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wasn’t working and the answer was obvious. Not enough mortification. People like Rose of Lima didn’t just live in hermitages. They fasted for weeks. They went everywhere barefoot. They wore uncomfortable clothes. They scourged themselves.
    Some forms of mortification are just not practical. Fasting for seven years, for instance, is not going to happen when your dad is obsessed with everyone eating five pieces of fruit a day. And as for scourging, well, there were no facilities in Portland Meadow. But I did sleep on the floor that night. I waited until I heard Dad’s light go off, then I got out of bed and lay down just under the window. It was uncomfortable, but that’s the point. Then on the way to school the next morning, I let Anthony get ahead of me and slipped my shoes off. It was fine when we were walking across the field – though my socks did get wet. But the path up to the road is made of little bits of gravel. I think one of the builders must have employed someone to sharpen each bit of it before they put it on the ground. It was really, really mortifying. I was greatly tempted to walk on the grass verge, but I resisted. The pavement was easy after that.
    I met Mr Quinn at the school gates. He noticed my feet and said, ‘Something wrong with your shoes, Damian?’
    I said, ‘Mortifying my flesh, sir.’
    I think he was impressed.
    During Numeracy Hour Jake came and tapped me on the shoulder and then went, ‘Ow!’
    ‘Jake, what are you playing at and is it maths?’ asked Mr Quinn.
    ‘I was going to ask him for a borrow of his ruler, sir, and he’s spiky.’
    ‘What?’
    Now everyone was looking at me.
    Jake said, ‘I just touched Damian’s shoulder, sir, and it hurt.’
    Mr Quinn came over and touched my shoulder. Then he leaned down and whispered to me to come with him. ‘Just get on with it, the rest of you.’
    Out in the corridor, he made me undo my shirt and show me what was inside. On totallysaints.com it tells you about Matt Talbot, who wore chains all the time. Obviously, I couldn’t get any chains as such, so I’d stuffed my shirt with holly from the hermitage.
    ‘Who did this?’
    ‘Did it myself, sir.’
    ‘You’re cut. Take the holly out and I’ll get some plasters.’ When he was putting the plasters on, he said, ‘I want you to come and see me at Home Time. I’m going to give you a letter to take to your dad. You’re not in trouble, but it is important. OK?’
    The letter was in a brown envelope. It was quite thick. Dad opened it as soon as I gave it to him. He read it and then put it in his pocket.
    Anthony said, ‘What’s it about? Are they going on a trip?’
    ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘Or. Yeah. Maybe. In a way. Eventually. Go and wash your hands.’
    It was my turn to wash up and Anthony’s to put away. Dad was supposed to be doing the floor, but when I came back into the dining room to make sure we hadn’t missed any dishes, he was reading the letter again. He put it away as I came in, but I saw that one of the pages was yellow and it said ‘Special Assessment’. I thought, ‘Special’, that’s pretty good.
    I think Dad must’ve stayed up late that night, because I fell asleep in my bed before he came upstairs to brush his teeth. In the middle of the night, I woke from a dream (which I don’t want to talk about), got up and stretched out on the floor under the window again. It was really cold after the warm bed. I couldn’t get to sleep. Suddenly I realized there was someone standing in the doorway. I thought, finally, a vision. But when it came closer, I could see it was just Dad. He bent down and picked me up, whispering, ‘Shhhh, Damian. You’ve fallen out of bed. I’m just going to pop you back in. Don’t wake up.’
    I didn’t like to tell him I was still awake. I just lay on my side so he wouldn’t be able to see my face. I thought he’d go away then, but he didn’t. He sat on the edge of the bed for a while. Then he tugged the collar of my pyjamas