I could hear their breath. Tombard’s came down his nose and was short and fast; Sam’s grandad’s came out of his mouth in loud gasps. Then Tombard did let go. A great big lump of horror settled in my chest as the handle swung back and hit Sam’s grandad in the chest, and he bent backwards and toppled … but he didn’t fall. He was winded and gasping, but still held the tool.

The gang ran off without saying a word, and disappeared through the bottom gate.

‘Grandad!’ Sam said, but his grandad just looked at him. Such a look. I’d have hated it if my dad – anyone – had looked at me like that. As if he didn’t even like Sam. Neither of them spoke.

I wanted to melt into the ground so I didn’t have to see their faces any longer, but then it ended, because Sam set off running.

I said, ‘S-sorry, Mr Irwin,’ and plunged after Sam, skidding across the allotments, desperate to keep him in sight.

I could tell he didn’t know where he was going. He ran down the other side of Brackenbury Row towards the woods, and at first, I could see him really clearly, even though he was well in front of me – he’s a brilliant runner – but then I lost him. That big house by the bridge did it. He must have darted away somewhere down there.

I bawled at the top of my lungs, ‘SAM!’

22

Lilac Farm

The road smelt rubbery hot, like something was cooking. Going home seemed like the only thing to do, but the further I went, the worse things felt. The village seemed full of windows, shining like eyes that had seen everything I’d ever done.

So I turned round. There was so much to fix, and I had to start with Sam, so I forced my slack legs to do it all again. To trek all the way back to the terrible vegetable patch – but nobody was there. The patch had been raked over. Most of the slashed plants had been pulled up and were now sitting in a weird little pile on the grass. His grandad must have done that. The wiry tool had disappeared and so had Kiran’s fork. I ran behind the shed and there they were, leaning up against the wooden wall where his grandad must have put them, and there was Sam too, crouching, head down. Sort of crumpled.

He knew I was there – he got into a straighter position – but he didn’t look up. His eyes and lips were puffy and he sniffed every few seconds. A bluebottle had got inside the shed and was battering itself against the window, making bumps.

The bumps got to me, and I blurted, ‘Where’s your grandad?’

Sam shrugged, but kept his eyes down.

‘Did you help mend the patch?’

He shook his head.