A boy called Marcus grew a sunflower from a seed at school. He carried it home cupped in both hands like it was made of glass, and announced he would look after it completely himself. His grandad helped him find the sunniest windowsill. For a week he watered it every morning and measured it against a ruler. Then half-term came, full of other things, and the sunflower slipped out of his routine. By the time he remembered, the leaves had gone soft and droopy and the soil was cracked and dry. Marcus stands looking at it, the little watering can in his hand. He's not sure if it's too late, or what to do with the heavy feeling in his chest.