March 2025

First Prize

Finding Treasure by Michelle Shinn, Sale, UK

Second Prize

These are the Events That Took Place by Alex Clissold-Jones, Yarnton, Oxfordshire, UK

Shortlist

Asylum by Gerald Webber, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Dying for Dinner by Roy Jackson, Stroud, Gloucestershire, UK

Finding Treasure by Michelle Shinn, Sale, UK

Kidnapped by Gerald Webber, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Lily by Daryl Hyde, Chelsea, Alabama, USA

These are the Events That Took Place by Alex Clissold-Jones, Yarnton, Oxfordshire, UK

Longlist

A Chugger at the Door by Kathryn Crowley, Dublin, UK

Asylum by Gerald Webber, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Bland Date by Andy Stewart, Saltash, Cornwall, UK

Clever Dog by Roy Jackson, Stroud, Gloucestershire, UK

Dying for Dinner by Roy Jackson, Stroud, Gloucestershire, UK

Finding Treasure by Michelle Shinn, Sale, UK

Kidnapped by Gerald Webber, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Lily by Daryl Hyde, Chelsea, Alabama, USA

The Salem Story by Cuyler Meade, Craig, Colorado, USA

These are the Events That Took Place by Alex Clissold-Jones, Yarnton, Oxfordshire, UK

Where Danger Lies by Mark Reece, Cannock, Staffordshire, UK

Finding Treasure, by Michelle Shin

‘That’s where our Emma walked for the first time, do you remember?’

Dennis pointed just past the paved ramp that led down to the beach, where some forty-something years ago their daughter had taken her first wobbly steps, turning to look at them both in wide-eyed astonishment before promptly falling on her bottom.

Joan followed his finger to the spot, then back at him, her mouth doing that opening and closing thing a couple of times before she lost interest, fiddling with a button on her blouse.

‘Never mind, love,’ he said, taking her arm and continuing their walk along the promenade. Triggering Joan’s memories was like hunting for buried treasure.  This beach was like a map with X’s all around, you just had to know where to find them and start to dig.

Gorleston was special to them.  They first started visiting when Emma was just a baby. Back then, you didn’t board a plane for your holiday, you just hopped in the car and travelled to the coast. They had fallen in love with the small Norfolk seaside town, with it’s golden sandy beach, flanked by a wide promenade and backed by dramatic grassy cliffs.

Many a summer day had been spent here, building sandcastles, tossing frisbees, digging out pennies for the nearby arcade.  Gorleston, like them, was a little tired around the edges now, but when they were deciding where to retire they had both agreed this was the place.

They were nearing the bandstand, set back from the beach in a park, when he caught the dreamy notes of ‘Moonlight Serenade.’ Their song.  It had been the first dance at their wedding, and they’d glided many a smooth foxtrot to it over the years. He steered them towards the sound, his confidence growing as Joan gripped his arm tighter. The brass band weren’t quite the same as Glenn himself, but it was near enough.There, on the grass next to to the bandstand, with kids kicking crisp amber leaves, and dogs of all shapes and sizes exploring the park with their noses, he hummed the tune in Joan’s ear, and she leaned towards him, closing her eyes. Taking her in his arms, they began to dance. Their feet remembered the steps perfectly and he could almost imagine they were teenagers again on their first date. 

They met when he was working as a driver, collecting deliveries from a sweet factory. Joan worked on the packing line, and he’d caught a glimpse of her one day when he was waiting for his truck to be loaded. A petite, curvy brunette, she was holding court with a circle of admirers enthralled by her storytelling.  Her laugh was so wicked it made him hungry to hear it, desperate to be the one to elicit such a mesmerising sound. He began making excuses to hang around until she’d have her break, but it took him a few weeks to muster the courage to speak to her. The first time he asked her for a date she let him down gently.  But after a few further failed attempts he realised a special girl like her wouldn’t be won so easily. He was sure she liked him too, she teased him relentlessly, always singling him out in the crowd.

