Matty made an effort not to roll towards her. ‘I don’t feel well.’ The stomach ache was worse than ever. Hot forehead.

Mamma put a hand up and Matty drew back, snake-quick. She put it down again. ‘All right. I will come back at lunchtime. You are not getting out of your first day tomorrow.’

Matty got up anyway, once Mamma had gone, stomach feeling like it was surrounded by a life-ring that was too small. There was only one day left before everything would change. New school, new teachers, new classmates, big blowjob-miming girls. Big boys.

In the quieter part of the Heath, there were some flowers that you probably weren’t supposed to pick, all clustered together. Tall pink ones, little purple-blue ones, and some daisies with long stems. It hurt to bend down, but Matty grabbed a big handful. Some snapped in the middle of their stems, and some came with roots and dry, crumbling soil.

Further down, Matty stood in front of the Mildred Himoff Lewis bench. No tramp on it today. In loving memory, 1912–1985. The flowers were put underneath one of the legs, where they would get peed on by the thousands of dogs that came here every day.

Matty walked away, not looking back at it.

In loving memory, 1948–1985.

Daz was stretching in front of the weightlifting machine, the muscles in his thighs bulging. ‘Wotcha, sport.’

‘Um, have you seen Nicks?’ Matty had done one full lap of the pond without needing to stop and rest, and there’d been no sign of him. He hadn’t turned up for four days.

Daz straightened. ‘Nicks? Who’s he when he’s at home?’ He glanced around, quite theatrically. ‘Who have I been missing out on?’

‘The boy I’m usually with.’

Daz looked a bit vacant. ‘You’re always on your own, aren’t you, love? Our little musical protégé. Gegsy’s got high hopes for you. The next generation, you know.’ He put his hands together, as if in prayer, and raised his eyes upwards. ‘The saviour of electronic music.’

Matty stared at Daz for a bit, and wandered away.

Everyone left. Everyone.

Floating in the pond, tummy hurting like mad. Light grey clouds on a pale white sky. It was getting cold, but Matty had to stay in. One more swim. Just one more, before home time and getting a calculator and a pencil case and a compass and a protractor and going to St George’s and being the one without a dad. The quiet one. The weird one.

The last day of the summer. Matty could come after school – though it would be further away now – or at the weekends, but for how long? And how could it be the same, if Nicks didn’t come back? A gull with a black eye like a bruise flew over and made a raging cry at the same time as Matty’s stomach pulled inwards.