But all his time in the men’s prison on remand, he’d wished that she were dead. Those weeks had petrified him, and he’d thought the dismal cell that he’d been put in would be where he’d stay for ever: half-stale bread and margarine for every meal, a constant threat of harm for speaking out of turn, excercises on the ring that turned to fist fights for no reason, shadows sloping past his door at night. His guts had twisted up and made him retch into the lavvy bowl most nights. He hadn’t thought that borstal would provide relief, but he’d been treated right at Huntercombe. With a dozen others, he’d been transferred to its gates in a smart coach. It was as close to living as he could’ve hoped for: tree-lined paths outside and flower beds beneath his window, a library full of books, hot food that had a taste of home, a group of lads to talk to who had stories like his own, and some that made him grateful for his better fortune. At Huntercombe, he’d let himself start thinking of his sister’s situation; and the more he’d thought of her, the more he’d missed her.

Now, Mr Kimball had his hankie out again – you had to give him credit for the upkeep of his instruments, but why he didn’t use a pencil was a mystery. ‘How about new friendships, then? Have you been socializing in the village?’

‘There isn’t much to do round here. It’s probably for the best.’

‘Why’s that, Charlie? You’re allowed to let your hair down now and then, you know.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not one for drinking with a bunch of strangers. I prefer it where I am.’

‘They’re only strangers till you get to know them.’

‘True,’ he answered, thinking it was cheap advice he could’ve got from a machine in the arcade. Put a penny in a slot and pull the lever – whump, a little card would drop into the tray, all neatly stamped.

‘Don’t you want to meet new people?’ Mr Kimball went on, simpering. ‘Surely you must want to meet a girl and take her into town – or am I just old-fashioned?’

‘Yes and no. I’m not in any hurry.’

‘Come on now. There’s nobody you’ve got your eye on? A farmer’s daughter somewhere that you’re keeping quiet?’

As far as Charlie was concerned, the problems of his heart were no one else’s business, but he answered, ‘Honestly, if any girl was sweet on me, I’d shout it from the rooftops.’

‘Fair enough. I’m sure you’ll have your pick one day …’