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Gillian shook her head.

'No grown-up knows what to do, Forehead. Look at Ape down there. My Dad won't be able to cope with this. Neither will your Granddad.'

I couldn't tell her that she didn't know Grandfather.

Also, I wasn't sure whether Grandfather would want to help 'the infestation'. He might be on the side of the snow. Or he might want to fold his arms and watch what was happening. Helping could come under the category of 'meddling'.

'If we get out,' said Gillian, 'it'll be up to us. No parents, no teachers, no policemen. Just us.'

There was a scraping noise in the now-dark classroom.

We both turned. Gillian picked up a chair, like a lion-tamer.

'It's me,' said a voice. 'Gillian, Forehead, it's me. John.'

He came forward. He wore his coat over a khaki shirt and trousers.

'R.O.T.C. was called off. Due to the weather. There was no way of telling Dad to come and collect me early.'

'A lot more is going to be called off due to the weather,' said Gillian. 'Look out there.'

The snowman was on the move again. And it wasn't alone.

Other, lesser snowmen were on the grounds. They assembled, like troops. Some weren't made by human hands. A drift detached itself from the side of the bikesheds and formed into a legless shape, an ice skeleton cloaking itself with powdery snow.

'They look like knights in armour,' said John.

'Cold Knights,' I said.

Gillian laughed and punched my arm. Her laugh was slightly cracked.

'Are there people inside?' asked John.

'No, they're just ice,' I said.

The Cold Knights reviewed the fallen, Mr Okehurst and the DT boys.

'What's happening?' John asked.

He was looking at me, expecting I'd know the answer. 'This isn't normal,' he said.

'And neither am I? So I should just know?'

'No, Fore ... Susan. It's just that, well, you know funny things sometimes, things most people don't.'

'This from "John the Martian". Thank you very much.'

John was crestfallen. I'd made a mistake and used his nickname out loud. Gillian called him 'Martian' all the time and it didn't matter, but he hadn't expected it of me.

All this is very complicated. Emotions, illogical reactions, the who'sin-who's-out game, who likes who, who hates who, who used to hate who but now likes who. I'm not a singleheart but I'm not left out of it. I can't help thinking that things are done more efficiently on more rational worlds.

The thought was like a needle in my brain.

Sometimes, along with the pain, come true glimpses. Not paraphrases,

but the unearthly actuality. The fog clears momentarily and I see or remember something. Rarely anything useful. It adds to the confusion, really.

There is a rational place somewhere. Grandfather didn't want to live there. Given the choice, neither did I. Though I felt the appeal of serenity, of calm, of dispassionate observation, I also knew it wasn't for me.

My hearts were beating out of time with each other. 'Susan ... Susan, what happened?'

John was staring into my face, eyes huge behind his specs. My face stung. Gillian had just slapped me.

'You went away for a second,' said John. 'Into the Twilight Zone.'

I gulped and apologised.

'It's all a bit much,' I said.

'The Cold Knights are on the march,' said John.

I looked out of the window. It was full night now, and the streetlamps had come on outside the school. A dropped blowtorch still burned, spreading a fan of firelight across the playground. The snowman led his troops away from the building. They moved in unison, more like one many-bodied creature than individuals. Without legs, they couldn't walk so they crept, sometimes rolling over like balls, gathering scraps and pebbles to snowy hides, stretching out icy tentacles.

'What I wouldn't give for a flamethrower,' mused John.

The Knights halted, near the school gates.

A vehicle was turning into the driveway, headlights freezing the army of snowmen.

'It's Dad!'

The vehicle was a Jeep. Captain Brent was in it, with his driver.

John's father hopped