‘Come straight home from school,’ she said, and I ran off up the road after everyone because the bell had stopped ringing. I looked back and she was still at the door watching me, so I ran on until I turned the corner. I was feeling hot and dizzy and sticky, so I slowed down and watched some of the other people who were late run on ahead of me. I walked slowly, round past the London City Mission, and saw the two trees by the side of the flats had dropped their leaves on the ground. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen it before. There was white frost on the fallen leaves. I wasn’t sure from the way I was feeling I could go all day at school, so I slowed right down as I came up to the wide black iron doors to the playground that were kept locked. The entrance gate further along the wall was still open because a mum was coming out of it, and it didn’t click as it closed. I thought I shouldn’t go in, I should go home. But there was a mystery story on the school television in the afternoon and I didn’t want to miss the episode. I saw one of the playground ladies coming to the gate as I looked in through the gap by the hinge. I wasn’t sure what to do so I ran across the road and ducked down out of sight behind a car. I put my head up and peered through the wet, misted windows. She leaned out to see if anyone was coming, then went in and shut the gate. I heard the lock click and then I knew I wasn’t going in.

‘Oi! You! Get into school!’ An old lady was standing outside her door on the ground floor of the flats behind me. She had on lots of coats over a big apron and was watching me. She waved her arm up at the school like she was pointing at the roof, ‘Go on! What you hiding for? Get in there!’ I looked up where she pointed and felt sick as some pigeons flew over the top, my neck was stiff. When I looked back, her arms hung down with her elbows pointing out and her shoulders hunched round like that was how she had to stand being old. I couldn’t look at her face. Her apron was grey and her coats were dirty. I hung my head down. She didn’t know I wanted to go in, I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t feel well. She was still shouting, ‘You naughty boy!’ as I got round the corner by the railings to go home, saying she was going to tell my mum and I should be ashamed.