I guess now is the time to tell you that my ‘behaviour record’ at Marden Middle School is, shall we say, ‘inconsistent’. I think I told you that everyone’s convinced that the reason I’ve been in so much trouble is because of Dad’s breakdown, and Mam and Dad splitting up, but that was all ages ago so I don’t see the connection. Besides, half of the things I got into trouble for weren’t my fault. Once you get a reputation, though, it’s hard to shake off.

‘When trouble knows where you live, Malky,’ says Valerie the school counsellor, ‘it keeps knocking on your door.’ She’s right about that, at least.

Anyway, I’ve promised everyone – especially Mam – that things will change this school year.

So I’m scared that the woman who saw me in her backyard last night will report me to the school, or give them my description, anyway. Burglary? Theft? Animal cruelty? That last one’s the worst and it wasn’t even deliberate.

I’m half-running-half-walking so as not to be late and all these things are going round in my head as I cross the road. I hear a car horn, a screech of brakes and a human scream that turns out to be mine.

A dusty, rusty SUV has stopped about thirty centimetres from me. I look up and gasp. The car appears to have no driver. The electric window hums down and as I look closer I see that there is somebody driving, only they’re so small that their head barely appears over the steering wheel.

A head pops out of the driver’s window: it’s the old lady from last night, who gave me the yak’s butter. I think she’s going to shout at me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just gives me the same intense stare and says, ‘Killed!’

I have stopped in the road; there are no other cars around.

‘I … I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.’

She half closes her eyes and nods as if this explains everything. She wags a finger at me.

‘I nearly killed you. Bad boy!’

I nod quickly. It occurs to me to get all smart with her. You know: ‘How could you even see me over the top of your steering wheel?’ and stuff like that, but there’s something about her that puts me off. I feel I’d come off worse, even though she’s tiny and old. So I say, ‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry.’

Her gaze seems to bore into me. If this is a telling-off, it is the strangest, gentlest, yet most intense one I have ever had. I feel my knees trembling.

‘I’m sorry!’ I repeat, and then I hear from inside the car what sounds like Mo-La! and some more words I don’t understand.