Then Sam must have found a space because suddenly he could move, and he was shooing them off us – ‘Shift! Go on! Get!’ – and stamping his feet. I was still completely pasted, and when the whole mass shifted, it was worse for me – they pushed and pushed, squashing me further in than ever, and I had no breath left to even wail. Sam stamped again. He kicked and roared at the top of his lungs, but the goats got all confused and stormed off again in total stampede mode – and Sam vanished.

I didn’t see how – it happened too fast. One of the biggest goats must have got between us, and the only way for Sam not to be trampled was to go along with it.

‘Sam!’

Then I saw him, bobbing in the goat-crowd. He shouted something, but it was drowned out by the bleating. Hurling myself after them did no good – I couldn’t reach him. The whole procession blundered blindly on through the mist with me scrabbling after them, wading through tall ferns, skidding over stones and ignoring gashes from bricks and junk.

Sam was going to get crushed. How would I explain it to his mum and dad? To the ambulance people? It was all my fault.

We came out of the other side of the mist on to flatter ground. Never knew mist could have edges, but the rest of the garden was clear right up to the sky. The goats stopped and looked around in a daze, breathing hard and fast, stumpy tails twitching.

‘Sam?’

I couldn’t see him. He was nowhere. Dread leaked upwards from my knees, making my breathing shudder. Then something different moved in the middle of the herd and I saw his T-shirt. He stood up, brushed himself off and shook his drenched head. He looked normal but messed up, as if he’d been fighting, and the goats moved calmly out of his way. Everyone in the scene was dripping wet.

My heart thudded so hard. ‘You OK?’

Sam nodded, and squeezed his ankle with both hands.

‘Did they get you there?’

‘It just got a bit twisted,’ he snapped. ‘It’s nothing.’

It didn’t sound like nothing. He brought his binoculars out and turned them over. They didn’t look broken, but they didn’t exactly look wonderful any more either. There were scuff marks on one side, and the strap looked a bit frayed.

‘Sorry, Sam – unlucky. Phew …’

He glared at me and limped over to the goats.

‘Let’s get them penned up in here,’ he barked farmerishly, and he pointed to a fenced-off corner of the field garden. ‘Probably where they’re meant to be.’