The women on the line removed their shoes when they came to work to prevent them from being ruined, replacing them with plimsols provided by the factory. One day, he stole her best pair, shiny red Mary Janes, placing them high on the rafters and refusing to take them down until she agreed to a date.  She had a glint in her eye when she said yes, saying it was the only way a funny looking chap like him would manage to get a girl.

Goose bumps prickled his arms as he inhaled the familiar vanilla notes of her perfume, the same one she’d always worn. This day felt special, the warmth of the sun on his back, the band playing this song. He drew back slightly to see her face. She opened her eyes, smiling up at him, and for a fleeting moment, he had her back. Returning her smile, he reached out to stroke her cheek, realising his mistake immediately as her face contorted into a frown.

‘Who are you? Why am I here?’ she shouted, pushing him away.

A mum wheeling a buggy nearby shot him a distrustful look. He nodded in her direction, raising a hand as if to say, I’ve got it under control.

‘It’s ok love. It’s me, Den.’  He risked a step towards her.

‘No, no,’ she was shaking her head, backing away. Then she turned, striding towards the beach, rejoining the promenade. He made no attempt to catch her. It was for the best when she was like this. Instead he followed at a distance, until her pace slowed and she turned full circle, peering around like an abandoned child. Eventually she sat down on a bench, folding her hands in front of her. 

Purchasing two ice-creams from a nearby stall, he approached. ‘I got you a 99 Joanie.’

‘Thanks Den,’ she said, and the smile extended all the way to her eyes.

The world stopped. It was the first time she’d said his name in a year. 

When the doctor first told them, it had been her that had comforted him, clasping him tightly while his whole body trembled as if he was outside in the snow in his underwear rather than the oppressively hot consultation room.

He’d teased her when she had mistakenly called their granddaughter Emma or that time she phoned him confused about why she was in town and he had to remind her about her hairdressers appointment. Naively he assumed her memory loss was a consequence of age, nothing to worry about.

They’d discussed what to do as the disease progressed, and she had urged him to put her in a home if it became too much. ‘I could never do that Joanie,’ he’d said, kissing the rosy apples of her cheeks. 

The doctor had said they could have years, but she wasn’t one of the lucky ones. Within six months she was leaving the gas on, getting lost if she went out alone and even beginning to forget who he was. 

Worse had been the moments of clarity. One time she had said she was going upstairs to lie down. It was unlike her to nap and he’d followed a few minutes later. She had been staring at herself in the dressing table mirror, as if trying to cling on to her own identity. As he approached the tears began to fall. She had begged him to not let Emma bring the grandchildren when she got worse, she couldn’t bare the thought of not recognising them.

A light drizzle was in the air, and he turned up his face to meet it. Rising from the bench he extended his arm.

‘Shall we, madam?’

She beamed at him, clasping his arm, and they continued their walk.  He let himself imagine that they were just a normal couple enjoying an afternoon stroll. He wasn’t kidding himself though, since saying his name, she hadn’t uttered another word, occasionally sneaking a glance at him as they meandered along, as if he was someone she’d known long ago she couldn’t quite place.

The sprinkling of rain had cleared the beach of the majority of it’s occupants. Just a few brave souls with their windbreakers up remained. They were approaching a parade of shops that housed the arcades and a few tired looking cafes.

‘I’m hungry,’ she blurted suddenly.

He realised he was also ready to eat, or maybe it was just the enticing vinegary tang wafting in their direction.

‘Me too, Joanie.’

She gazed at him expectantly and he brushed a stray curl from her face.

‘How about fish and chips?’

She nodded enthusiastically and he reached for her hand, searching her eyes first to check it was ok. Leading her to the cafe, he settled her down on one of the plastic chairs outside. The sun had peeped from behind a cloud, and it would be nicer to eat in the fresh air. She wasn’t great in busy places these days.

‘I’ll only be a few minutes love - cod, chips and gravy is it?’

