Jack didn’t know it, but he was right on the money when he told Rick that Bevan was shit-stir crazy. When Bevan got home, he stashed his fishing gear in the back shed, underneath an old mattress that had been getting steadily worm-eaten underneath all the other shit that his mum and dad had been …

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For a couple of days things were almost normal again. Almost. At least, they weren’t fighting, and Jack would even look them in the eyes. And then they went fishing. Bevan and Jack were to meet Rick down there. Rick pelted down the hill on his crappy, rattling, shit-heap of a bike and ditched it …

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Jack and Bevan walked down the road early in the morning on the last day of their determined pact, heading to Rick’s house. Jack’s face was drawn and he didn’t speak. He stalked along moodily, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, the hood up, and his eyes rooted to the ground. Bevan …

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Neither Bevan or Jack could’ve given two shits about thinking about news about a missing girl. Jack was thinking about the girl, but not for that reason. It took Rick the best part of a week to get over what he’d seen, and he spent the remainder of that week being puzzled at his friends’ …

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Rick, Jack and Bevan trooped down to the river after school, each of them heading past home to get changed, grab their bikes and fishing gear, and run off. Bevan charmed Jack’s mum brilliantly, making the stalactites melt off the ceiling of Jack’s house, and conning his mum into thinking that her son was going …

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