Tim regarded Gary through eyes that were a very light brown. Almost orange, James remembered thinking. ‘What’s your problem with me?’ Tim said.

‘Huh?’

‘I said what’s your problem with me?’ Tim’s face was a pale blank. His voice was steady.

Gary looked confused for a moment. James stole a quick glance at Tom and Matt, but Tom was concentrating on his potato wedges and Matt’s eyes were fixed on something on the ground.

‘No problem,’ Gary muttered. ‘It’s just you wander over here and stand there without saying anything and it’s sort of weird, mate.’ Gary paused. With what looked to James like a real effort, he forced a grin back onto his face. ‘It’s like you’re some kind of homo or something.’

This time no one laughed. Gary glanced round the circle for support, but everyone else was looking at the floor. Tim still hadn’t dropped his gaze.

‘How’s that?’ he said.

‘How’s what?’

‘Well, how does coming over and standing here make me a homo, exactly?’

Gary met Tim’s gaze for a moment longer and then he looked away and mumbled something at the floor. James felt a sudden wave of affection for the new boy. After a few seconds of silence Matt turned to Tim and asked him about where he’d been to school before Oaksmith, and Gary scowled and asked James about the slice of pizza he owed him.

And that had been that.

In his own strange, silent way, Tim had become a part of their group.

2

‘Has everyone marked their maps?’

Mr Stevens’ quiet, sharp voice rang out over the campfire and put a stop to the mumbled conversation.

He was sitting directly opposite James on one of those green folding chairs the campsite hired out for £5 a pop, putting him higher up than the rest of them.

The light from the growing fire shivered and jumped in front of his face as he glanced at each of them in turn.

Mr Stevens had a long, thin face framed by rectangular glasses. His hair was short, dark and always carefully combed and parted. James thought he looked like the most ‘dad’ dad in the world. With his neat haircut and pale, clean-shaven face he seemed to James like a nerdy embodiment of everything a typical middle-aged man should look like. His eyes, like his son’s, were a pale brown, and like Tim’s they also had a habit of lingering awkwardly when he looked at you.

Now Mr Stevens reached into the walking bag by the side of his chair and drew out a clear plastic pouch, which he unzipped to take out his map.

He reached his other hand down and placed it on Tim’s shoulder who, without saying anything, opened his own bag and did the same.

James found himself picking out his own map without even realising he was doing it.