‘And a barmcake,’ she said, licking her lips.

‘And a barmcake then.’ He risked a kiss on her forehead, letting his hand rest briefly on one of her shoulders.

The air was warm inside the cafe causing the windows to steam up. He used the sleeve of his jacket to rub a circle clear, peering out at her while he waited his turn. It was here he’d lost her last time. He’d only taken his eyes off her for a second. Hadn’t realised he was still capable of running. After describing Joan to countless passers by, one had finally pointed to the cliffs overlooking the promenade. She was on the bench they used to frequent the winter they had first retired. The view of the beach was special up there, you could see for miles - from the pier right down to the pub where they’d sometimes treat themselves to dinner. She had risen when he had huffed to a stop in front of her, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Her lips began to move, but before she could form any words he had grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly.

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again, Joan.  You hear me? Never again.’

All of the anxiety and fear gushed out, quickly overridden by guilt at her bewildered expression. Then a terrible sense of loss. Not only for what she might have been about to say, but  for what their relationship had become. He couldn’t bear to meet her eyes, pulling her into an embrace and murmuring in her hair ‘I’m sorry, Joan, I’m so sorry.'

The queue shifted forward and once more his eyes flicked to the window.

***

The remains of their supper were laid out in front of them, and he gazed at the mountain of chips, unable to comprehend how he ever managed to eat so much when he was younger. 

The sound of chair scraping against tarmac caught his attention. Joan was standing, her eyes fixated on the beach.

‘Joan?’

Pushing the chair aside, she set off, striding towards the sea.

‘Joan! Stop - wait a minute, please!’ He hastily stuffed the remainder of the chips into a plastic bag, using the metal arms of the chair to lever himself to his feet.  His body betrayed him regularly these days, and it took two attempts.

‘Damn.’

She was moving away from him quicker than he thought possible and he pushed his joints forward despite their best efforts to slow him down.

Gulls shrieked, circling above, greedily eyeing the leftovers bag.

Joan was on the beach now, her court shoes not made for sand, feet sinking heavily with every step, and he was grateful that his own misjudged choice offered him the opportunity to catch up. 

Waves crashed onto the beach, and he knew if he licked his lips he would taste their salt.

He stumbled to a halt next to her. She had removed her shoes, clutching them both in the hand furthest from him. Joan searched the horizon, her gaze sharper than he had seen it in months. He didn’t want to break the spell, but he wanted to know what she was thinking. These moments were becoming less frequent. Tentatively, he brushed his fingers with hers, taking her hand.  It was like paper, dry and light. She glanced down, then she passed him her shoes, bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss. 

‘You’re still a funny looking chap, but you’ve grown on me over the years.’

His heart soared. He had found the treasure chest, and it was brimming with gold.

These Are The Events That Took Place, by Alex Clissold-Jones

SCHOOL WELLBEING MANAGER

DATE: Wednesday 14 September

TIME: 5pm

TEACHER: AECJ

LOCATION: Playing Fields

STUDENTS INVOLVED: Jago Spencer-Chamberlain/Cosmo Xi/Barnaby Shang

These are the events which took place today at the rugby match, U9 Wild Geese v Montington Hall.

AECJ’s first observation was of Mr Spencer-Chamberlain growing increasingly agitated on the sidelines, midway through the first half.

During a break in the match, allowing Cosmo to look for his missing rugby boot and for players to have Vaseline re-applied, sport goggles cleaned and a collapsed lung attended to, AECJ was approached by Mr Spencer-Chamberlain.

Mr Spencer-Chamberlain requested to know: 1) why his son, Jago – a substitute – had not been brought on yet, 2) why another boy (Cosmo) had just kicked one of his own boots into the river and 3) if any of the U9 Wild Geese actually knew what sport they were playing.

AECJ thanked Mr Spencer-Chamberlain for his observations, in particular to the missing boot. He sympathised with Mr Spencer-Chamberlain’s experience as spectator but made it clear that assembling the U9 Wild Geese outside, together on the same field and without too many of them crying, should be considered a success.

