A dead bird, emaciated and grey, lies upon the shit-spattered cement floor of the abandoned utility room. From the cobweb-encrusted rafters, the thrum of nesting pigeons vibrates the air. Discarded school furniture cowers in corners, veiled in dust and the disused killing funnels of spiders.

Into this distant recess of the primary school, little used and only then for storage, Izzy and an equally timid girl have retreated as far as they are able. Their instant relief at being concealed is soon tempered by the fearful wonder with which they eye the greening glass of a skylight above them. The grubby panes cast a gloomy underwater glow over the sepulchral space, a stale light extending and bathing their anxious faces.

Izzy approaches an old desk set at a tilt against a broken blackboard and excitedly fans out the colourful trading cards that she clutches in a moist hand. Her friend crowds the table top and begins pointing and speaking around a mouthful of cereal bar. ‘Got that. Got that. Got that. And that.’

Once all of the cards are spread out, Izzy smiles into her friend’s eyes. ‘I got two special editions of Doctor Fizzle. You can have one.’

Her friend’s face beams with pleasure but drops just as quickly at something she sees over Izzy’s shoulder. ‘Izzy.’

They enter the room in silence. Heralding their arrival with an angry commotion would have struck less terror into Izzy and her friend. The three girls who ransacked Izzy’s bag and stole her unicorn form a line blocking the only way out. Today their ranks are reinforced by two boys.

* * *

Jess shakes out the duvet over her legs then thumps the pillow into a comfortable shape. The thin curtains of her bedroom are closed but daylight beats through the cheap fabric and stains the room a dull pewter. Above the ceiling, the thump of jungle music, with sub-woofers booming, vibrates the very walls that enclose the bed. In some other place inside the block, a heavy door clashes shut.

Jess lies back and stares at the ceiling. Around her eyes and mouth the strain of the last few days has cast darker shadows and dug deeper lines. A mark from Flo’s blow fades upon one cheek. Exhausted enough to cry, she grinds her teeth and slides a sleeping mask over her eyes.

* * *

The intruders of the abandoned storeroom crowd Izzy with their grinning triumphant faces. Snatching hands come from either side and from behind her back to seize the trading cards. Some fall to litter the cement floor. The special edition card is tugged from the fingers of her friend. Izzy’s cereal bar is plucked from her own hand.

‘That a food bank bar?’ a girl demands and incites a chorus of shrieked laughter.

‘No!’ One of the boys roars from the rear. ‘Gotta be nice to paupers. Headmistress said!’