Jamie spit his reply around a huge lump in his throat. “Good for you,” he said. “I don’t. Ever.”

His mother looked at him, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“Believe me, I do. He was a traitor and a criminal, and he ruined both our lives.”

“Our lives aren’t ruined. We’ve still got each other.”

Jamie laughed. “Yeah. Look how well that’s working out for us both.”

The tears spilled from his mother’s eyes, and she lowered her head as they ran down her cheeks and fell gently to the floor. Jamie looked at her, helplessly.

Go to her. Go and hug her and tell her it’s going to be all right.

Jamie wanted to, wanted nothing more than to kneel beside his mother and bridge the gap that had been growing steadily between them since the night his father had died. But he couldn’t. Instead he stood, frozen to the spot, and watched his mother cry.

2

SINS OF THE FATHER

Jamie woke up late the next morning, showered and dressed, and slipped out of the front door without seeing his mother. He walked his usual route through the estate, but when he reached the turn that led to his school, he carried straight on, through the little retail park with its McDonald’s and its DVD rental shop, across the graffiti-covered railway bridge, strewn with broken glass and flattened discs of chewing gum, past the station and the bike racks, down toward the canal. He wasn’t going to school today. Not a chance.

Why the hell did she get so upset? Because I don’t miss Dad? He was a loser. Can’t she see that?

Jamie clenched his fists tightly as he walked down the concrete steps to the towpath. This section of canal was perfectly straight for more than a mile, meaning Jamie could see danger approaching from a safe distance. But although he kept his eyes peeled, the only people he saw were dog walkers and the occasional homeless person, sheltering under the low road bridges that crossed the narrow canal, and he gradually began to let his mind wander.

He could never have articulated to anyone, least of all his mother, the hole his father’s death had left in his life. Jamie loved his mother, loved her so much that he hated himself for the way he treated her, for pushing her away when it was obvious that she needed him, when he knew he was all she had left. But he couldn’t help it; the anger that churned inside him screamed for release, and his mom was the only target he had.

The person it deserved to be aimed at was gone.

His dad, his cowardly loser of a dad, had taken him to London to watch Arsenal, bought him the Swiss Army knife he could no longer bear to carry in his pocket, let him fire his air rifle in the fields behind their old house, helped him build his tree house, and watched cartoons with him on Saturday mornings. Things his mom would never do, and he would never want her to. Things he missed more than he would ever have admitted.

He was furious with his father for leaving him and his mom, for making them leave the old house he had loved and move to this awful place, leaving his friends behind.

Furious for the glee he saw in the faces of bullies at every school where he was forced to start anew, when the whispers began and they realized they had been presented with the perfect victim: a skinny new kid whose father had tried to help terrorists attack his own country.

Furious with his mom, for her refusal to see the truth about her husband, furious with the teachers who tried to understand him and asked him to talk about his dad and his feelings.

Furious.

Jamie emerged from his thoughts and saw the sun high in the sky, struggling to push its pale light through the gray cloud cover. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw that it was nearly midday. Ahead of him, a flattened trail led up the embankment into a small park, surrounded by tall birch trees. The park was always empty; it was one of his favorite places.

He sat down in the middle of the grass, away from the trees and the short shadows they were casting in the early afternoon sun. He hadn’t picked up his packed lunch because he would have had to go into the kitchen and deal with his mother, so he had filled his backpack with a can of Coke and some chocolate and sweets. The Coke was warm, and the chocolate was half melted, but Jamie didn’t care.

He finished eating, tucked his bag under his head, and lay down and closed his eyes. He was suddenly exhausted, and he didn’t want to think anymore.

Fifteen minutes. Just a nap. Half an hour at the most.

“Jamie.”

His eyes flew open and he saw black night sky above him. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and looked around at the dark park. He trembled in the cold of the evening, and his skin began to crawl as he realized he was sitting at the point where the shadows cast by the trees met one another.

“Jamie.”

He whirled around. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

A giggle rang through the park.

“Jamie.” The voice was lilting, like his name was being sung and allowed to echo through the trees. It was a girl’s voice.

“Where are you? This isn’t funny!”

The giggle again.

Jamie stood up and did a slow turn. He couldn’t see anyone, but beyond the first ring of trees, the park was pitch-black, and the trees themselves were wide and gnarled.

Plenty of room for someone to hide behind.

Something was tapping at the back of his mind, something to do with a girl and a window, but he couldn’t remember.

Something crunched underfoot, behind him.

He spun around, heart pounding.

Nothing.

“Jamie.”

The voice was closer this time, he knew it was.

“Show yourself!” he yelled.

“OK,” said a voice right beside his ear, and he screamed and turned, fists flailing. He felt his right hand connect solidly with something, and adrenaline roared in his veins, then he froze.

On the ground in front of him was a girl, about his own age, holding her nose. A thin stream of blood was running onto her lip, and he saw her tongue flick out and lick it away.

“Oh God,” Jamie said. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you OK?”

“You dick,” the girl sniffled from behind her hand. “What did you do that for?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Why did you creep up on me?”

“I was just trying to scare you,” she said, sulkily.

“Why?”

“For fun. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Something else was rattling around Jamie’s mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Well, you did scare me. So, congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks,” snorted the girl. She held out her hand. “Help me up?”

“Oh, sorry, of course,” Jamie replied, and reached down and pulled her to her feet. She brushed herself down, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and stood in front of him.

Jamie looked at her. She was very, very pretty, dark hair tumbling down her shoulders, pale skin and dark brown eyes. She saw him looking and smiled, and he blushed.

“See anything you like?” she asked.

“Sorry, I wasn’t staring, I was just, er . . .”

“Yes, you were. It’s OK. I’m Larissa.”

“I’m . . .”

Tumblers fell into place in Jamie’s mind and fear overwhelmed him.

“You used my name,” he said, taking a step backward. “How do you know my name?”

“It doesn’t matter, Jamie,” she said, and then her beautiful brown eyes turned a dark, terrible red. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She moved like liquid, covering the distance between them in an instant. She took his face in her hands, with a grip that felt horribly, immovably strong.

“Nothing matters anymore,” she whispered, and he looked into her red eyes and was lost.

3

ATTACK ON SUBURBIA