AECJ explained that Jago did not appear to have his mouthguard before kick-off. AECJ expressed regret that Jago could not, therefore, legally take part if he did not have a mouthguard.

AECJ revealed to Mr Spencer-Chamberlain that when asked where his mouthguard was, Jago had told AECJ that it was “on the coach”. AECJ had pointed out to Jago that as it was a home match, the team had at no point that afternoon sat upon, been inside or even seen a coach or similar mode of transport.

After an exchange of words, AECJ and Mr Spencer-Chamberlain agreed that Jago should go back to school and look for his mouthguard there.

The match continued.

Roughly five minutes later, AECJ became aware of raised voices from the assembled parents watching. Initially believing it to be disagreement over a refereeing decision – where AECJ had disallowed a try on the grounds that Barnaby had both dropped the ball on the line and pointed excessively to his backside when celebrating in front of the Montington Hall players – it soon became apparent that Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain had arrived and had brought a large dog (Great Dane) with her. She and Mr Spencer-Chamberlain were engaged in a vociferous disagreement which was upsetting the other parents, the players and the Great Dane.

AECJ paused the game, to allow some boys to calm down and remind others to start moving.

Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain asked AECJ – in a raised voice – why he felt it right that Jago was in both a bottom rugby team and bottom Maths set. Mr Spencer-Chamberlain agreed strongly with his estranged wife and proceeded to quote a section of the Human Rights Act of 1998. AECJ thanked them both for their engagement with Jago’s academic and sporting life but suggested that they continue this discussion at another time, gently reminding them that Parents Evening (last Sunday) would have been the ideal forum.

Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain then sought to confirm if Jago would be receiving extra time at the end of the current match. AECJ expressed confusion as to her comment. Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain reiterated her question, several decibels louder. AECJ asked Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain if she seriously thought that the extra time granted for Jago in academic assessments was also to be used in his sporting endeavours. Mr Spencer-Chamberlain demanded to know what AECJ meant by “seriously”. Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain noted that Mr Spencer-Chamberlain did not need to “wade in, as always”, fortunately loud enough to cover Barnaby’s comment that the only extra time Jago seemed to take advantage of was at lunch. At some point, AECJ emitted a long, audible exhalation to which Mr Spencer-Chamberlain and Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain both took exception.

Although recognising that it was not the ideal moment to raise this issue, AECJ politely reminded Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain of the ‘No dogs’ rule at school. Mr Spencer-Chamberlain suggested to AECJ that this was not the “ideal moment” to raise this issue but that his estranged wife should take the dog back to her car. Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain disagreed, explaining that the Great Dane was an ‘emotional support animal’ for Jago and proceeded to quote another section of the Human Rights Act of 1998.

AECJ suggested that if the Great Dane could manage to procure a mouthguard for Jago then it would, indeed, be considered a great support. Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain did not recognise the clear humour intended in the comment and proceeded to question AECJ’s teaching qualifications and mental faculties.

During this whole exchange, AECJ had noticed that a number of boys – and the Great Dane – had run over to the pavilion (out of bounds). Just as he was about to address this issue, AECJ encountered Mr Lazell (visiting music teacher) entering the field of play. After grudgingly acknowledging the unusual circumstances that were occurring around him, Mr Lazell somewhat aggressively demanded that AECJ “release” Jago for his “f***ing” harpsichord

lesson immediately, otherwise the parents would be billed.

Upon overhearing the exchange, Mr Spencer-Chamberlain expressed frustration that he would be forced to pay, mentioning his general dissatisfaction with the money he was generally parting with, in regard to “this bloody school”. Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain proceeded to criticise Mr Lazell harshly on his physical appearance. AECJ managed to explain that Jago had gone back to school and that Mr Lazell would be able to locate him there and proceed with the harpsichord lesson. Once completed, he could return to play in the second half of the match.

