"All the time," she says.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm remembering a dream," I say.

Leia nods. "My dad said Mum used to say it was a good sign. That it was your mind's way of letting you know you're where you're supposed to be."

And just like that, the urge to kiss her blossoms in the pit of my stomach. This girl is amazing. It feels right. I should do it. Now. I start to turn to her when she says, "I guess Mum never felt it."

And the moment is over. Just silence and fire.

I could ask more, but it feels like there's something in the way now, so I just sit, watching my right foot lean towards her left foot, and wait to see what she does. No kiss. Not yet. We sit for what feels like the length of a song.

Then she leaps up. "Let's watch a film."

Most films are better watched at night.

There's something about it being dark outside, and the glow from the screen that just makes it feel like the right time. Like the whole world is a cinema and you're sitting in the perfect spot. You curl up into your sofa or your bed and you get that crackle in your blood, like something amazing is about to happen. The studio logo comes up and you feel your eyes widen, ready to be shown something, something that might be magic.

It's just gone midnight when the number 87 turns on to the high road. I'm standing up next to the driver, pretending that I'm surfing the bus, waiting for my stop. I feel like I just won something. Buzzing.

We watched Grosse Point Blank, which I've seen before, but not for a while, and Leia chose it. She could've chosen anything but she chose that. So good. Her dad's a cameraman. Her mum isn't around. Her brother's some kind of stoner oddball. And she loves chocolate cornflake cakes.

I didn't want Marc to come and get me and, even though he seemed a bit pissed off in the text, I wanted the time to myself. To think.

You should've kissed her.

No I shouldn't.

At least tried.

It wasn't the right time.

Chicken.

But I'm not listening. Nothing's gonna kill this buzz.

The doors open and as soon as my feet hit the pavement I breathe a different air.

Over here the air is thicker. Heavy with the weight of bad possibilities. I walk past the chicken shop. Drunk friends sit slumped, eating in silence. Two girls are dancing in front of the counter to a song nobody else can hear as the guy at the till just stares out like he's serving time.

I picture Leia on her front doorstep as I left.

"We should do this again, Skywalker." Me nodding. Backing up the pathway in my new Jordans, smiling, trying to make the coolest exit ever made.

There's no way I'm getting to sleep this charged.

I turn right by the bank so I can get milk from the petrol station. I'm gonna make tea and watch films all night.

It's quieter off the high road and there's less light. Do I text her? Say thanks? No, leave it. It's perfect. My phone's in my hand. I wanna do something, tell someone about her, but I can't think of who.

Then I hear the growl.

It's a blacked-out Ford Focus.

Headlights staring at me from further up the road. The front bumper almost touches the floor and there's lead in the pit of my stomach.

That same growl.

My shoulder and chest muscles tense as I push my phone back into my pocket and the car's moving towards me, slowly, like an animal.

It gets level and stops. I can see my reflection in the gloss finish. The whir as the electric window slides down.

I already know it's him. He's smiling a smile that's cut into my memory. That lives next to blood and needles and torn flesh.

His sharp pasty face and dark eyes remind me there's a skull just underneath the skin. Craig Miller.

His left eyebrow slopes down over his eye and the cheek is misshapen, like a car door that's been hammered back out after a crash.

Echoes of what Marc did to him.

I think of Marc, just the length of a football pitch away, sitting in the corner chair, waiting up for me.

Craig pulls the cigarette from his mouth, turns down the music and lets his arm hang out of the window. It looks like a broken white tree branch against the black side of the car. My feet are twitching.

Don't you dare run.

"Well look at Little Luke Henry." His voice sounds like someone recorded him and then warped the tape, like his tongue is working hard to push words out. "Not so little any more, eh Lukey? Been lifting, have ya?" And I have to grip the seam of my jeans to stop my left hand coming up and touching my face. Stand firm.

I can't make out the face of who's driving next to him, and there's definitely at least one other person sitting in the back. I try to plant my feet into the pavement, pressing my toes into the soles of my trainers. Don't you run.

"Tryin to get big like Daddy, are ya?"

His high-pitched laugh is spider's legs running over my skin. He turns and looks into the dark back seat, like he's being passed something, and I get a flash of the drive-by scene from Boyz n the Hood.

Don't let him see you're scared.

Then, as Craig turns back to face me, whoever's driving revs the engine and I jump. They all laugh and my chest is shaking as I breathe.

Why don't you get out of the car, Craig? Just you.

