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a fight? You want a fight?' asked Mark.
    'No, please, I don’t want to.'
    'He wants a fight Mark, he said so,' said Kath.
    ‘Is that right?’ responded Mark.
    ‘I heard him say “fight”, I deffo did,’ said Varinder.
    'Well then, suppose it’d be rude not to do as you asked, and my Mum taught me to have good manners,' said Mark, a grin on his face.
    A silent pause.
    Sam stepped sharply to one side and fled.
    'Stop him!'
    'Quick!'
    'Where you going?'
    'Take him down, Mark!'
    Sam ran, but Sam was slow. Mark kicked out, his boot clipping Sam’s ankle; it collided with its twin and the grass rushed up to meet Sam.
    Mark stood over Sam, levering him onto his back with one foot. He dropped down so he was sat on Sam's stomach and pinned Sam’s arms to the ground.
    'Please, don't,' said Sam.
    ‘I’m sorry, no speak English.'
    Mark’s heart thump-thump-thumped with electric anticipation. The gang stood watching. They bounced from foot to foot and shoved each other aside like this was all just a good-natured lark.
    'I think he wants you to kiss him, Mark,' said one of the others.
    'I bet he does, yeah!' said Mark, laughing. 'Sorry, but you can have this instead, yeah?’
    Mark inhaled nosily, hacking, gathering up thick spit and nasal gunk into his mouth, before unleashing the vile stuff at ferocious speed.
    The gang erupted, laughing, shoving, and slapping at each other with joy.
    Finney turned away.
    'I think he liked it!'
    Mark looked down at Sam, who looked back with wide, resigned eyes, face criss-crossed with Mark’s spittle.
    ‘Well? Shall I add another coating then, Sam?’
    The gang cheered and chanted and stamped their feet.
    'Oi! What are you doing?!'
    Mark turned in surprise to find a red-haired lunatic charging at him. Ally swung her heavy bag, smacking Varinder in the head and sending him sprawling, before delivering a swift punch to Kath’s gut, causing her to crumple down onto her knees gasping furiously.
    'Peg it!' one of the gang shouted, and they sprinted away from the insane woman who'd invaded their fun, Varinder and Kath staggering up and making their escape.
    'Get lost, then!' Ally yelled at Mark, giving him a Doc Martin to the ribs for good measure.
    A furious Mark scrambled up from where the boot had delivered him and ran, clutching his side.
     
    ***
     
    Fifteen minutes later, and Mark the bully was home. He pulled the door closed and winced slightly, putting a hand to his bruised side. The only reason he hadn't got her back was because she was a girl. Otherwise, he obviously would have. He’d have battered her. Punched her so hard her hair would change colour again. He wasn't scared, just because she was mad. He wasn't scared of anything.
    ‘That you, is it, Mark?’ called his Mum from the kitchen.
    ‘Who else is it gonna be?’ Mark yelled back, stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door behind him.
    He lay on his bed, one hand on his throbbing ribs, and he stewed.
    Tomorrow was a Thursday.
    Sam would be at school of course. Mark would need to teach him a lesson, show that he wasn't safe just because that mad Ally had his back. The others would expect it, too. Couldn't lose face. Couldn’t. Maybe he'd dunk Sam's head in the toilet and give it a flush. Or even dunk him face first into one of the urinals.
    Yeah. Yeah! He’d get it up his nose. In his mouth. Swallow some of it, even. He’d be tasting it for weeks.
    Mark could get the gang to drag Sam over the playing field and into the trees, find some nice fresh dog’s mess and see if they could threaten Sam to the point that he'd actually touch it. They'd got Adam Smith to do that a few months back. It only took a few vague threats and clenched fists before he got down on his knees and picked it up. Mark chuckled as he remembered. Yeah. That was the least Sam deserved.
    The very least.

~Chapter Twelve~
     
     
    Th e next morning, Mark left his house in a chipper mood. The thought of the torments he could rain down upon Sam