I frowned because I couldn’t follow everything – was there a palace? There weren’t any gardens left round the halfway house, just the green across by the flats. There were factories along the railway, and there was Glasshouse Walk, was it a glass palace? We were by the China Walk, but that was a dark old estate, it was a long walk back to the halfway house, over Black Prince Road. ‘What garden?’ I said. ‘Do you mean Vauxhall Park?’

She laughed and shook her head, ‘It’s not to be found. This garden’s a dream not a memory. But Emily knows now there’ll always be dreamers.’ She leaned in towards me and went serious, ‘We’re going down to the sea. I’m telling you this not because your skin is different from ours – you’ve a fine pelt on you,’ and she rubbed the side of my arm with the back of her hand, ‘but because he’d want me to be careful of you. You’ve tried to help Emily but she doesn’t need it. You’ve your own people and Emily has hers. Take those crisps, now, and go on.’

I turned the corner of the pub towards Bedlam Park, not because it was the way home but because I didn’t want to see Emily watch me being turned away.

‘Mum?’

She looked at me as I got out my wet clothes from school and she was searching for some trousers for me to put on.

‘Emily didn’t come to school today. None of them did. They’ve gone.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Emily’s dad died,’ I said, ‘in the hospital. They were going away.’

I couldn’t undo the button on my shirt because it was wet down the front and if I pulled too hard it might tear. I looked up at her for help and she was looking at me like I’d already said too much. I looked down at my button.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, ‘but I’ve something to ask you.’

I thought of Emily playing marbles up by the China Walk, their swirls of colour as she flew to pick them up, and there being no one to fight. Maybe someone saw me on the steps of the pub with her mum. What was I doing there? My mum lifted up my chin so I had to meet her eyes, and I could see I’d done something wrong.

‘Have you written your letter?’

Tired of Fighting

Ian Barrett was going to kill me. Everyone was saying so. He was the best fighter in the school and I was dead.

Even Kat came to say goodbye.

‘Ian Barrett’s gonna kill you. Can I have your pocket money?’

‘When he kills you, can I have yours?’