All seemed satisfied with this plan.

At half time, AECJ requested that the parents and Great Dane refrain from consuming the orange slices, as these were intended for the players. He reminded everyone that there would be a Match Tea at the conclusion of the match.

AECJ observed that various members of the U9 Wild Geese had heightened emotions. A combination of parental pressure, Great Dane, mud and general confusion over rugby had caused upset and/or hysteria. AECJ warned the boys that they would be given a minus if they continued to sneak off to the pavilion and chose to giggle amongst themselves during the team talk. He praised Barnaby’s suggestion that Jago could use an orange peel as a temporary mouthguard albeit qualified with reservations as to its legal standing.

As the second half was about to start, AECJ noticed that Jago had returned from school and was now wearing a Montington Hall rugby top. When he raised this observation, Mr Spencer-Chamberlain explained that he had withdrawn Jago from the school during half time and had secured him a place at Montington Hall in time for the second half. AECJ pointed out that, regardless of which team he was now representing, Jago still did not appear to have a mouthguard. When the Montington Hall coach was finally located (in the pavilion with a Montington Hall mother) he urged AECJ to allow Jago to play “for everyone’s sanity”.

Twelve minutes into the second half, Jago approached AECJ with two of his teeth. AECJ was unable to work out exactly what had happened, as Jago’s distress was inhibiting his ability to express himself clearly. AECJ paused the game to investigate further. Mr Spencer-Chamberlain demanded to know how AECJ had allowed this to happen. Before AECJ could remind Mr Spencer-Chamberlain that Jago was now a Montington Hall student, Barnaby pondered, loudly, if the mishap could have been averted if Jago had used orange peel as a mouthguard.

In the somewhat heated melee that followed, AECJ was forced to use his lanyard as a makeshift red card, with the intention of sending Mr Spencer-Chamberlain safely back to the touchline. Mr Spencer-Chamberlain chose to ignore his “sending off” and proceeded to thrust his own impromptu red card – a Sunday Times Wine Club Loyalty Card (see pastoral note) – in AECJ’s face. AECJ was aware of extensive howling emanating from Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain.

As AECJ sought to control the situation, Mr Lazell reappeared, to report that Jago had: 1) compared learning the harpsichord unfavourably to a “Maths lesson”, 2) disappeared from said lesson when Mr Lazell’s back was turned and 3) just handed him a tooth.

When the School Nurse was finally located (in the pavilion with the Montington Hall coach and the Montington Hall mother), Jago was quickly taken to the Sanitorium alongside Mr Spencer-Chamberlain and Mrs Spencer-Chamberlain, Barnaby (who had suffered a light head wound from Mrs Spencer-

Chamberlain’s umbrella), Cosmo (inconsolable, claiming that “no-one” had passed him the ball “all afternoon”)  and Mr Lazell (“Hepatitis B”).

By this point, the Great Dane had punctured the ball so AECJ concluded the match and thanked all the players for a good game. The boys were happy to get to Match Tea.

To follow up: can someone locate a Great Dane, last seen entering the cricket nets at approx. 15.34.

(update 18.30) AECJ has just found a mouthguard in his tracksuit pocket, belonging to Jago Spencer-Chamberlain.

To follow up: AECJ to ask witnesses to clarify Jago’s comments “on the coach” (see paragraph 7).

AECJ to prepare a resignation letter.

Kidnapped, by Gerald Webber

The lady with the crayons was here again yesterday. Her name is Mrs Pearson but she tells me I should call her Tracey. Whatever. I don’t like her. She smells of plasticine and old biscuits and she wears a hat that looks like a tea cosy. I expect her head is cold because her hair is short and spiky, like a man’s, except that she dyes it pink, probably to make sure that people know she’s a woman. I don’t really know why she comes, but she says she’s “just looking out” for me, whatever that means.

