Brock_Sample by Collins

Praise for … Brock, Pike, Rook & Lark

“McGowan … freights every word with truth and feeling … Few other writers for the young better understand the pull of the gang and the fear of the bully” THE TIMES ON BROCK

“[Nature] provides a moment of epiphany that resounds. Simply told, yet laced with urgency, this will spellbind” PHILIP WOMACK, THE TELEGRAPH, ON BROCK

“Never have three sparsely written novellas packed such an emotional punch. Not a word is wasted and, for me, they are the absolute definition of the word ‘classic’ ” PHIL EARLE, THE GUARDIAN, ON BROCK, PIKE AND ROOK

“A standalone masterpiece in simple and pared-down storytelling … [It] leaves the reader with hope for the future; that through the bonds of love from family and friends things can and will get better” CARNEGIE JUDGING PANEL ON LARK

“The quartet is a magnificent achievement and Lark is a totally fitting and superb finale … Simple, yet immensely powerful writing of the highest order” JOY COURT, SLA, ON LARK

“Gritty, unflinching and authentic … with a life-affirming warmth” CARNEGIE JUDGING PANEL ON ROOK

“As taut as Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, Lark rings with truth, humour, humanity and pathos” NEW STATESMAN ON LARK

“As ever, McGowan’s understanding of masculine youth – its brashness and unexpected tenderness – is evident, and there is a quiet worldliness underpinning the whole” LITERARY REVIEW ON LARK

“A gut-wrenching tale of crime and punishment makes [Pike] compelling reading” NEW STATESMAN ON PIKE

“Lucid and sharp as broken glass, it’s a book filled with raw, elemental emotion” THE GUARDIAN ON ROOK

“McGowan writes in prose as spare and effective as that of Barry Hines … there’s an extraordinary depth and elegance to this story. An outstanding novel” ANDREA REECE, LOVEREADING4KIDS ON PIKE

“Rook is an outstanding piece of writing … unflinching and authentic, funny and gritty and a treasured addition to my bookshelves” LEILAH SKELTON ON ROOK

“Anthony McGowan’s story of brothers Nicky and Kenny, which began in Brock, reaches a heart-rending but perfectly pitched conclusion in Lark” THE OBSERVER ON LARK

“Funny, scatological, terrifying, heartwarming and heartbreaking, and is written in everyday prose through teenage Nicky’s convincing voice” SUNDAY TIMES ON LARK, CHILDREN’S BOOK OF THE WEEK

“A gripping story … the author’s vivid writing and tense plot has enough pace and drama for this short novel to entertain any audience” IRISH NEWS ON LARK

“McGowan makes such complexity available to his teenage readers in a social context where day-to-day life can be abrasive and emotion is implicit rather than expressed” BOOKS FOR KEEPS ON LARK

“A deeply touching story … Anthony McGowan maintains the intensity of the story throughout while also keeping the writing simple” LOVEREADING4KIDS ON LARK

Published by Barrington Stoke

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

Westerhill Road, Bishopbriggs, Glasgow, G64 2QT

www.barringtonstoke.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper, Dublin 1, DO1 C9W8, Ireland

This edition published in 2025

The moral right of Anthony McGowan and Staffan Gnosspelius to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

ISBN 978-0-00-873903-4 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in whole or in any part in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher and copyright owners

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Printed and bound in India by Replika Press Pvt. Ltd.

To Mark Cass, Geoff Gnaggs, and the other friends of my youth in Sherburn in Elmet, in the West Riding of Yorkshire

One

The old male shifted in his sleep. He was fighting again those long‑ago battles, back in the days when his teeth were still sharp. Those teeth were worn down to brown stumps now, but once every living creature feared them.

He remembered the big fox he had killed in a clash over earthworms. Then there was the mink –a cruel invader from other lands. It had come down in search of his young. That was a fight that he would not forget – the deep puncture marks in his throat helped him remember.

But before then, back when he was a kit, there was the time when men had come with dogs, and they had killed and killed. Only he had got out, carried away in the mouth of his mother. She had put him in a safe place and gone back for the rest

of her litter. But she had never returned, and so he had been left alone in the wide world.

Somehow he had survived, with worms and fallen fruit for food. The first winter was hard, and he had frozen and he had starved. But he had endured.

And now here he was. The old king, asleep in his sett. Strong still, but fading.

But his memories scurried back to the men and the dogs, and all of a sudden his senses came awake.

The scent was strong. And now so were the sounds. He felt the fear run through the tunnels and sleeping chambers, and he knew that the time had come.

He stretched himself.

Yes, there was still one last fight in those old bones.

Two

“Wake up, Nicky, wake up!”

I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay asleep. And even more than that, I wanted to stay in my bed, where it was warm. Ever since the boiler bust, the mornings had been hell. In the night, your breath would freeze on the inside of the window so you could write your name in it with your fingernail.

“Wake up, Nicky, wake up. You’ve gotta come.” It was Kenny, of course. Kenny’s my brother. People say he’s simple, and he is. I know you’re not meant to say “simple‑minded” any more, but it seems to me that it’s the exact right word for Kenny. He hasn’t got all the stuff going on that messes up other people’s heads. He isn’t always trying to work out the angles, or how to stitch you

up. He thinks other people are as kind as he is, and he only has one idea at a time.

His brain was starved of oxygen when he was getting born, so now he has what they call learning difficulties. But, like I say, I think “simple” is better and kinder and truer than talking about “difficulties” or “disabilities”.

Sometimes I wish I was simple, and happy, like Kenny.

“C’mon, Nicky,” Kenny pleaded. I half opened an eye and checked the window. It was still as black as death outside.

That half‑open eye was my first mistake.

“Ha!” said Kenny, and his voice crackled with joy. “I saw you. You’re awake. C’mon – we’ve got to go.”

“Get lost, Kenny,” I said. “It’s too early, and it’s flipping freezing.”

But it was no good. He yanked me out of bed, and before I knew what was happening, I was pulling my kecks on.

“What the heck is this all about, Kenny?” I said. I was trying not to sound angry. You can’t sound angry with Kenny or he gets upset.

“Just come on,” he said. “It’s good.”