unchained his BMX from the railings before cycling to the allotments, “Hee hee! Does that thing even work? You’d be quicker walking, mate!”

Teachers told him to ignore them. Mr. Garraway, the school counselor, had told him not to “engage.” His mother told him to walk away, but it was his grandad who had given him the best advice. He had taught him to call them names under his breath. Awful, skin-crawling, cheek-reddening, naughty, rude, horrible names. Words that you should NEVER say aloud. Words that would get you in a LOT of trouble. But, funnily enough, it kind of worked. A bit like holding your hand in ice-cold water, you could stand stuff for longer if you just let rip in your head. That’s what he was doing when Gracie saw him.

“You shouldn’t use words like that, you know.”

Marty almost jumped out of his skin.

“Jeepers!” he cried. “Sneak up on someone, why don’t you?”

She smiled. Marty rattled the lock off his bike at last.

“That needs some oil.”

She was right. She stood there smiling at him, and suddenly Marty found her extremely and unusually irritating.