Sarge grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me to my feet. Picking up my gun, he thrust it into my arms and marched me back to the house, ranting and raving all the way about my lack of commitment, my laziness, how I’d just ‘buggered up’ any chance of progressing to the next level. ‘You’d rather listen to Jesus freaks than your own father,’ he yelled as we emerged from the woods. ‘That’s what happened. That nutter filled your head with his nonsense and you lost your focus.’

He went on and on but I wasn’t really listening because up ahead, standing next to the trestle table, was a girl. She was about my age, maybe a little older, and she had long hair, as white as snow, tied up in a ponytail. As we got closer I saw that she was wearing a school uniform, like the ones the girls wear in Malory Towers. Hers was green with a yellow tie.

When she saw us coming she stepped forward. Sarge stopped ranting and folded his arms across his chest, his usual defensive pose when faced with strangers.

‘Hello,’ she said, and her voice was all light and breathy, like Ratty or Darrell Rivers. ‘My name’s Isobel. My father sent me to collect his eggs. He forgot them earlier.’

I went to speak but before I could get the words out Sarge put his hand on my shoulder and told me to get inside. ‘Straight to your room,’ he hissed. ‘After what you just did in the woods it’s a grounding for two days. Got it?’

I didn’t want to go inside, and I certainly didn’t want to be grounded for two days. I wanted to stay out here and look at this girl with her pale skin and white hair and eyes the colour of the summer sky. But I knew there was no point arguing with Sarge. Once he makes his mind up, that’s it. So I nodded and made my way into the house. As I passed her, the girl smiled and I caught her smell. It was sweet, like the violets that grow in the woods in springtime. The smell stayed in my nostrils for the rest of the day and even now as I sit in my room writing these words I can still smell it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelt before, certainly not in this place that only ever smells of animals and boiled cabbage and carbolic soap. No, Isobel’s scent is new and clean. It’s how I imagine heaven smells, though I won’t ever let Sarge hear me say that. ‘Religious nonsense,’ that’s what he’d think. I’m getting to the end of the page now so I’m going to finish here then make up my bed on the floor. Being grounded used to be the thing I dreaded the most but tonight I’m almost thankful for being alone. It means I can think about her. About Isobel.