Not sure Mum’s plan will work. The only person who needs to see me doing good deeds is Mr Lombard, and it’ll take a lot more than fixing old people’s shopping for him to change his mind about me. Sam won’t care. The morning’s gone and he still hasn’t turned up or messaged me. I’ve texted SORRY a hundred times. Well, perhaps about thirty times.

2.30 p.m.

Back from my mission, which was more helpful, less helpful, and a million times stranger than I expected. (Typing like mad now – had to wrestle Lily for the laptop, and she’ll be back for it soon.)

The old people’s bungalows are at the top of the other hill in the village, called Raven’s Rise, which is a lot smaller than Beggar’s Hill, and on the opposite side of the valley.

Mrs Gillespie has a footprint embedded in her doorstep – someone must have stepped on the concrete before it dried – and I was laughing at that when she answered the door, which is why she said, ‘Ooh – it’s Dina’s boy! Alfie Bradley! Such a nice smiley face to brighten up the afternoon. And what a huge bag of shopping to lug around. That’s it, leave the front door open – it’s so hot. Come in, my angel – come in.’

I stared. My mouth probably fell open and everything, because Mrs Gillespie is the old lady who was arguing with Mr Lombard in the village hall! Mr Clemm’s friend with the silver-beaded hair! At first, I felt a bit better, like everything was coming back together again. Mrs Gillespie is the same colour as my African-American grandad, the one I never met, and her accent is all rounded and fruity and not from round here.

And straight away, just like she’d been kind to Mr Clemm at the jumble sale, she made me feel snuggled and safe. She called me things like ‘my eaglet’, and hobbled around her house without her stick, using her furniture like a walking frame.

The air inside hung hot and heavy, but Mrs Gillespie smelt of flowers. ‘Now then, I’ve been baking ginger snaps today – how’s that for a stroke of luck? Put the shopping on the kitchen table, would you, my pet? Milk and cold things in the fridge. Tins in the tin cupboard. You’ll find it.’

In the kitchen, the back door was open and a breeze blew in. And as I started unpacking, Whizzy blew in too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a line of crazy white light zip through the door and up to the ceiling, and immediately the lightbulb started to fizz.

I felt as if a trap was closing.