There’s a paper bag over his head and far away I can just hear a mobile ringing. He’s watching me through the bag. I sense it. The knowledge sits on my shoulders – it’s heavy and I can’t move. But I want to because he’s started to cry. Sobs reeking with fear cling onto the air. Louder, deeper – they are taking up every bit of space, squashing, smothering the oxygen until I can’t breathe. I’m trying to move. I’m clawing at the sound. I need to hold onto something so I can get away from him. I’m sucking at the air yet I can hear myself shouting over his noise. I’m saying, ‘I can’t help you. It’s not my problem …’ Inside the tent is so black I can’t even see my hands splayed across my face. I lie here trying to make him go away. Twice now I have seen those eyes. Twice they have looked into me, bored a hole right through my forehead making sure I will never forget. I begin to count. When I get to twenty his face will go away. One, two, three. I am up to sixteen when I hear a sound.
