Snow was falling heavily and I could hear my breath and my feet crunching on the frozen ground as I walked across the garden to the cottage. By the back door was the chicken, her eyes half-closed, covered in a light layer of snow. I eased the door open and she stood up, cocked her head from one side to the other, and then jumped over the step and inside. I followed, quickly shutting the door.

The chicken ruffled her feathers and then strutted around the kitchen, pecking at the odd crumb on the floor. She didn’t look scared at all. I opened the out-of-date crackers, crumbled a couple up in my hand, and made a little pile down in the corner. The chicken did a funny, fast walk to get to them, then stabbed at them with her beak. I filled a cereal bowl with water and placed that next to the crumbs.

Under the sink was an old washing-up bowl. I took a scarf from a hook by the door and put it in the bottom of the bowl, making a kind of nest.

“There you go. A little bed for you,” I said, putting it down next to the chicken. “I’ll let you out whenever you want, but for now you can stay here and keep nice and warm.”

The chicken happily jabbed at the crackers, and I closed the kitchen door so that she couldn’t wander into the rest of the house.

The living room was freezing, and I knelt in front of the wood stove and raked the ash into a flat surface using the poker. The wood basket only had a few small pieces left and a handful of kindling. I also only had a few cubes of firelighters left, but I decided not to worry about that for now, and I layered the small pieces of kindling over the white cubes and lit a match.

“You told her about your dad then?”

I dropped the match into the fire and spun around. Sam was sitting with his legs hanging over the side of the armchair.

“Do you think you could kind of give me a warning when you’re about to arrive?” I said, holding my hand to my chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Sam smirked, his yellow glow warming the corner of the room. I shut the door of the stove, and the flames flickered as they caught the kindling.

“So, your dad went off to America. Then what happened?”

I sat cross-legged by the fire. “After his talk with me, Dad moved to New York within days. Our family didn’t exist any more. They never admitted it, but it was obvious that the plans for him to move to New York had been sorted out weeks before.”

“Grown-ups do that kind of thing all the time,” said Sam.

I nodded. I was always the last to know about anything. Dad leaving, us coming here.

“After he’d gone, Mum walked around the house in a daze. She’d smile when I came into the room, but her face crumpled when she thought I wasn’t looking. She got really thin too and stopped doing anything around the house. Grandma and Granddad came by when they could and made sure we had enough food in the cupboards and that my school uniform was clean. I overheard them talking to Mum one evening.

“‘You’ve got to pull yourself together, Fiona. Nate needs his mum. He’s lost his dad, so now it’s time for you to step up to the mark. Get this family back on track!’

“And after a while, she did.

“She got herself a job working at a real estate agent’s, and before long we found ourselves back in a routine. She’d make a packed lunch for her and one for me, and we’d both leave the house at the same time each morning, me to school and her off to work. Every day she’d give me a kiss on the top of my head:

“‘Have a good day, darling.’

“I used to huff and act as if I didn’t like it when she said that, but inside I was just so pleased to see her happy again. Mum’s real smile was starting to come back.”

The fire was ready for a bigger log, so I carefully opened the door and placed one on top of the burning kindling. I was getting good at it now.

“And what about your dad? Did you keep in touch?” asked Sam.

I closed the wood stove’s door. “He used to call twice a week. He’d promise he’d visit, but then he’d say that he was too busy. They’d bought a new apartment that they were having renovated, so he’d say he was coming, but then he couldn’t because their new kitchen was being fitted or they were choosing a sofa or something. As if I cared.”

Sam’s glow dimmed. “Haven’t you seen him since?”

“Yes. He came back about a year later. He looked so different. He had this silly little beard on his chin that looked like it had been stuck on. He took me out for burgers and chips, but I refused to eat anything and told him his beard looked stupid. He pretended not to be hurt, but I could see it had upset him.

“‘How’s your mum doing?’ he asked. ‘I hear she’s seeing someone else?’

“Mum had met Gary by then. She must have mentioned it to him. Gary designed websites for a living, and she’d been introduced to him through work. I’d noticed she did a lot more singing and a lot more looking in the mirror.

“‘She’s fine,’ I told Dad. ‘Gary is great. He does loads with me, and we go out together all the time. To be honest with you, he’s like a proper dad.’

