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The snowman froze.

Mr Okehurst came over and asked what had happened. Mr Chesterton went for the nurse.

'Out with it, Minto,' demanded Mr Okehurst. 'Who did this to you?'

Sobbing, F.M. pointed up at the snowman.

It had shifted maybe five feet across the playground and was tilted over, but its arms were by its side. The bark-pieces smile I'd put on its face was elaborately innocent. Ape had missed it coming to life.

F.M. couldn't speak. He was shuddering into shock. Mr Okehurst gripped the bully's leg with both hands, stemming the flow of blood, keeping clear of the other wetness. The F.M. gang had scattered to the winds.

The bell went, for afternoon lessons.

'It ... it was th-th-them, sir,' said F.M.

It took me a moment to realise he was pointing at us.

'Girls,' said Ape, in disbelief.

I was about to protest, but Gillian held my arm.

This wasn't justice, but she knew how it would come out. If we explained, it would be worse for us.

The nurse turned up, with bandages and liniment. The other children had gone in.

'You two juvenile delinquents are going straight to the Head's Office,' said Mr Okehurst. He looked down at his bloodied hands, and shook his head. 'I don't know what things are coming to. I expect this sort of idiocy from the lads. But ... girls!'

Later —

We got DT (Detention). Not just today, but all week. If Mr Carker could keep us in over the Easter holidays, he would. The Strap was mentioned. If it weren't for the fact that the teachers knew F.M. had most likely started any fight he was in, we'd probably be for the Cane. Gillian is the only girl ever to have been caned at Coal Hill.

'Your parents will be informed,' said the Head. 'I shall telephone.'

Gillian was suddenly frightened, more than when the snowman came alive. More than when she had to step into the Head's Office for punishment.

'Dad isn't on the phone,' she said.

The Head glared at me.

'I live with my Grandfather.'

'And is there a telephone in your house?'

'I've never seen one.'

Mr Carker slammed a ruler down on his desk, as if a child's hand were held out in front of him. In his small study, the sound was loud and echoey.

'Do you think you're being funny, Foreman?'

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't explain. A lot of things can be found in our 'house', many of them surprising to most people (an elephant's foot umbrella stand full of assegais, a chrono-synclastic infundibulator), but the one thing anyone might expect to find (a telephone) seemed to have gone missing. I couldn't say for certain that there wasn't a phone somewhere, but it had never come to light.

'There's a boy in the hospital. I won't put up with jokes.'

'No, sir.'

Neither Gillian nor I tried to tell about the snowman.

There's no point with grown-ups. They live on a different plane of reality. I don't know if they choose to or not, but they have a strange ability to ignore what's going on in front of them.

Mr Carker compromised and gave us sealed notes to be handed over to our 'parents or guardians'.

'I trust that the punishment levied on you in School for this atrocity

will be doubled when you get home.'

Gillian didn't say anything.

If she handed over the note, she'd be in a worse state than F.M. tomorrow morning. It was the thing we didn't talk about, but which I knew. In a flash, I understood that the Head knew it too, that everyone knew. He was just going along with it, not saying anything.

'You can't do that, sir,' I said. 'Gillian's Dad will ... '

Mr Carker examined at me like a specimen.

'Will what, Foreman?'

Gillian also looked at me, startled and with real hate, much worse than when I gave our age away in front of the Ton-Up Boys. Even she would rather go along with it, take a belting, than say out loud what it was like for her at home.

'Nothing, sir,' I said, ashamed.

Later –

I'd never had a DT before, but I knew what it would be like. A group of pupils, convicted of minor offences (ie: not worth the Strap or the Cane but worse than Lines), were kept