‘You’re not thinking.’ Mouse, later, shouting to his brother. Stabbing his temples with his index fingers. ‘If we’re taken away this is all your fault, all right? You didn’t have to play those stupid super-hero games. And remember, Tidge, you’re a boy, just like me. And we’re not going to be in a group that’s walking down the street. They’ll be separating us. They’ll be taking us away to a field that trembles for three days and then stops. You. And me. And you know what? You’ll have brought it all on yourself. We can all blame you for that, no one else. Thanks, mate. Thanks a lot.’ Mouse stops, clamping his hand at his mouth at the ugliness that’s come out. Too late.
His brother’s as white as flour, running to the bathroom, slamming the door shut like he’s never slammed a door in his life.
A vibrating stillness.
The leaving of the light.
He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.