“Dad’s face fell. I knew I’d hurt him, but I didn’t care. From then on, every time I spoke to him on the phone or wrote him an email, I told him how amazing Gary was and how I really didn’t miss him at all. But I did. I missed him terribly.”

I watched the fire glowing orange as the log began to burn.

“I don’t know why I said that to Dad.”

I looked up, but Sam was gone.

I put on every light in the cottage, then headed to the kitchen to check on the chicken. The cracker crumbs had all gone, and she was sitting on top of the scarf in her washing-up bowl. She put her head on one side and watched me for a moment, then her head sunk into her neck and she shut her eyes. It felt nice being able to help her out of the cold, even if she was just a chicken.

When I went back into the front room, Sam was standing by the fire. He looked taller. It was like he was waiting to tell me something. I sat on the sofa, pulling my legs up. I felt tingling in the tips of my fingers and toes. Something was about to happen—I could feel it. And then, without saying a word, Sam waved his hand just like he had before and the wall began to evaporate.

“Whoa … How … How do you do that?” I asked, blinking at the shimmering space that was beginning to form before me. The picture started to come into focus. I could see a crowd of people, and then they blurred and suddenly we were looking at a boy wearing a cream baseball cap with a B on the front, a shiny blue shirt, and cream shorts. He had a baseball gripped in his left hand, and he was staring right at me. He gave a subtle nod of his head, then pulled his arm back, and whoosh … the ball was coming right at me. I ducked to the side and hid my head in the sofa cushion, but nothing happened. When I sat up the image had pulled back to reveal a huge baseball field. It was a hot summer’s day and a game was in full swing as Sam began to talk …

“Charlie was the best pitcher the Boxton Blues had ever had. EVER. The rest of the team didn’t take baseball that seriously, but Charlie? Well, Charlie was outside every night after school, practicing his pitches over and over and over again. He was so dedicated.”

My jaw hung open as I watched the kids running around the field, dust flying beneath their feet. Charlie, the pitcher in the middle, threw another ball, and there was a crack as the bat hit the ball and sent it rocketing upward. Everyone stood and stared as it soared up and up and up until it paused, then began to plummet back down toward the ground. Charlie threw his baseball cap on the ground and pelted across the field, diving to the earth and sliding along in the dust to catch the ball in one outstretched hand. The crowd went crazy.

“Awesome,” I said, glancing at Sam. He moved his hand and the image blurred and began to change. This time the space was smaller. Charlie was there again, this time in jeans and T-shirt, and he now appeared to be in a back garden. He had another baseball in his hand, and he was staring at a silver tin can that had been placed on top of a fence post. Beside Charlie was another boy dressed in a bright green baseball uniform. He was slapping his hands together and talking in Charlie’s ear as if he was encouraging him. There was something I recognized about the boy. He had a green glow, just like the imaginary friend before, Meena, had a purple one and like Sam had a yellow one.

I watched as Charlie eyeballed the can, and then WHAM! He threw the ball, and the can somersaulted into the air and fell onto the ground with a clatter. The other boy whooped and clapped his hands together.

“Is that … Is that Charlie’s imaginary … friend?” I asked, pointing to the boy in green.

“Yep. That’s Dexter. He’s good. Really good. His dedication is unbelievable. He spent hours with Charlie, practicing his pitching. But things … Things didn’t work out so well for Charlie in this case …”

They looked so happy. Charlie reset the tin can as Dexter punched the air and cheered him on.

“Why not?” I said. “What happened?”

“Well, Charlie’s team won the league that year. He played his best baseball ever. He really was their star player.”

I smiled as Charlie threw the ball again and knocked the can flying. Dexter ran around the garden, waving his arms above his head. He had green eyes and a big wide grin. He looked like he’d be really fun to hang out with. But then the image began to blur. I leaned forward on the sofa. Suddenly we were back at the baseball field again, but this time the game was over. Charlie was being held up on his teammates’ shoulders as he waved a shiny gold trophy in the air.

“They circled that field seven times. Seven! The crowd went crazy,” said Sam.

