15.

Or was I?

I once saw a television programme about what you should do if you’re confronted by a mugger. The best option is to run away. But though I’m quick, and I have a pretty good sense of direction, the jungle was ridiculously dense and I didn’t know which way to run. And even if I had managed to get past the cordon of armed men, I’d be leaving Xander, Amelia and – yes – Caleb in the lurch, and I wasn’t about to desert my friends.

Another option is to fight back, but, as the TV presenter said, that’s a last resort, only to be used if you think you can win, and – let’s face it – these men had guns. All I had was a long stick. It didn’t even have a sharp end. Attacking them would be suicide.

However the TV presenter – an ex-army type with thick sideburns and a moustache – had explained that there is a third way beyond fight-or-flight. In certain situations, unnerving a mugger by doing something unexpected – pretending to have an epileptic fit, say, or reciting the Lord’s Prayer at top volume – can convince them not to bother with you on the grounds that there are better, more predictable people to mug elsewhere.

Without pausing to think the thing through, I started singing the first song that came into my head, ‘Jingle Bells’, in a stupid voice, squeaky one minute and fake deep the next. Quite loudly. Everybody looked at me and I looked back at them all in turn, still singing. No two expressions were the same. Amelia had her that-doesn’t-compute face on. Caleb shrank from me in angry alarm. And Xander was grinning. Meanwhile, Innocent was shaking his head at me, mouthing, ‘Stop!’ and Patience’s round eyes had narrowed to a glare as the guy in the Manchester United shirt took a step forward and aimed his gun right at my head.

‘Over the fields we go, laughing all the way!’ I yelled. Forcing each word out was like coughing up a stone. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the other men’s shoulders shaking. I turned to him and grinned manically as I sang. He was carrying a long bamboo pole with a noose dangling from it. By the time I got to ‘Oh what fun it is to ride …’ he was laughing openly, jiggling the rope.

Out of nowhere, Xander joined in, but with a different song and in a completely flat tone, more droning than singing: ‘Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant …’

Manchester United shouted ‘Silence!’ – in French it came out seelonce – but the main man also advanced, waving at him to put his gun away. There were big sweat patches under the main man’s arms and the buttons on his shirt were taut around his belly.

‘Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!’

‘Sing choirs of angels, sing in exaltation!’

The leader’s face was hard to read. His brow was furrowed, but more in disbelief than anger. Would he explode or walk away? Neither yet. He glanced back at Innocent for an explanation, and Innocent thought quickly enough to raise one hand and spin his forefinger next to his head, the international sign for ‘beats me, they’re mental’.

Amelia, having solved the quadratic equation of the situation, now chimed in with a screechy, ‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright!’ and on the three of us went, murdering those carols in broad daylight.

I felt curiously weightless, as if I’d taken a leap and gravity hadn’t bitten yet; I had no idea where I was about to land. The pot-bellied leader put his hands on his hips and looked to his friend with the snare, who was still trying not to laugh. I think this tipped the balance in our favour, as a smile flickered on the face of the main man himself. Not wanting to give in to it either, he puffed up his chest, shrugged, and said something I didn’t catch, but that didn’t matter because his body language spelled it out: everything about him said, This really isn’t worth it.

Innocent, catching his attention, mimed a further apologetic what can you do?

The fat man brushed Innocent aside and strode straight past us, close enough for me to catch his acrid smell, and the rest of the group moved forward with him, although most of them gave us a wider berth. We kept on singing, our words a jumbled, discordant mess of ‘infant so tender and mild in a one-horse open sleigh oh come and behold him’ and the like. Not until the last man had disappeared did my relief make the words fizzle out of me, and then the others also fell silent, leaving us in the clicking, chattering hush of the jungle.

Innocent motioned for us to follow him. ‘Quickly, in case he changes his mind,’ he said.

We did as we were told, with Innocent leading the way and Marcel bringing up the rear. Nobody spoke, not until we’d been walking a good half-hour. Then Innocent called a water break. As I was pulling the flask from my backpack, Caleb, in his most offhand voice, said, ‘Well, that little stunt could have gone either way.’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ snapped Xander.

‘Could have really wound the guy up though.’

‘I suppose,’ I admitted.

‘Yeah, well, I thought it was genius,’ said Xander. ‘Better than your non-contribution anyway,’ he added, glaring at Caleb.

‘Ah, but I was contributing,’ said Caleb. ‘Or trying to. I just had a less risky plan.’

‘Which was what exactly?’ scoffed Caleb. ‘Sit very still and try not to wet your pants?’

‘The first bit, certainly. It’s in all the manuals. Presented with a conflict situation, it’s always best to play the grey man. Don’t give an aggressor a reason to pull the trigger. Isn’t that right Innocent? Stay calm, stay reasonable.’

Innocent smiled and said, ‘We’re here. Whatever happened, happened. The singing was very funny. But also your calm, Caleb. That was great.’

Xander bristled beside me. I could sense him wanting to call Caleb a liar and a coward, but I also knew that that Caleb was already beating himself up for not having saved the day himself. His grey-man stuff might have worked in another situation, but today my response had succeeded. There was no need to rub his nose in it.