The one with blotches turned and slapped me on the leg, ‘Get your feet off!’ I hadn’t realised I’d pulled my legs up on the seat to stop him crushing them when he leaned back. We turned in to the traffic under the railway bridge. ‘Look at that,’ he was saying – but it was dark and noisy, I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, I couldn’t hear – ‘...monkey and a crab ... you told me ... this patch was full of villains.’

‘Graveyard shift,’ the older one said, looking in his mirrors as we came out from under the bridge and I could hear. ‘They’re still in bed.’

The blotchy one laughed and the car slowed down to turn into my street. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ the one driving said, turning the wheel again, ‘they’re gonna clear all this out soon. It’s just filth.’

There were spots in my eyes and everything was going fast when my mum opened the door. I could feel the policeman’s hand on my jaw from when he slapped me and now it felt hot. He was holding me by the hood of my duffel coat and the other one was round on the road opening all the doors to get rid of the smell.

‘We’re looking for his mum,’ the policeman said.

‘I’m his mother,’ she said.

I looked down because I couldn’t look at her, and threw up over my shoes and the front of my duffel coat. The policeman stepped back from the splash and looked at her and looked at me.

‘You?’

‘Yes,’ she said, and looked at me. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You’re his mother?’

She crouched down and got a handkerchief out her sleeve and wiped my mouth and my chin, feeling the side of my face with the cold of her hand. She asked me questions quickly with her eyes and my tears started to come down on to my cheeks. She glanced across at the police car and up at the policeman, and stood up. ‘He’s sick,’ she said. ‘Do you want to let go of his hood?’

‘He’s black,’ the policeman said, sounding stupid and wrong, and looking like he wasn’t sure what was going to come out his mouth.

‘I’m his mother,’ my mum said. ‘What’s that to do with why you’re holding him?’

The policeman loosened his grip but didn’t let go, his mouth was open and his eyes went sideways over the back of his shoulder to the one standing in the road. ‘That’s her,’ he said.

‘Who?’ said the older one, slamming the doors and coming round on to the pavement – my mum ignored the one standing over me and spoke to him.

‘I’m this boy’s mother. Can you tell me what’s going on? Why are you here? Who’s that in the car with you?’