I stop myself. Please? To Kez Becker? She’s got me now, and I know it, and she knows I know it.

‘Go on then, Bell. You’ve gorra do it. It’s the rules. Or you’re not gerrin’ this phone back. Or don’t you trust me?’ She leans against the high brick wall, arms folded across her beefy chest, my new phone clutched tightly in her fist. Kez talks with a strong accent, more like my old friends in Byker than most kids at school, although I think she puts it on a bit.

Next to us the wooden door to someone’s backyard is open a little, and my heart is thumping.

‘It’s easy, man,’ she says. ‘Just gan in, take somethin’ and come oot again.’

‘But take what?’ I’m trying not to sound scared, but I am: my voice has gone all high like it does sometimes. Kez wants me – requires me – to go into someone’s backyard and steal something. And I’ve never stolen anything in my life – well, nothing big.

‘Anything, y’great chicken. Anything that’s there. I bet there’s a bike. We can take that. Oh, don’t look at me like that: we’ll put it back. Honestly, we’re not thieves, man. It’s just borrowin’. This is a test of your courage: a “rite of passage” they call it. Years ago, they’d make you swim across a river with crocodiles in it, so count yourself lucky. I’ll wait here and keep watch. Off you go.’

‘But …’

Kez bends her head close to mine and I can smell her chewing-gum breath. ‘But what, soft lad? You scared? Good. You should face your fears! Stand up to them! Welcome to the grown-ups’ club.’

She prods me in the chest with a thick, nail-bitten forefinger.

‘Now go.’

Chapter 7

I’ve opened the squeaky door as much as I need to squeeze through when Kez says, ‘I’m not lettin’ you back out unless you’ve got something.’ She pushes me hard, then pulls the door shut behind me with a loud bang, disturbing a seagull from a shed roof.

I look round the space: there’s nothing to steal. I’m quite relieved.

I’ll just go back to the door and say, ‘Kez: there’s nothing to take.’

Doesn’t sound good. I glance around again. There’s a big green wheelie bin, and next to it a smaller black one with a recycling symbol on it, some bin bags, and some flattened cardboard boxes. That’s it: a few square metres of cracked, swept concrete.

There’s a small kitchen window and a back door into the house and to my right is a narrow shed. I try the door and it opens. It’s dark inside, but I can tell it’s just shed junk. Kez said ‘anything’, though, so …