“Let’s draw a picture of your house, shall we?” she says. She sounds like she used to be a teacher, pretending to be happy and interested in what I’m doing. But that’s not how she looks to me. Her eyes are sad and she wears little round glasses with metal frames, like the baddies do on telly. I don’t think she likes children. That’s probably why they stopped her from being a teacher. Plus her crayons are broken, and she keeps them all together in an old tin that has a picture on the lid of a soldier in a black hat and a lady in a bonnet. Real teachers store them in cardboard packets and write “2b” on the back with a felt-tip pen.

So I draw our house with four windows and a front door in the middle, like I know you should, even though we live in a flat, and Mrs Pearson looks at it and says, “That’s nice. Now let’s draw the people who live in the house, shall we?”, as if she was playing with the crayons as well. If she had been, I reckon she’d have drawn a big black house with a cat outside. Then she sits next to me on the sofa, which I don’t much like, and I notice that the skin on her hands is all thin and wrinkly, which I don’t like either.

I draw mum in a blue dress with yellow hair and red lips, and dad with a big brown beard. He’s larger than she is, of course, and nearly as tall as the house, although actually he’s not that big. But we don’t live in a house anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. Then I draw myself in between them. My head is round and I add a smiley face, which is what you do. Then I colour it pink, a bit like Mrs Pearson’s hair. “Are mummy and daddy happy too?”, she asks, stupidly. Of course they aren’t, because dad has disappeared, which she knows already. So I ignore her and add some clouds and rain above the house instead. I don’t like Mrs Pearson.

“Are you just here until my dad gets back?”, I ask her.“Something like that”, she says. “Your mother is very unhappy at the moment and she’s worried about your father because he hasn’t been at all nice to her, and we don’t know where he is right now, so I’m just here to help make sure that you’re alright, until we get everything sorted out. Ok?” I don’t know what she and the man in the grey suit have done with my dad, but I’m starting to think that he might have escaped, which is why they don’t know where he is any more. I hope so anyway, because I miss him.

“Ok”, I say.

***

The man in the grey suit is always writing things down in his notebook, as if he can’t remember what anyone says, which isn’t normal. I think he’s probably sending messages to other members of the gang. So I’m careful what I say. He says he is a policeman, but obviously he isn’t because he doesn’t wear a uniform and he doesn’t drive a police car. He tells me that he’s Inspector something-or-other, but that I can call him Mr Sherman. Or David. But I don’t call him anything.

His handwriting slopes the wrong way and his letters are small and wavy, so I think he might be writing in code, which is what they do. He has hairs growing out of his nose, so I can’t bear to look at him for long, even though he tells me to, and when I do I try to focus on his eyebrows, which are dark and bushy, as if he’s stuck them on, which he might have done, I suppose. They use disguises when they can’t wear masks.

“So, when was the last time you saw your father?”, he says. We were sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs Pearson was there as well. Mr Sherman had a silver pen in his hand and was leaning on our second-best tablecloth with his sleeves rolled up, so the plastic kept sticking to his arms. The room smelled of cooking fat and aftershave. “The day before he disappeared”, I said. “On Monday”. I remembered because we always have macaroni cheese out of a tin on Mondays, which I like. Mum says we have to because it’s all she can afford, but I don’t care about that.

“And how was your mother when you went to bed that evening?”, he asks. “Same as normal”, I say, shrugging my shoulders. I thought that was clever, because it was true. She’s always crying and shaky, which is why she has those tablets from the doctors. “Did you see or hear anything unusual that night?”, he asked. I looked at his eyebrows. “No”, I said, and then I shut up. I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. But I wasn’t sure if that was the right answer, so I turned to Mrs Pearson and asked if I could go back to the other room and do some more drawing instead. They let me go, and I opened the tin of crayons to find a red one, which I scribbled with until I’d covered the whole of the paper and my arm was tired.

