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do that?’
    ‘Oi!’ I shouted, my annoyance rising at an alarming rate. I might have been in limbo but I had a lot of questions that needed answering. I didn’t need Stu’s dad throwing
holy water or whatever my way.
    ‘Deffo, he’s down with all that stuff, possessions and whatnot. Mate of his in Liverpool saw a bloke levitate once. They’re like Ghostbusters, these priests and
vicars.’
    ‘Please tell me you’ve stopped listening to him,’ I said, as Stu’s imagination bounded off into la-la-land. Stu was famous for telling everyone that his grandpa was in
the SAS when he really worked for Parcel Force. He was terribly bright and had a photographic memory, but for all those smarts, he was strangely naive. It was rumoured his stupidity would be the
death of him. I thought Stu was an idiot savant, although Dougie reckoned he was just a common or garden idiot.
    ‘Exorcising? I thought that was only in the movies,’ said Dougie.
    ‘Nobody’s going to exorcise anybody!’ I shouted, my temper fraying. I struck out at Dougie and although I didn’t feel my hand connect, to my surprise I saw his shoulder
bounce a little, as if gently patted.
    He and I looked at his shoulder, both shocked by the apparent connection, and stared at one another. Stu walked through me as he made his way out of the wood-store and back into the design and
technology classroom. A wave of nausea rippled through me with his passing.
    ‘Gimme a shout when you make your mind up, bro,’ he said to Dougie as he strutted off, knocking over a wood-pile in true Damage Squad fashion. ‘I ain’t afraid of no
ghosts . . .’
    ‘So you felt that?’ I asked excitedly when Stu had gone.
    ‘I felt . . . something.’
    ‘But you moved your shoulder when I lashed out.’
    ‘I saw you swing. Perhaps it was instinct? An impulse reaction?’
    That wasn’t the answer I needed to hear. If I could
touch
something in the real world, then what else might I be capable of?
    ‘No, there’s got to be more to it than that. There’s a way I can connect with the living world. I just know it. I just need to tap into that. Find out how to . . .’
    I noticed Dougie was staring out of the window, paying me little attention. A group of girls were making their way across the schoolyard and there, at the back of them, was Lucy Carpenter.
    ‘I wonder if she can see me,’ I whispered.
    ‘I doubt it,’ said Dougie.
    I shivered. Dougie’s words had struck a chord. There was something I had to tell him. Something had slipped my mind. I was close to remembering what that was when Mr Russell
interrupted.
    ‘Hancock,’ he said, catching Dougie by surprise.
    I wondered how long the teacher had been standing there.
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘I think you might need to have a talk with someone, young man,’ he said, reaching out and patting Dougie on the shoulder.
    Dougie glanced at me, rolling his eyes as Russell led him back to his desk, muttering something about the school nurse and post-traumatic stress disorder.

SIX
Head and Heart
    Dougie sat slouched in the chair outside Mr Goodman’s office, Drumstick Lolly in mouth, feet tapping nervously on the carpet. The lolly made him look nerdier than ever.
It had been a parting gift from the Mrs Jolly, the appropriately-named school nurse. Mrs Jolly was a lovely, plump, roly-poly lady with cheeks the colour – and texture – of
strawberries. She was without doubt the one person you wanted to see if you had any ailment, from a grazed knee to a broken arm, such was her ability to put one’s mind at ease. Invariably a
key component of all her medical remedies would be a lollipop, doled out from an enormous tub she kept on top of her filing cabinet. The lollies were a leftover from her previous job in a primary
school.
    You can’t underestimate the healing powers of a good lolly, regardless of your age. Dougie had devoured one while he’d sat with her, as she talked him through bereavement and
depression. He’d