They all looked so happy I almost wanted to applaud them myself. An older, chubby man was following the group of kids, clapping madly with a big grin on his face.

“That’s Coach Benson,” said Sam.

I watched as he reached up and patted Charlie on the back. “I’m so proud of you, boy. You’ve made this team complete, and if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be holding this trophy today.”

“Thanks, Coach Benson,” said Charlie, before his teammates carried him off on another lap of the field.

The image faded again and now we were in Charlie’s bedroom. He was asleep, the trophy under his arm.

“He slept with it under his arm for three nights running. But that was it. Not long after they won the league, Charlie gave up baseball completely.”

“What?” I said, confused. “He gave it up? Why?”

As I asked the question Sam’s color faded and he moved his arm, and the image changed again. I was back at the baseball field, but this time it looked like they were training.

“Coach Benson brought in a new kid—Elliot.”

I could see the coach with Charlie and another, smaller boy. They were talking about something, but Charlie had his arms folded and he didn’t look happy.

“Coach Benson told Charlie he wanted him to take Elliot under his wing and teach him all he knew about pitching. He said they needed more than one strong pitcher on their team.”

“Charlie tried it for a bit, showed him how to stand, and taught him about curveballs and sliders and all that … but, you know … it just didn’t work out, so he quit.”

I watched the image change and saw Charlie throw the ball on the floor and stomp off the field. Following behind him was Dexter, his green glow now a dull dishwater color.

“He quit? Their star player quit? Just because they brought in a new player? Why would he do that?”

Sam shrugged. “He took it personally. But it wasn’t Coach Benson’s fault. They needed a team of good players, not just Charlie. Dexter tried his best to talk him out of it, but it was no use. He joined another team and, well … Let’s just say things were not the same.”

Sam waved his hand again, and this time we were at another baseball field with a team dressed in red. Charlie was sitting on a bench looking incredibly fed up. Behind him was Dexter, his green color almost gone as he watched his friend looking so miserable.

“His new coach, Coach Rudge, wasn’t great. He hardly picked Charlie to play at all. So in the end he just stopped playing altogether.”

I suddenly felt angry. “But that’s so stupid! What about Coach Benson? Couldn’t he have just gone back to his old team? He’d have taken him back, right?”

Sam sighed. “Coach Benson saw him at a game one weekend. He noticed he wasn’t getting any play, so he came over at the end to talk to him. ‘You can come back to us anytime, you know, Charlie. If your new coach isn’t working out for you, we’d have you back in a millisecond.’ ”

“And?” I said. “What did he say?”

“He was tempted, I know that much. But that new kid, Elliot, had been their pitcher all day. Dexter had whispered into Charlie’s ear: ‘Do it, Charlie. Tell him how much you miss his team and how much you want to go back.’ ”

I could see it all happening in front of me on the screen. Dexter’s green glow was as bright as grass after a rainstorm as he whispered into Charlie’s ear while Coach Benson stood in front of them. The coach clearly had no idea that Dexter was there. Charlie chewed on a knuckle, and then I heard his voice:

“No thank you, Coach Benson, I’m quite happy where I am. Coach Rudge is great. He’s the best coach I’ve ever had, in fact!”

Dexter’s green color dulled until he faded away altogether.

I stood up.

“This is utterly ridiculous! Charlie gave up baseball just because he didn’t want to admit things weren’t right with the new coach, just to get back at Coach Benson? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Sam watched me but didn’t say anything. His face was blank. He waved an arm and the image shimmered into waves and then the wall returned to normal. I threw myself back onto the sofa.

“That Charlie sounds like a complete moron. Why didn’t he just say to Coach Benson—I’m sorry but, you know what, Coach Rudge isn’t great. Why didn’t he tell him? Why didn’t he just tell him how bad it was?”

Sam crouched down beside me and rested his arms on his knees. He leaned forward and looked straight at me, and as he did his eyes seemed to age. The skin around them looked suddenly thinner, and wrinkles began to form. It almost felt like I was looking into my dad’s eyes.

“Why didn’t he just admit he was upset?” I said, in a whisper.

“I don’t know, Nate,” said Sam, aging before my eyes. “Why did you tell your dad that Gary was great when he wasn’t?”

I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again, Sam was gone.