Then I compose myself and turn back to the counter. The woman looks at me sympathetically as I approach.

‘I think he were looking at the comics,’ she says warmly. ‘My little grandson loves them too.’

‘Yes,’ I say, my heart still fluttering with shock. ‘I just … lost sight of him.’

‘Well, no harm done, eh? Here’s your change, love,’ she says, handing me a five-pound note and some coins.

‘Thank you,’ I say, hurriedly putting the money into my purse.

‘You from London?’

It’s the man speaking. I turn round.

‘It’s just I recognize the accent,’ he says, coming towards me. ‘I used to have a cousin who lived in Brixton.’

I shake my head then turn back to the counter. Grabbing the bags of shopping, I make for the door, taking Joe’s hand. I’ve drawn too much attention to myself. I need to leave. Now.

‘You here for long?’ calls the man.

I don’t reply. Instead I start to run. I hold my breath and don’t dare release it until I’ve reached the safety of the car.

4

Soldier

Rowan Isle House, January 2003

A New Year and whole new start for me. Forget Christmas, I just had the best present anyone could have given me because today Sarge told me that I’m finally ready to embark on the ‘big’ mission. This is an important one because, if I pass, Sarge says I’ll advance to the next level and become Soldier Number 1.

Sarge and I have been planning this mission for the last few months. Every day the two of us have gone up to the hills for what Sarge calls RECONNAISSANCE AND INTELLIGENCE GATHERING. We even worked on Christmas Day. I wasn’t too happy about that but Sarge soon put me right. ‘A day is what you fill it with, my girl,’ he said. ‘You have to be alert and vigilant no matter the day’s name. Never forget that.’

I told him I understood. And I did. I’m eleven now. Old enough to not need presents and all that. Though I did feel a bit sad when I woke up on 25 December and saw there was no knitted sock at the end of my bed. For as long as I can remember Sarge has left that sock there on Christmas Eve and it’s always filled with the same things: a tangerine, six hazelnuts, a mince pie (baked by Sarge) and a pair of gloves to see me through winter. But since my birthday Sarge has changed. He treats me differently. He’s been listening to the news lots on his old portable radio. Sometimes at night when I’m lying in bed I can hear voices through the wall talking about someone called George W. Bush and the War on Terror. This George person seems very angry with terror and it seems to make Sarge angry too because he shouts at the radio whenever George is mentioned.

Sarge says I’m old enough to be a proper soldier now, to find out about the evils of the world and fight back at them. The first step towards that is to listen carefully and concentrate on the skills Sarge is teaching me. ‘The game playing’s over,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time for the real battle to begin.’