She bounced head first off the William Whittington gravestone and landed on the ground, blood all over her face.

She lay there, still as you like.

The sound her head made on the gravestone replayed itself in my ears. Crunck. Like being whacked with a brick. Crunck.

Her pants were white, with little blue flowers on them. Forget-me-nots. I stepped forwards and pulled her dress down. It wasn’t right for the boys to be seeing all that.

No one screamed. No one shouted. Jed said something unrepeatable, but he said it really quiet, like his voice had been squashed by the shock. Then he half scrambled, half jumped down from the tree. He tried pulling Lindi up but he couldn’t lift her. Her blood got all over his hands. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and left a messy red stripe across the side of his head.

“Lindi,” he said in his squashed voice. “Lindi. Lindi. Lindi.”

“She’s dead,” I said.

“No she’s not; she can’t be,” said Jed. “We have to do something.”

And we stood there, all three of us Cruise kids, looking down at Lindi Chowdhry with her white dress and her bloody face and her long dark hair spread out on the grass.

“You have to check if she’s breathing.” It was Trig – Trig who can’t even hop or run or tie proper reef knots. “If she’s not, you have to breathe for her. First aid. We did it in school, remember? Ages ago.” He swallowed. “And one of us has to run for help.”

Jed knelt down next to Lindi. “I’m not leaving her. You go, Maggie.”

Me?

“Quick, Maggie – you gotta run.”

So I ran.

I ran through the cemetery, leaping over the old Parker graves and the Stanbury ones too, grass whipping at my ankles. I ran all down the edge of Anderson’s field. Tiny black thunderbugs flew into my eyes but I didn’t stop to scrape them out, I just blinked and kept running. At the bottom of the field I jumped over the sun-dried mud ridges and didn’t trip even once. I skimmed round the side of the old caravan park south of the town, all the time shouting.

“Help! Help! Doctor Sunita!”

I gasped gobfuls of hot, woolly air. I shouted for Mrs Chowdhry too.

“Mrs Chowdhry! Mrs Chowdhry!”

I leapt across the allotments, between courgettes, rhubarb, tomatoes.

“What is it, girl?”

I stopped so quick I nearly fell over.

It was Elsie Weather, kneeling in the strawberry beds. Just my luck.

“What is it, girl? What’s wrong?” She used her stick to help her up. She had two old sponges strapped to her knees with elastic bands.

“It’s Lindi, Lindi Chowdhry. I need to get help.”

“Wait, girl. Perhaps old Elsie can be of use.” She brushed some earth off her knee sponges.