‘Why the fuck are you blubbing, Cal? I told you to stop being such a wuss.’ Nicole gritted her teeth and pulled him around into the dirty alley. It stank of piss in the heat and was littered with fag butts and dog turds, but Nicole hardly noticed. Why couldn’t her brother be less of a cry baby? Why was she the one who always had to look after him?

Snot trailed down his nose and he tried to wipe it away with his sleeve, but just ended up smearing it across his cheek.

‘God, that’s vile, Cal. You’re making me wanna vom.’

‘Sorry, Nic.’ He hiccuped and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold back his tears.

Nicole clenched her fists. He was so pathetic. He needed to grow a pair. He was eight already but still acted like he was three. What was he going to do when she went to senior school and wasn’t around to look out for him? She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back.

‘Stop. Fucking. Crying,’ she hissed, shoving her face right up close to his. ‘Or I’ll give you something to cry about.’ She’d copied that line off one of the other care kids. The older ones were always saying stuff like that. And they meant it, too.

‘I’m trying, Nic,’ he blubbered.

She and Cal had been in care for over two years now. A couple of different foster parents had tried them out, but no one had wanted to keep them permanently. It all started back when she and Cal had been done for shoplifting. Social services got involved and said their mum wasn’t well enough to look after them properly – too pissed, more like.

‘What happened?’ she asked, loosening her grip on Callum’s hair.

‘Derek Mullins.’

‘Becky’s brother? The one with freckles?’

Callum nodded.

‘What did he do to you?’

Callum shook his head and started scuffing the pavement with the toe of his shoe.

‘Tell me or I’ll bash you.’

Callum murmured something, but it was so quiet Nicole couldn’t hear.

‘What?’

‘He told everyone I wet the bed.’

Nicole let go of his head and straightened up. Derek was a skinny little wanker who had no right to talk to her brother like that.

‘Everyone was laughing at me, Nic,’ Callum wailed. ‘And then he kicked me. Look.’ Callum hoiked up his trouser leg and pointed to a gash on his shin.

‘That little shit did that to you?’ Nicole spat.

Callum nodded, his lower lip trembling again. ‘And now everyone in my class knows I wet the bed.’

‘They don’t know, you idiot. Derek just said that to wind you up.’

Callum’s eyes grew wider.

‘You should’ve called him a liar,’ Nicole said. ‘You should’ve kicked him in the balls. Where is he? Where’s Derek now?’

‘In the park, probably. He always goes there after school.’

‘His sister lives up Howton Road. I know what we’re gonna do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s not getting away with it.’ Nicole took her brother by the hand and dragged him down the alley.

‘Where we going?’

‘The shop.’

‘You got some money?’

‘No. What’s your favourite drink?’

‘Coke,’ he replied. ‘No, I mean Fanta – the orange one.’

They emerged from the dim alley into warm afternoon sunshine and walked back past school, past the rows of terraced council houses with their scrubby patches of front lawn, past the gypsy house with the brown and white horse in the driveway, past the man who sat on his sofa in the garden smoking B&H fags and drinking Bulmer’s cider, and past the squat which always had house music blaring out whatever time of day or night.

The corner shop sat smack bang between school and the park. Outside the shop, a group of older kids hung out on their bikes, spitting and swearing, chewing gum and eating sweets and chocolate bars.

‘Wait here,’ Nicole told her brother, before crossing the road to get to the shop.

‘Can I come with you?’ Callum asked, eyeing the older boys nervously.

‘No. I said to stay here, didn’t I.’ She let go of his sweaty hand, wiping her palm on her skirt, and she crossed the road. She didn’t care about the older boys. If they said anything to her, she’d tell them to piss off. But they weren’t bothered anyway – not by a frizzy-haired nobody like her.

A queue snaked back from the till – kids with sweets in their hands standing next to mums with tatty purses, blokes with cans of lager, and pensioners with loaves of bread and pints of milk. Nicole marched past them all until she saw what she was looking for at the rear of the shop. She angled her back to the security camera, reached across the open chiller unit and grabbed a can of Fanta, sliding it into her schoolbag. It made a bit of a bulge, but it could just as easily be a pencil case as a stolen drink. Then she straightened up and pretended to look at the drinks a while longer, before turning and walking back out of the shop. No one looked her way or called out to her to stop. She wouldn’t have cared if they had.

Callum was waiting on the other side of the road like she’d told him. She thought he’d be crying again. Instead, he was throwing bits of loose gravel into the road, even when cars were going by. He’d get his head kicked in if he wasn’t careful.

‘Oi,’ she called.

He looked up and she beckoned him across the road. He skimmed one more stone and then ran towards her without looking left or right. Lucky no cars were coming.

‘Did you get me a Fanta?’ he asked, breathless with excitement.

‘Shut up, idiot,’ she said, hauling him past the shop. ‘Do you want to get me arrested?’

Callum shut his mouth and frowned.

After they’d left the shop behind, Nicole drew the drink out of her bag. ‘Drink that,’ she said, yanking the metal ring off and dropping it on the dusty pavement.

‘All of it?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you want some?’

‘I’ll have a bit, and you can have the rest.’

Nicole took a tiny sip, letting the bubbles fizz on her tongue before swallowing the chilled, sickly-sweet liquid.

‘Here.’ She passed him the almost-full can and he snatched it greedily from her, glugging the drink, only pausing to let out a loud belch, and then draining the rest. He stuffed the empty can in someone’s hedge and burped once again.

‘What we doing now?’ he asked.

‘You’ll see.’