On the way to the shops there is a girl. Small. Long, long black hair that goes all the way down her back. Wearing a dress with flowers and skulls on and wellington boots. Probably a little older than me. She is sitting on a fence and hacking at the wood with a sharp bit or rock. I hear the sound before I see her, and as I come up to her she jumps down off the fence and points the rock at me.

I seen you coming by here before, she says. Other day. You're not from here. She has a small face. Kind of a mean face but she doesn't feel very mean. I tell her I'm here on holiday and try to keep walking but she won't let me past.

Holiday? She sneers. How old are you?

I tell her.

And what's you name?

I can't tell her my real name, because what if she's seen me on TV? I tell her my name is Bobby Gibbs.

She laughs. A short, wheezy, snorty laugh. Silly name, she says. Then she says, Listen. You need to stay clear of me and my family, okay? She points with the stone just up the road to the next nearest cottage. They must be staying there. We're in hiding, okay? She looks at with wide eyes.

I tell her that's fine and I won't mess with them. Then I dodge around her and keep going. She lets me go for a moment and then follows me. Catches up with me.

If you're bored, she says, I know where there are cows that'll eat right out of your hand.