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decided to get Reggie a peace offering. He told me he’d seen a really good dead branch hanging from this tree the other day. Thought it would be perfect for our bonfire. Thing is, he can’t stand heights. So I thought I’d go and get it for him. Peace offerings are supposed to be olive branches, I think, but we don’t get many of those around here. He’ll have to make do with a bit off an old oak tree.
    I like climbing. Being at the top of the world. Hanging in the air. On my own. I look up at the tree; should be easy enough. I grab hold of a small branch, wrap my legs around the trunk and start to climb. There are plenty of hand-holds, so I soon zoom up.
    Out of the corner of my eye I see something. I lookdown. It’s Norman. He’s creeping up in the cover of some bushes. He’s got some twigs stuck in his hair. I can’t make out if it’s supposed to be camouflage or he’s just forgotten to comb it. He wriggles on his belly to the foot of the tree like some giant, knitted caterpillar. Stands up and cups both hands around his eyes like he’s got a pair of binoculars. Army issue, of course. He looks up at me.
    â€˜Oi, Al, wotcha doing?’
    â€˜Escaping from Colditz, Norm.’
    He adjusts the binoculars. ‘Good on ya. Can’t see no Germans.’ He swivels his hands. ‘I could see up your skirt though, if I wanted to.’
    â€˜Not if you had a black eye, you couldn’t.’
    He turns away. ‘Right. Get your point.’
    Trevor Taplin’s mum comes into the park with her dog. Norman focuses his binocular hands on her.
    â€˜Here, Al, d’you reckon Mrs Taplin is really Adolf Hitler in disguise?’
    Wish he’d shut up. I’m nearly there. Trying to concentrate.
    â€˜No, I think Mrs Taplin is really Mrs Taplin, Norm.’
    â€˜How d’you know?’
    â€˜Well, I think if she wasn’t, Mr Taplin would have noticed by now, don’t you?’
    â€˜Suppose so. Mind you . . .’
    He pauses. Thinks. I’m at a tricky bit. Got to reach out to grab the dead branch.
    â€˜. . . she has got a funny moustache like Hitler.’
    I try to reach and talk at the same time.
    â€˜Yeah, and your dad’s horse has got a funny walk, but that don’t make her Charlie Chaplin.’
    â€˜Right, get your point.’
    â€˜Watch out, Norm!’ I let the branch fall. He moves. It misses him – just.
    â€˜Mind you, that’s because she’s gotta pull a milk cart. You’d walk like Charlie Chaplin too if you had to pull a milk cart round behind you all day.’
    â€˜Expect I would.’
    Now I’ve got to get down. Have to make sure I’ve got a good hold on the branch above with my hands before I let go with my legs.
    â€˜You know if you fall you’re gonna break your neck?’
    â€˜Not if I fall on you, I won’t.’
    He carefully puts the binoculars he doesn’t have in a case he hasn’t got.
    â€˜Hey, you seen the Spicers lately?’
    For a second I look down. Nearly miss my footing.
    â€˜No, why?’
    â€˜They’ve been feeding our goats the News of the World .’ Norman’s dad keeps goats and chickens in the little garden at the back of their bungalow.
    â€˜My dad said they’d get food poisoning.’
    â€˜Who, the Spicers?’
    â€˜No, the goats. Anyway, what d’you want with an old dead branch?’
    â€˜It’s a peace offering.’
    â€˜You’re a fruitcake, Al.’
    â€˜Takes one to know one, Norm.’
    â€˜Your mum’d kill you if she knew what you was doing.’
    He’s right. One slip up here and . . .
    I start to climb back down. That’s really easy. Just like sliding down a pole. I get to the bottom branch, jump off.
    â€˜Thanks, Norm.’
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜Oh, nothing.’
    â€˜That’s all right. That’s what I’m good at.