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‘She’s so crazy, she thinks I kidnapped her. Do you think that burglar isn’t going to tell someone? The guards might believe her or they might believe me, but one thing is for sure, I wouldn’t be able to stop them putting their hands on you, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. We’re going so that I can save your life. Your condition is so rare that most people don’t believe it or understand it. Remember when I showed you the photos of the Boy in the Bubble? That’s where you’d end up, if you were lucky, if they didn’t kill you first.’

He lowered the spectacles and looked me in the eye. ‘Do you understand?’

‘I do,’ I said solemnly. I remembered the story of the Boy in the Bubble. He was younger than me by a couple of years and his disease was so bad that the air could kill him, so he spent his whole life in a chamber in a hospital. Dad told me that my disease was similar, only that my death would be worse if I got infected. My dad loved me enough to run away to keep me safe.

‘But once they discover that she’s mad and dangerous, we can go home?’

‘Maybe it’s time we broadened our horizons. Don’t you want to see the world?’

I nodded enthusiastically.

‘Good boy. Now will we go down and get some food? We haven’t had any dinner. Stay close to me.’

I can’t remember how long the crossing took. Maybe three hours? I was tired by the time we arrived, but then Dad said we had to get a bus to London. We waited in a cold bus station, stamping our feet to get warm. I was too tired to be excited now. I had never been on a bus before. I revived a bit when we climbed up the steep steps. We found seats in the middle of the bus. It was too dark to see much outside. I fell asleep once we were in motion and barely noticed my surroundings when we stopped for a toilet break. It was approaching dawn when we entered London, but it was so big that it was almost another hour before the bus turned into a vast dirty-looking building. The sign at the entrance said ‘Euston Station’.

‘Is this the city centre?’ I asked but he didn’t answer. His jaw was tightening and he was looking keenly out of the window.

When we got off the bus, a woman bumped into me. I screamed, and Dad pulled me close to him, as the woman said belligerently, ‘I barely touched him, what’s he so hysterical about?’ And I was hysterical, waiting for the pain to come, but Dad dragged me into a corner and said, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, she didn’t touch your skin, just the back of your coat, you’ll be all right.’ But I was sure she’d touched the back of my head too. I was terrified, waiting for the pain to come, but it didn’t.

‘Peter, stop this now. You can’t draw attention to us like this.’

Through my sobs, I told him that she’d touched my head. He reassured me that my hair would have protected me. A small group was staring at us. I threw my arms around Dad and snuggled into his shoulder. I could hear him saying to people, ‘He’s all right now, he just woke up, disorientated, you know. He’s fine now. Nothing to worry about.’

‘He’s a bit old for that carry-on, isn’t he?’ The woman glared at us.

They dispersed quickly enough, busy people with places to go. I continued to hold on to him until I had calmed down. ‘Don’t mind that stupid bitch,’ he said.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘remember you said that I might grow out of it, this disease? When will that be?’

‘I haven’t been able to find out if that’s even possible. But I don’t want you to worry, I’ll keep you safe.’

‘So, as long as I don’t make contact with anyone’s skin, I’ll be all right?’

‘Yes, that was what my research said.’

With all of the hundreds of people I could see milling around me, I was still worried. ‘Dad, we’re not going to live here, are we?’

‘No. We need to go somewhere a lot quieter. Hopefully, we’ll just be here for a few days.’

He took out a small book of maps and we began to walk. After an hour, my stomach growled and I asked, ‘Is it much further? Can we have breakfast?’ We stopped in a small and steamy cafe with dirty tables and muddy footprints all over the floor. Dad installed me at a table away from the window and went up to the counter to order. I wanted to go home. A man looked up and nodded at me. I looked away. Two women wearing short skirts, high boots and glittery sleeveless shirts came in and shouted their order at the man behind the counter, before taking seats at the window. I could see the dark-haired one’s bra, and it was red. I had never seen women like these before. Weren’t they cold, dressed like that? They wore glossy red lipstick and their eyelids were painted black. They blew plumes of cigarette smoke high into the air. Just as I began to feel an erection stirring in my pants, Dad grabbed my head and turned me to face him as he placed a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea in front of me. ‘Don’t look at them. Sluts,’ he hissed. ‘They have sex with men in exchange for money. They’ve probably come off the night shift.’