Old Eachan’s room is next door. I saw him in the dining room earlier. And remembered him immediately. He used to lead the Gaelic psalm-singing in the church. I loved that sound. So different from the Catholic choirs of my childhood. More like tribal chanting. Primal. I open the door and slip inside, and immediately hear him snoring. I close the door behind me and switch on the light. There is a brown holdall bag sitting on the dresser and Eachan is curled up beneath the quilt, sleeping.

I want to whisper his name, but somehow it eludes me. Dammit, what’s he called? I can still hear him singing those psalms. A strong clear voice, full of confidence and faith. I shake him by the shoulder, and as he rolls over I pull back the quilt.

Good. He’s fully dressed, ready to go. Maybe he just got tired of waiting.

“Eachan,” I hear myself say. Yes. That’s his name. “Come on, man. Time to go.”

He seems confused.

“What’s happening?” he says.

“We’re running away.”

“Are we?”

“Yes, of course. We talked about it. Don’t you remember? You’re fully dressed, man.”

Eachan sits up and looks at himself. “So I am.” He swings his legs out of the bed, and his shoes leave dirty tracks on the sheets. “Where are we going?”

“Away from The Dean.”

“What’s that?”

“Shhh. Mr. Anderson might hear us.” I take him by the arm and lead him to the door, opening it to peer out into the dark.

“Wait. My bag.” Eachan lifts his holdall from the dresser and I turn off the light before we slip out into the corridor again.

At the far end I see a glow from the kitchen, and shadows moving around in the light that falls out into the hall. I wonder if one of the other boys has told. If so, we’re done for. Trapped. I can feel old Eachan hanging on to the back of my coat as we shuffle closer, trying not to make a noise. I hear voices now. Men’s voices, and I step smartly into the doorway to surprise them. Someone told me that once. Surprise is the best weapon when the numbers are against you.

But there are only two of them. Two old boys pacing around, all dressed with coats and hats, bags packed and sitting up on the counter.

One of them seems familiar. He is very agitated and glares at me. “You’re late!”

How does he know I’m late?

“You said just after lights out. We’ve been waiting for ages.”

I say, “We’re making a run for it.”

He is very irritated now. “I know that. You’re late.”

The other one just nods, eyes wide like a rabbit’s in the headlights. I have no idea who he is.

Someone is pushing me from behind now. It is Eachan. What does he want?