Cold rolls down my spine.

"How's your brother?" says Craig, looking me up and down.

Say something, you idiot. Let him know.

"What do you want, Craig?" And his face is as shocked as I feel at the words coming out of my mouth, blunt and strong. Good lad.

I watch his bottom lip stick out, and he's nodding. "Well, look at the balls on him, lads. Big man now then, Lukey?"

His eyes don't leave me as his hand comes up to the left side of his face. "You look good," he says, and smiles like a snake.

Hit him. Dive forward and hit him.

And I could. I could be on him before he realised. Before they could react. But I don't move.

"Just saying hello, Lukey." He gives a little wave. "You take care, big man. And say hello to your brother for me."

Then he taps the outside of his door and his arm snakes back inside as the black window closes. I don't move. The engine growls and I make myself not look away as I watch the car drive towards the high road and turn out of sight.

The empty road. My heartbeat. That just happened. He's back.

My hand grips my keys, the silver front door one sticking out from my fist like a tiny knife.

Why is he back? I close my eyes.

It's OK.

My back teeth grinding. My heart pounding.

You didn't run. You stood your ground.

I squeeze my fingers tighter and feel the metal teeth of my keys digging into my palm. Marc's at home. In the dark.

And Craig Miller's back.

Marc used to say we were quarters. Irish and Jamaican from Dad. English and French from Mum. He used to tell people like it was a superpower.

Dad said people didn't come in quarters, that people aren't cakes. He said we should think of it more like a mould in the shape of a person with the mixture poured in. Different blood blended inside us.

Marc told me Dad was wrong and we were like robots, constructed from pieces. I remember sleeping in the same room at Nan's and asking him which quarter was which. He said that he had English arms, a French body, Jamaican legs and an Irish head. I remember picturing the pieces of him being put together. He said that was why he was so fast and strong and stubborn, and that the French body was what made him good at cooking. I lay there, drinking it all in like gospel truth.

When I asked him if I was the same, he said he didn't know which bit was which for me yet because I was too young to tell, but that when I did find out everything would make sense. Before I fell asleep, I ran through every possible robot combination of body parts, trying to find the perfect model, and as I dropped off the best version I could come up with was exactly the same one as him.

INT. CAR NIGHT Dark dashboard like rhino skin. The sound of boys breathing. Nervous fingers drum steering wheel.

"You have to tell him, Luke."

Me and Tommy are sitting in his car outside the flats.

It's nearly 2 a.m. My eyes ache. It happened, right?

"Marc needs to know, man."

Tommy's worried. I don't know what I'm thinking. It definitely happened. His twisted face. That voice. Me, stood, frozen. I didn't even move.

"Luke?" Tommy snaps me back to the car. "What did he say, exactly?"

I stare into my lap. The crack in my phone screen. You should've fought him.

"I dunno."

"Well, what did he look like? He look the same?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"You think so? You got a good look at him, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was dark."

"Chicken shit!" Tommy bangs the steering wheel with both hands. "Hasn't got the balls to show up in broad daylight. You know he'd never face Marc himself. I'm serious, man, let's go tell Marc and get Jamie right now and they'll drive round and-"

"And what, Tom? Kick his head in?"

Tommy nods. "Exactly."

"Then what, Tom? My brother who's just done two years gets done for assault?"

Tommy frowns. "Nobody would grass. Who'd grass? We can't just do nothing. Let's tell your dad. Your dad'll do something."

"No way."

Tommy growls. "If you're not gonna tell Marc, then I will."

"No, you won't."

We're looking at each other now and my eyes are hard. Tommy knows it's not his call.

"Don't tell anyone, understand?"

Tommy stares out of the window.

"I'm serious, man. Swear it."

"All right! I swear. Shit."

And I just want to break something. "I'm sorry, man. I'm such an idiot," I say.

"Easy, Lukey, you did nothing wrong. There was a car full of 'em, you said so. What the hell's he doing here, anyway? I thought he left, Scotland or whatever?"

"He did. My dad said." I stare at my phone. "Guess he's back."

I don't know what I'm gonna do when I see Marc.

"Miller won't do anything," Tommy says, lighting a cigarette. "He's just trying to shit you up."

I don't answer. Tommy winds down his window and exhales. "And if anybody sees him, he'll get a kicking just on principle."

I stare out at the empty playground. This is all familiar. The swings casting shadows with light from the flats, and Leia pops into my head. How different I was feeling just a few hours ago.