Linford spins round to face me and I swallow, hard.

‘I hope I just heard you wrong, Cal.’

Beads of moisture glisten on his forehead and the sharp smell of stale sweat wafts under my nose as he moves closer.

Behind him, Sergei slips away while he still has the chance. The traitor.

‘You’d better explain what you mean by that.’ Linford’s voice comes out dangerously low. ‘Are you serious? . . . Sergei Zurakowski lives with you?’

For a second or two, I can’t speak.

A look passes between Jack and Harry and they step lightly away from Linford’s side, the way they always do when he is about to hurt someone.

‘The visitors that came over to ours the other night, it was them,’ I babble. ‘Sergei and his mum.’

‘Oh man,’ Harry groans, and presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.

‘I didn’t know.’ My voice slides up an octave. ‘I swear, Linford, I didn’t know who the visitors were until I saw Sergei in our flat. It’s my dad, you see, he—’

‘And he never said a word,’ Linford drawls slowly, turning to the others. ‘Cal’s lied through his teeth to us. Traded us in for a dirty incomer, lads.’

Jack shakes his head at me in disgust.

‘No . . . it’s my dad, he’s been dating Sergei’s mum but I didn’t know until the other night,’ I try to explain clumsily. ‘There was nothing I could do by then. I mean, tell me, what could I do about it?’

‘You could’ve told us.’ Harry stares at me. ‘That would’ve been a start.’

‘I was going to, honest. But Linford’s been a bit –’ I reach for a word – ‘I don’t know, weird. I was trying to find a good time to tell you all, I swear.’

Linford narrows his eyes.

‘Calling me a weirdo now, are you?’

‘No! But why does everything always have to be about you?’ A channel of heat shoots up and into my head. I’m so sick of always treading on eggshells around Linford, I might as well just say it. I stand up. ‘We always have to do what you like, what you say, and only talk to the people you say it’s OK to talk to. It sucks.’

‘You better take that back while you’ve still got the chance you stupid dumb—’

‘We’re like his puppets, all of us, right?’ I spin round to Jack and Harry. They look away but I can’t stop. ‘He hates anyone who’s different to him. Know what I think?’ I turn back to Linford, my chest tight and burning. ‘I think you’re scared.’

Linford throws back his head and laughs. But it sounds put on, like he’s acting out a stage direction.

‘You think I’m scared?’ His voice is dangerously quiet but I have to get this feeling out – it’s a tightness that’s been stuck inside me for ages.

‘Yeah, I think you’re scared. Scared of stuff that’s nothing to do with school, or with the people you bully. Stuff you deal with at home that nobody else sees.’

‘Cal . . .’ Jack takes a step forward. ‘It’s just a bit of banter. Leave it.’

‘It’s not, though, is it?’ I snap at him. ‘We call it banter, but everyone else calls it bullying.’

‘Quiet,’ Linford growls. ‘I want to hear from Cal what it is I’m so scared of.’

‘I don’t know exactly what you’re scared of, Linford. I don’t think you know, either.’ Part of me knows I’ve gone too far to ever come back, and part of me feels free, like I can do or say what I want for the first time in years. ‘Maybe you’re scared of losing your grip here at school, scared of looking weak? All I know is, you open your mouth and your stepdad’s voice and opinions fall out. You’ve turned into his mouthpiece.’

Jack loudly sucks in air through his teeth and steps back.

‘You’re dead.’ Linford’s face drains of colour but his eyes burn. ‘You’re a dead man.’

His hand clenches into a fist that’s so tight I can see the bone straining through the skin on his knuckles.

And then I realize my own fists are clenched too. It feels weird, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like me again, that I’m not just Linford’s puppet.

For a second, our eyes lock and I see a blip of shock flit through him.

He bites down on his back teeth and screws up his face. His fist moves back and I get ready for the blow. This is it. The end of our friendship.

The force of the blow and the crack of my jaw surprises me, sends me careering back into the wall. As I hit it, my automatic reaction is to push back and spring forward again. There’s a bolt of fire channelling down my arm and I’m almost not aware my own fist is flying forward until it hits Linford squarely on the nose.

My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest wall and the sounds around me seem like muffled echoes in my ears. Other students are running over to catch the show and I hear whoops of amazement. My eyes refocus and I see that Linford is bent over, blood pouring from his nose.

Both Jack and Harry are looking at me like they never saw me before, their jaws hanging open.

‘OK, break it up here,’ a stern voice booms. ‘Linford Gordon, first aid, and then my office. Now.’ Mr Fox hands him a handkerchief.

Jack and Harry both scatter. Sergei stands in front of me with Mr Fox.

‘You all right, Calum?’ Mr Fox tips his head to one side, studying me sternly.

‘Yes, sir,’ I say, dusting down my trousers and moving my throbbing jaw from side to side. ‘I’m fine.’

‘If Sergei here hadn’t dragged me over, I’d have said you were in line for one of Mr Gordon’s trademark beatings. The ones you usually enjoy watching others suffer from the sidelines. But I saw him attack you first and it seems you’ve held your own on this occasion. How’s the jaw?’

I wiggle my chin side to side. ‘It’s fine, sir.’

‘Then I’ll speak to you in the morning, before first lesson, please.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Despite being ordered to the Head’s office, Linford is still loitering behind Mr Fox, the handkerchief pressed to his nose and his dark eyes trained on to mine like he wants another go.

‘It’s not so good, is it, Calum, being on the other side? You’re normally one of Linford’s eager spectators.’

‘Not any more, sir,’ I say, and I mean it. I’m making my own decisions from now on. Thinking my own thoughts.

I don’t see Linford for the rest of the day and there is no sign of Jack or Harry either down at the gates at the end of school.

I can’t face going straight home today so I decide to take a detour to the Arboretum. I fold up my blazer, pull off my tie and stuff them into my rucksack.

I hope that now they’ve had time to think, the others can see I had no control over Sergei coming to live with us. I didn’t lie to them, they have to see that.

It’s about a fifteen-minute walk to get to the park and I keep looking over my shoulder, just in case Linford is out for revenge.

I rub my aching jaw. I know it’s probably not over, that he’ll come after me again. I feel a bit shaky at the thought of it but I’m still burning inside, too. They’ve all ditched me because of what’s happened with Sergei and it’s just stupid. I’m sick and tired of having to accept their warped rules.

As soon as I walk through the gates, my shoulders relax a little and the dryness in my mouth has got a bit easier.

They say the author J. M. Barrie got the inspiration to write Peter Pan here at the Arboretum, and I can see why that might be true, because today it looks a bit like a Neverland.

The Victorian flower garden is bursting with vibrant colour, and the Chinese bell tower stands regal and proud in the pale gold sunlight. It feels like I’m in a parallel universe and all the mixed-up stuff that’s happening at home and at school suddenly seems far, far away.

I stand still for a moment and listen to the birds that invisibly sing in the leafy trees clumped all around me. I wouldn’t mind being able to fly like Peter Pan, but I couldn’t think of anything worse than never growing up. I can’t wait to finish school and get a job; preferably well away from here. At the same time, I can’t imagine ever being able to escape the estate.

People are born here, live here and then they die here. That’s just the way things are. All the exciting things I ever hear about seem to happen to other people who have never set foot in a crummy place like this.