chapter one

Charlie scowled at his mother through the train window, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. She waved back at him from the platform in an exaggerated display of enthusiasm which he refused to acknowledge, instead staring sullenly beyond her as the carriage pulled out of Liverpool Street station. He yanked his headphones from his jacket pocket and set down his phone on the plastic table. How could she actually have done this? He could probably report her to the authorities: it was borderline child cruelty.

The train creaked like the bones of an old man as it began to move, and the platform gave way to the grimy backs of graffiti-covered buildings. Dirty plants sprouted from holes in the brickwork and streaks of rain started to roll down the window. Swallowed by a sudden tunnel, the glass darkened and Charlie caught a glimpse of his own reflection: spiky blond hair that made him look as if he had just suffered a mild electric shock, soft blue eyes, pale skin and a snub nose rimmed red with the remains of an end-of-term cold. He looked in need of a good rest, but thanks to his mother there was now no chance of that. A message buzzed on his phone from Sanjay, suggesting a pizza at lunchtime. Charlie tapped out his reply and his friend’s response was a gratifying mix of outrage and sympathy.

The train gathered speed, pushing between flats and offices. Every balcony and window seemed to be decorated with sagging strings of tinsel and coloured lights. A neon-lit shopping centre glowed in the gloom and the streets alongside the railway were jammed with cars, their windscreen wipers beating back and forth. It was the sort of day that couldn’t be bothered to get light and Charlie stared blankly as it all rolled by: the Christmas holidays weren’t supposed to be like this.

The previous day he had come home from school so excited that he had done a knee-slide along the hallway like a footballer celebrating an injury-time winner. The longest term was over. No more hauling himself out of bed at seven every morning, no more percentages or poetry; no more homework, lunch queues, tests, checks, rules or Joe Dixon and his bullying gang – just pleasing himself. But all that joy had evaporated. And it was his mother’s fault.

The tannoy crackled into life, listing items for sale in the buffet car. Charlie’s fingers closed around the twenty-pound note that she had thrust into his pocket on the concourse. Guilt money. Still, perhaps some food would be welcome under the circumstances.

The smell of hot bacon and instant coffee hit him as he swayed into the next carriage. Behind a steel counter was a short man with a tuft of ginger hair that made him look a like a carrot. A badge on his waistcoat said ‘ERIC – HAPPY TO HELP’ but, judging by his weary expression, Charlie thought that was probably unlikely.

‘What can I get you?’ Eric sounded as if he too was recovering from a heavy cold.

Charlie looked up at the menu on the wall, determined to spend too much of his mother’s money in a tiny act of revenge.

‘A bacon and sausage roll, please. And a chocolate bar. And a cup of tea. Have you got any crisps?’

Eric shuffled slowly around his kitchenette, dropping the items one by one into a paper bag and opening the microwave.

‘T