As they had been working on a local house, Jamie happened to be home early.

He was just fixing himself a mug of typical builder’s tea when he heard his mum’s car pull up outside. He knew Wednesday was her shopping day and she’d have loads of bags to carry so he thought he’d surprise her and help her haul everything in.

Jamie opened the front door. It had been a long, bitingly cold winter, but in the clear bright afternoon light, there was just a hint of spring getting ready to rouse itself.

Jamie took the bags from his mum’s hands as they started to make their way back to the house. On the other side of the street, Jack Marshall rode past them on her way to do her coaching.

She waved and Jamie waved back with his free hand. But she didn’t stop.

Jamie was just pulling the local newspaper out of the letter box when he heard the screams.

A lightning bolt of fear seized him. He knew exactly whose scream it was.

He let the shopping drop to the ground and sprinted up the street and around the corner.

Jack was on the ground, the wheel of her collapsed bike was still spinning and she had a cut on her head that was pouring blood.

“You OK?” asked Jamie. “What happened?”

Jack pointed up the street, where the thief was running away, carrying Jack’s laptop bag around his shoulder.

A sensation of pure anger coursed through Jamie. It was a primeval, caveman sense of fury and it told Jamie that no one could lay a finger on Jack and get away with it.

But the mugger was getting away.

Instantly Jamie’s mind understood what was happening and what he had to do.

He reached for the nearest object to him – an old, hard football, which was lying in the front garden of a nearby house. Taking a millisecond to assess the speed and angle that the mugger was running at, Jamie tossed the ball into the air. Then, with all his rage focused into this one moment, he unleashed a volley of seismically powerful proportions.

The ball shot into the air with speed and unerring accuracy, whistling its way towards its target, connecting directly with the mugger’s head, just as he was about to turn the corner of the street and get away for good.

The impact of the strike knocked the robber completely off his feet, sending him scrambling to the ground. And by the time he looked up, Jamie was running straight towards him, closing the distance with each surging stride.

Seeing the frenzied fury in Jamie’s face and the builder’s biceps which he now possessed, the mugger left the laptop bag in the road and scampered away, leaping over one of the nearest fences to complete his getaway.

“Yeah! You better run, you piece of dirt!” Jamie shouted after him, picking up the laptop bag and dusting it down to make sure the computer was not broken.

Then he went back to check if Jack was OK.

Thankfully she was being comforted and helped to her feet by Jamie’s mum.

“I guess you’ll be wanting this for work tonight,” said Jamie, handing Jack back her laptop bag.

“True,” said Jack, looking at Jamie in a way she had not done for quite some time. “And I think you’ve just written my story for me.”