“A word of neighborly advice.” The corners of his mouth were white with spittle. “Stay away from this bunch of no-hopers. They’re not worth it.”

Bailey kept his gaze on the ground, but Aster saw Charlie roll his eyes behind the old man’s back.

“Now fuck off.”

He did not need to tell them twice. The boys grabbed their bikes—Bailey still holding the pig’s head—and were off, cycling up the street at top speed, leaving Aster alone in a stranger’s garden.

“See?” said Lovell, shaking his head. “Told you they’re not worth it.” He went inside and shut the door.

Abandoned in the flat, hard sun. True, she barely knew them, but they had left her behind. No one had done that before. Tears of self-pity filled her eyes. She missed Matthew and her friends from home. This was not home. It would never be home.

And then, at the top of the street, a bike came into view.

Bailey pedaled furiously down the street toward her.

“Get on,” he said.

She stared at him for a moment, confused by what he meant. But then he eased himself forward until he was standing upright over the crossbar, feet on the ground.

“The seat,” he said, flashing an anxious look at the house. “Hurry up.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through her. She climbed awkwardly onto the seat, resting her feet on either side of the rear-wheel axle, but there was nothing to hold on to except Bailey’s waist.

She slid her arms around him. His stomach was flat and hard, and she could feel the heat of him, even through his T-shirt. She blushed, self-conscious, worrying about whether she was too heavy and would slow him down, unused to such proximity to the opposite sex, but enjoying it, too.

And then Bailey pressed his weight against the pedals, and she laughed and so did he, and they were cycling up the road, away from Old Man Lovell, away from her house and her little brother, and into the bright, shining lights of a new friendship.

* * *

Charlie and Marco were waiting for them on a patch of grass by the newsagent’s, their bikes tilted loosely beneath them. They were talking furiously. Aster switched her gaze from one boy to another. It was like watching a table tennis match.

“He’s a twisted fuck.”

“Duh.”

“So let’s do something about it.”

Marco nudged the toe of his shoe against his pedal, making it spin. “You’re joking, right? He told us to keep away.” He glanced at Bailey and Aster. “I get the impression he means it.”

Charlie flattened his lips. “Uh-uh, my friend. We’re going to pay that old bastard back for what he did to us.” He gave a thin smile. “Total. Humiliation.”

“Come on, Charlie.” Marco’s tone had become pleading. “He’s got a gun, for fuck’s sake. Let it go.”