”“Susie, I am not telling this story standing in the kitchen.”“Where then?”“In the garden. One particular place in the garden.”Donna led...the way.“Stand here,” she said. "Look in through the french doors, what do you see?"Susie shaded her eyes and stared at the window. “I can see the sofa, not much else.”“But if the light was on?”“I’d know who was sitting on it.”“Yeah.”Donna turned away from the window and sat on the garden bench.“Sit on the grass and listen. The months after John died — John,. "I mean what I say, I've got a knife."'Shit, this was really serious,' I thought, in my experience, using a knife was not a cry for help. It was terminal."How old are you, Peter?" I asked, trying to keep him talking."Fourteen."I pressed the button again and waved frantically at John, the supervisor."Peter, I'd like to meet you, can you tell me where you are phoning from?"I gave John a sheet of paper. The colour from his face drained as he read the note.'Fourteen-year-old boy threatening to kill. More

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