***

My granny is looking after me while mum is in the hospital. She’s here most of the time at the moment and stays overnight, when Mrs Pearson and the man in the suit aren’t around. But I’m not sure I can trust her to keep a secret, so I don’t say much about mum and dad, just in case. I don’t see granny very often as a rule, and I don’t think she likes talking to me really. In any case, I don’t know what we’d talk about. She spends most of the time watching telly or doing stuff on her phone, and I know she doesn’t like my dad, so I think that she might be helping the others.

She’s nothing like my mum. Granny has a skinny face and brown hair that she pulls back in a pony-tail. I suppose she thinks it makes her look young, but it doesn’t, because she isn’t. She’s not as fat as some of the grannies I’ve seen on our estate, but she shouldn’t wear tee-shirts and trackie-bottoms, and she shouldn’t smoke or swear so much, or drink lager out of a can either. Real grannies aren’t like that. To be fair, she doesn’t drink when Mrs Pearson is around though, which is kind of her because I know that Mrs Pearson isn’t happy about the empty cans and the smell of granny’s home-made cigarettes. But I don’t like Mrs Pearson more than I don’t like granny, so I pretend not to notice.

***

My friend Darren sent me a message on the PS4 the other day. We were playing Assassin’s Creed, the new one, which my dad bought me for Christmas. According to Darren’s mum the mothers on our estate think my dad’s a “fucking animal”, but Darren tells me that his mum says things like that about lots of people so I shouldn’t worry about it. I tell Darren that I think my dad’s been kidnapped and that he’d better be careful what he says to his mum because it sounds like she might be part of the gang as well. I tell him about Mrs Pearson and Mr Sherman and about my granny, who hates my dad and is always sending secret messages to people on her phone, and I tell him that I think my dad might now be on the run after escaping from the bad guys, which is why they’re keeping me in the flat and my mum in a hospital, so they can catch him when he comes back to rescue us. I tell Darren that he could be in danger too, if anyone finds out we’ve been talking. Then I stab a foot-soldier in the neck, which completes the mission. Darren promises not to say anything to his mum.

***

It was almost ten o’clock when Mrs Pearson woke me up. Granny had let me sleep in and gone to the shops for some cigarettes, apparently.

“Your mum’s here”, she said. “So get yourself dressed and we’ll go through to the other room and see her. But remember that she’s had a difficult time and she’s a bit woozy with all the drugs. She’s got some bruises and some stitches on her face, and her arm’s in a sling, so don’t be frightened by any of that when you see her. Ok? The doctors have taken good care of her and she’s on the mend now, so she’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s go through, shall we?”

Mum looked worse than I expected. Her lips were swollen and the side of her face was bruised. The skin around her left eye was dark and shiny, but it was difficult to know what colour it was because there aren’t any crayons like that. Her hair was messy, as if she’d just got out of bed, and there were four black stitches on her cheek.

“Come here, darling”, she said, and leaned forward to hug me with her free hand. She smelled of sticking plasters and old pyjamas. “Tracey tells me you’ve been a good boy while I’ve been away, and that you haven’t cried once. That’s brave” she said, and kissed me on the top of the head before letting me go. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. She wiped her eyes with a paper handkerchief, then blew her nose with it.

“Now, I think you know from Tracey and the inspector that daddy and I had a bit of a fight the other night. Yes?” I nodded, half-remembering the noises that had woken me up. I had peeked through the crack in the bedroom door to see mum shouting and crying and wiping lipstick across her face with the back of her hand. I had run back to bed and hidden under the sheets, pretending to be asleep until the morning because I didn’t like it when she was drunk. “Well, now that they’ve let me out of hospital, Tracey has found us somewhere new to live. Somewhere safe. So I want you to get dressed and pack some clothes in the suitcase that you take on holiday so that we can go. Now. Alright? Don’t worry if you forget anything. Granny can bring it later.”

I was about to tell her that I didn’t want to go when I realised that she was frightened, and that she had to do what Mrs Pearson said or the gang would beat her up again.

“Ok”, I said.

I know that dad will save us somehow.