‘Are you all right?’ says the girl. Her voice is concerned and kind of posh: she’s definitely not from around here. She steps forward, then from a pocket in her skirt she takes out a glasses case and carefully puts the specs on to look at my bloody T-shirt. ‘My grandmother says you should come inside. We can put something on that. We were meditating, but we can carry on later.’

Meditating?

I just want to get out of there as quickly as I can, so I say, ‘No thanks. I’m fine. Really I am.’ I even manage a brave grin. ‘Just a little scratch.’

She nods, then looks at me very directly. ‘What were you doing?’

‘Erm … nothing, really. You see, I … erm … I was heading home when this dog started chasing me and, you know, I had to get away from it, so I got rid of the bag so I could run faster and then I jumped over your wall, and sorry to intrude, and …’

Stop babbling, Malky!

‘… And, anyway, I’d better be off. Thanks. Ha ha!’ I start walking down the path that runs round the garden.

All the way through this, the girl has let me talk, a peaceful half-smile on her face as if nothing surprises her and nothing bothers her. Her blacker-than-black hair is similar to the old lady’s but longer, and her skin shines as though she has just stepped out of the bath. In fact, everything about her looks new: her freshly pressed tartan skirt, white knee-socks, plain blue sweater. It’s like she has dressed in her best clothes just to sit in the garden under some flags.

The old lady’s angry face has gone, and she now has the same expression as the girl. ‘Serene’ I suppose you’d call it. (Also ‘unnerving’ and ‘maybe slightly unhinged’.)

‘You are going the wrong way,’ the girl says, and points to an iron gate in the wall, twisted with weeds. ‘Follow me, I will let you out. You need to make sure the dog has gone.’

I walk after her. She punches a code into a pad at the side of the metal gate and it pops open as much as the weeds will allow. I slip through into the back lane and glance up and down: there is no sign of Dennis, or his owner. In the half-light of the evening, I can see drops of blood leading back along the lane.

The girl holds out the bag. ‘Don’t forget this.’

‘Oh, er … thanks,’ I say.

‘What is so valuable?’ she says.

I look down. ‘Ah … it’s just, you know … stuff. Some stuff. I erm … found it.’

She knows you’re lying, Malky.

She nods as if I’m making perfect sense. ‘Stuff? Well, goodbye then. I expect I will see you at school, assuming you are at Marden Middle School?’

I nod. ‘How did you know?’