“It doesn’t, though. It’s proof that Felix went to camp. I need you to take this photo and show it to your misguided town and get Una released. She’s all I’ve got. I’d go myself, but I can’t move ten metres with this leg. I’m relying on you, Maggie. You got her caught up in this – you’ve got to sort it out.”

He held out the photograph.

“Take it,” he said. “If you’re really her friend, you’ll take it and you’ll bring her back to me. Take it, Maggie. Please.”

He squeezed my wrist so hard I stumbled over.

He let go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

I got up again. “S’all right. I’ll go and fill this.”

I took the Cleercan through the trees and found the fast, rippling brook. I dunked the can in and filled it up. The water ran clear and cold round my fingers.

It was rubbish, what he said about the war being over. There’s no way Mayor Anderson would trade in our eldests. But maybe Una really did have a brother. And if she did – if she wasn’t an eldest – she shouldn’t be going to camp.

I went back and put the can down beside Mr Opal. Then I picked up the photograph and slipped it back under the cover of The New Poets. It’d keep it safe while I was carrying it.

Mr Opal shivered. His face was a big old mess of tears and dirt and blood and beard.

“Una said you had a fire hole,” I said. “Shall I light it, before I go?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. You have to hurry. You have to get there before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER 25

Peck-peck-peck.

The woodpecker pecked at Mr Wetheral’s door.

Peck-peck-peck.

Peck-peck-peck.

Come on. Come on.

The door opened. The Siamese cat shot out.

“Maggie.” Mr Wetheral smiled his lopsided smile. “How delightful to see you. Are you OK? You look rather upset.”

“Mr Wetheral, I need your help. There’s no one else I can ask.” I glanced behind me.

“Are you afraid of something, Maggie?”

I was. I was afraid.

Stupid Maggie middler. Afraid of everything.

He opened the door wider and stepped to one side.

“Perhaps we’d better talk inside.”

“Mother? Maggie’s here. Would you bring us some tea?”

I followed Mr Wetheral into the back room.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I’d like to be able to say it’s not always like this, but it wouldn’t be true. I like to have my things around me.”

“It’s OK, Mr Wetheral, I don’t mind.”