Susan’s house has a back entrance in the lane near the end of my street that – until recently – was so overgrown you couldn’t really see in. It’s the gate that Susan let me out of the first time I met her before term started.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the house that night I jumped over the wall. So, if you were to ask me, I’d have guessed it would be big and old with tall, grand windows, and a wide verandah – all that sort of stuff. Spooky, I suppose, and crumbling.

In fact, it’s not like that at all. It’s big all right, but more modern-looking and square. It looks completely out of place in the middle of the large, overgrown grounds and the only thing that seems right is that it is definitely crumbling. The tiled roof is dotted with patches of green moss and sags in the middle, and one window is boarded up. The walls have graffiti on them. There are weeds everywhere: on the path, in the flowerbeds. In the corner of the lawn, a small bonfire is smouldering in a firepit, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the ashes.

I remember, with a flush of shame, what I said to Susan about her living in a big house. It’s big but very run-down and not a bit ‘posh’.

I really, really don’t want to be here. For a start, I’m supposed to go back home straight from school. Mam is working an extra shift packing parcels at the Swift Centre. We’ll talk tonight her text had said, and that won’t be fun. What’s more, I should be home when Seb gets back from his goalkeeper training and I’m in enough trouble as it is.

He’s got a key, though. A few weeks ago, I’d have been certain he’d snitch on me. Now I’m going to have to trust him …

Ahead of me Susan’s babbling on as though she’s a grown-up showing me around. ‘We are making a lot of progress. The place was awful when we moved in, but Mummy reckons it will be shipshape in a few weeks.’

Her mum. I’ve never met her, but then … why would I? ‘Is she in? Your mam? Mum, I mean?’

‘She has gone to London for some meetings. My daddy may be coming home. Well, I say “home”: he has never lived here.’ For a second, I think she’s going to tell me more about her dad. We’re standing at the front door now, which has been freshly painted in smart navy blue. She chews her lip and glances quickly at me. ‘He, erm …’ She stops, then starts again. ‘The house was rather run-down. It’s the only way we could afford to move here after … after what happened.’