He’d been instructed quite clearly. One pig’s eyeball to be requested from Danny the Butcher (no, not Danny the Barber, his mother had confirmed, pouring cold water on his little joke). He was to smile and ask politely, or else. She wasn’t going to pay for it, she didn’t even want to look at the disgusting thing, ych a fi.

Why an eyeball? you might ask. It was his first year at secondary school, and, at his first Biology lesson in the dark…