“What’s it like? It’s just normal. It’s all I’ve ever been. There aren’t any boundaries.”

The clouds drifted.

Slowly, slowly, slowly.

“What’s it like living in your town?” she said.

“S’all right.”

There are boundaries, for sure.

Plenty.

But they’re to keep us safe, aren’t they?

No one starves if they can’t hunt.

And everyone’s got a proper house to live in.

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

The crickets were still out.

The sun was hot on my face.

“You could just poke your head and shoulders through,” said Una.

“Poke my head and shoulders through what?”

“Through the hawthorn.”

“Just my head and shoulders?”

“Yeah. That’s not the same as going beyond it, is it?”

She was right. That wasn’t the same as going beyond it. It wasn’t the same at all.

The hedge didn’t seem like a hedge any more. It seemed like a brick wall.

“I can’t, Una. I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy as anything. It’s just the same on that side as it is here.”

I looked back towards Fennis Wick. No one could see this far. Mr Gebby’s hammer rang out a few clanks.

Una pulled back some spiky branches. There was the brighter, fresher grass.

“S’easy, look.” She stuck her head through, then pulled it back out. “Your turn.”

My mouth was dry.

I clenched my fists.

I pushed through the brick wall – hands, head, neck, shoulders. The hawthorn clung to my arms to keep me from leaving. It clawed at my skin.

I was there. On the other side of the boundary. Sort of. The air smelled of grass and red apples. I breathed it in. It slithered down my throat, a swirl of outside drawn into my lungs. I looked round for the apple trees but there weren’t any.

“See?” said Una. “It’s just the same.”

I took another breath. My head swooped with the green and the red and brightness and the freshness. I pulled it back into Fennis Wick and collapsed on the ground, heart thuddering.

“No it’s not,” I laughed. “It’s completely different.”

Una honked and snorted.

My head began to steady.

“Una?” I sat on the grass in front of her. The sun was sinking behind the hawthorn.

“Yeah?”

“What about your mum? Is your mum in the barn too?

She stopped laughing. “No,” she said. “She died when I was little.”

She died?

“Oh. I, um, I’m sorry, I—”

“S’all right. It was a long time ago.” She looked right at me, but her eyes weren’t really focused properly. She was picturing something else – or someone else, most likely – and I’d gone see-through.

“Did she get sick?” I said.

“No. She got too close to an unfriendly town.”

“An unfriendly town?”