Paul agreed to do the four lots of homework and Mohican dropped the bike on the ground as if making to leave. As the group of boys walked past him, Paul had let his tense shoulders droop in relief. But he’d let his guard down too soon. A searing pain hit the back of his legs and Paul crumpled to the ground, trying to breathe. But he didn’t have time before he was kicked in the gut, three times in a row. They ran then, leaving Paul with his face smeared in earth. Through a muddy cobweb of leaves and soil, he could see his bike and it was only then that he let himself sob softly.

*

Several hours later, when his parents had gone to bed, Paul had slipped out to the shed to fix his bike, but he was disappointed to find that it would need a new tyre and some of the gears were no longer working. He could live without the gears – his dad would never find out – but the tyre was a problem. He would have to persuade his mum to drive him into town and get the bike fixed and then there would be questions. Maybe he could ask his mum one Friday night, while his dad was out at the pub. Tell her he’d fallen from the bike and the wheel had bent. He’d have to play it down though otherwise his mum might stop him from riding it, saying it was too dangerous, and that was the last thing he needed.

Leaving the shed, he was satisfied he had a plan but instead of going back inside, he slowly sat down on the back doorstep nursing his sore ribs with one hand. He imagined Claire gently running her hands over them, her face filled with concern. The air was cool against his bruises and as he looked up at the night sky, he could see a million stars, their luminance emphasised against the inky night sky.

He sighed and picked up a stone, wondering how he would survive the next year of school and two more years of sixth form. Would Gavin go on to sixth form? He hoped not. The thought cheered him. But Gavin would still be in Castlefield. Would he continue to torment him? He turned the stone around in his hands before throwing it on to the garden. His thoughts churned, and he continued the pattern, picking up a stone, throwing it, picking up a stone, throwing it.

Out of the dark night though, came a squawk and Paul realised he’d accidently hit something. He could see an outline of what looked like a bird jumping and hopping and he got up from the step for a closer look. It looked like its wing had broken. Paul went back to his seat on the doorstep and continued hurling stones until it no longer squawked.

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