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The other game was Getaway, where both Shane and Davey robbed a bank – which was the big stump about fifty yards off – then had to dodge police snipers and gas grenades to make it to their getaway car, all the while spraying bullets from their AK-47s. The roof was burned off the Mazda so this game allowed them both to devise ever-more dangerous methods of getting into the car – the ultimate being a spectacular, testicle-threatening slide across the blistered boot.

If Davey and Shane weren’t at Springer Farm, they could almost always be found deep in the woods in Ronnie Trewell’s burned-out car.

Today they were bored and fractious. Things had started well. They’d robbed the bank two or three times – each time stealing the five £20 notes they’d found but not yet settled on how to spend. But after that things had gone awry when Davey had mown Shane down into a patch of nettles, for which he quite unfairly blamed Davey, given that – at the end of the day – the car was stationary.

They’d fought briefly over that and told each other to piss off, then sat together in the Mazda in bolshy silence.

Out of nowhere, Davey’s mouth dropped open. ‘I have an awesome game!’

Shane was on board instantly – everything forgiven – before he’d even heard the idea.

‘Kidnap,’ said Davey. ‘Like those kids.’

‘Cool! How does it work?’ said Shane.

‘One of us sits in the car and the other has to creep up and kidnap him.’

A slow smile spread across Shane’s features. ‘That is awesome.’

‘I know,’ said Davey, getting out of the driver’s seat. ‘I’ll be the kidnapper first.’

‘OK,’ said Shane. ‘But if I see you coming, I win.’

Davey frowned deeply at this amendment to the non-existent rules of the un-played game, but finally nodded his approval.

‘OK, but don’t lie.’

‘OK,’ agreed Shane, because he often did lie, so that was fair comment.

Davey ran into the woods and then carefully circled around until he was about forty yards behind the Mazda. He knelt in the ferns and found a couple of sticks.

Keeping trees between himself and his target, he moved quietly towards the car. There was a point where he had to move across an open patch of ground to get to another tree big enough to give him cover. He hurled a stick above the Mazda and was gratified to see Shane’s head turn sharply away at the sound of it landing. Quickly he crept to the new tree. Only fifteen yards to go now, and Shane’s head was still turned away from him, seeking any glimpse of his friend on the opposite side of the car.

Davey didn’t even need the second stick. He crossed the last few yards like a cat and grabbed Shane’s neck in the crook of his elbow.

‘This is a kidnap,’ he said harshly. ‘Move and you’re dead.’

‘Shit,’ said Shane.

Davey started to manhandle Shane out of the car.

‘You’re hurting!’ yelled Shane.

‘It’s a kidnap. It’s got to be realistic,’ panted Davey.

Shane made it more realistic by struggling and trying to punch Davey in the face, while Davey hauled Shane out of the door, pushed him down into the wild garlic, pulled a length of twine from his jeans pocket and tried to tie his hands behind him.

‘Owwww! Shit, Davey!’ Shane wriggled free and knelt up, flushed and angry. ‘You always go too far.’ His mother sometimes said that about him, and it had a wonderfully self-righteous ring to it.

‘Oh, bullshit,’ said Davey dismissively. ‘It’s no fun if it’s not real. Anyway, I win.’

‘My turn,’ said Shane, and they swapped places.

Davey didn’t like being the victim half as much as being the kidnapper. Once Shane had disappeared, the sudden silence of the woods was unnerving and wherever he looked the back of his neck always felt exposed. It was as if the trees themselves were watching him. He became aware of his heart beating and didn’t like it. He kept craning round to see where Shane was, but couldn’t see him or even hear him.

Shit. If Shane was going to be better at Kidnap than he was, then they wouldn’t play it again.

He scanned the woods methodically but without luck.

It was creepy, this vast silence under the green canopy. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves and, from somewhere beyond his vision, a tree creaked and groaned as if in pain. Far above his head, he heard the mechanical drill of a woodpecker.

‘Shane?’ he said tentatively. ‘Hey, Shane! Come out, I just noticed the time. We’d better go.’ It was only five o’clock, but he could say he’d promised to weed the garden or something.

‘Shane?’

Davey wriggled up into a kneeling position and looked out across the back of the car into the darkening woods. He strained his eyes and tried to hear any movement that would give his friend away – but all he could hear was his own shallow breathing and his heart beating in his ears.

‘Shane, you div!’

Something grabbed him so hard from behind that it made him grunt, then yanked him sideways and over the door of the car so that he fell headfirst to the ground. A knee in his back and a mouthful of fern.