The Dog Who Saved the World. Ross Welford

then I added something that – not to sound boastful or anything – was utterly and completely brilliant, and I didn’t even plan it. I looked at the floor, all sorrowful, and said, ‘I know it was wrong, Clem. I really should have told a grown-up. But … I think you probably count as that now?’

      Clem took off his spectacles and held them to the light to check for dirt and smears. It’s something he does a lot. ‘Perfect vision required, eh?’ he said, obviously flattered by me calling him an adult, and I nodded.

      ‘So she says. It’s why she can’t test it herself.’

      ‘She’ll need to sort that out if it’s to be commercial. Two-thirds of people wear specs, you know?’ He picked up a spanner from the bench and turned back to the rusty old campervan that he and Dad had been working on, which meant our conversation was over.

      ‘You won’t tell Dad?’

      ‘Not for now. But be careful.’ He actually sounded like a grown-up then.

      Now I could worry about something else instead. The vicar had said Ben was sick. What was that all about?

      Everything, as it turned out.