London Noir

RECONSTRUCTION by LIZA CODY

Josie Farraday wore a brown leather jacket with a green silky lining. They gave me one just like it. It wasn’t hers. I didn’t want to wear hers. I don’t like other girls’ clothes. I like mine to be brand new. Other girls’ clothes smell like other girls. I don’t want to smell like Josie Farraday. Not tonight. Not ever.

So I was glad when they told me I didn’t have to wear Josie’s clothes. I had to wear clothes just like hers but they didn’t have to be hers.

Caro is jealous of me. She says she isn’t, but she is. She said, ‘You’ll be on telly. Everyone will see your face. You’ll have to do your hair like Josie. Ugh.’

I was worried at first. Caro said, ‘You’ll be wearing dead girl’s clothes, Miss Show-off. The clothes she died in. Bet you hope they washed the blood off.’

Then Caro said, ‘Blood never comes off. You can scrub and scrub but it never comes off. Not completely. You’ll be wearing it next to your skin and some of it will rub off onto you and then it’ll be on you forever. You’ll be tainted with a dead girl’s blood for ever and ever.’

So, when the lady policeman came to see me, I said, ‘Will I have to wear Josie Farraday’s clothes? Her actual clothes?’

And she said, ‘No no, not her actual clothes. Her actual clothes are still at the forensic lab. Besides they were badly damaged.’

And my mum said, ‘Please, officer, do you mind?’

And the lady policeman said sorry.

I wonder if they’ll let me keep the leather jacket. It’s quite nice. It looked horrible on Josie, but that was because Josie wore it with a blue skirt and black porkpie shoes. Josie was a terrible dresser. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a brown jacket and a blue skirt. Except that’s what I’m wearing now.

Caro couldn’t come. Her dad wouldn’t let her. She’s furious.

She said, ‘You have all the luck.’

I said, ‘Being like Josie Farraday? I wouldn’t call that lucky. She was boring. A nothing.’

Caro giggled. She said, ‘Well, she’s certainly a nothing now.’

But when we ran into those reporters by the school gate, Caro said, ‘We’re all ever so sad. Josie Farraday never did anyone any harm. We’ll all miss her.’ And the reporters wrote it down. Every word. They didn’t ask me anything.

But I’m here and she isn’t. I’m going to be on TV and she isn’t. That’s why she’s jealous.

She said, ‘You’ll fall over and make a fool of yourself. You always do something silly. I could be a better Josie Farraday than you could.’

I said, ‘But you’re fair.’

She said, ‘I’m blonde actually. I could dye my hair.’

‘You’re too short.’

‘I’m petite. I could wear high heels.’ And Caro stood on her toes to bring herself up to Josie Farraday’s height – my height – and she tiptoed across Cleaver Square trying to look like Josie Farraday.

I said, ‘Don’t, stupid! Josie’s mum’s looking at you out of the window.’ She wasn’t, but I wanted to shut Caro up, and immediately she put on a sorrowful expression and started to walk properly.

There were three reporters outside Mrs Farraday’s door.

Caro said, ‘Don’t stare.’ Then she said, ‘Shall I tell them you’re going to be the new improved Josie Farraday? Shall I?’

‘Don’t you dare! I’ll kill you.’

‘Shall I tell Mrs Farraday? Maybe she’ll have you in for tea. Maybe she’ll put you to bed in Josie’s bed, and never let you out again. She’ll cry and slobber all over you. And she’ll say, “Here’s my little girl back from the grave. I’ll never let you out of my sight again.’”

I said, ‘Shut up, Caro. You can be so immature – it’s unbelievable.’ And I walked off quickly.

The Farradays have a pink front door with a brass door knocker like a dolphin.

At night, even with all the TV lights, the door looks grey and the brass knocker looks like iron and the dolphin looks like a shark. In fact, it’s worse with the TV lights, because although the light bits are bright and clear, the dark bits go solid black. They disappear altogether.

The shadows from the trees are so black they look like great long cracks in the paving. You could imagine walking into one, falling and tumbling like a diver, all the way down to the core of the earth.

I stand with my back to the TV van. The lady policeman gave me some hot chocolate in a plastic cup. It burned my hands, but my feet are cold.

She said, ‘Don’t be nervous.’ And she went away.

I’m not nervous, or I wasn’t before I saw Mrs Farraday.

My mum said, ‘Oh dear, there’s Mrs Farraday.’

I said, ‘Pretend you haven’t seen her.’

But Mum said, ‘I can’t. I’ll have to go and talk to her, poor thing.’

I said, ‘Don’t go. You can’t leave me by myself.’ But she went. She never thinks how I feel.

So I stood all alone with everyone watching, like the first time I went to a school disco and none of the boys asked me to dance.

Caro said, ‘Come and dance with us.’ But I wouldn’t. It looks stupid, two girls dancing with one boy.

Caro said, ‘She’s too stuck-up to dance with us. She’d rather be a wallflower.’

I said, ‘What’s a wallflower?’ I was only eleven then.

But I would have danced if a boy asked me to. Most of the boys stood around jeering and didn’t ask anyone to dance. It wasn’t just me.

It was just me who stood by the TV van, though. Nobody came to talk to me. The police and the TV people were busy. Everyone else was outside the police cordon, outside the light. I could just see them. A lot of the girls from school were there. But none of them said anything to me. It was as if I really was Josie Farraday. Everyone could see me but I didn’t exist. Like I was Josie Farraday’s ghost.

And then this really excruciating thing happened. Mum brought Mrs Farraday over. How could she?

Mrs Farraday was crying, just like Caro said she would.

Mrs Farraday said, ‘I wanted to thank you. It’s so kind of you to do this for Josephine.’

I looked at Josie’s horrible black shoes because I didn’t want to see her mother’s crying face. I wished she’d go away. She was spoiling everything.

And Mum said, ‘It’s the least we could do. We were all so terribly sorry.’

I don’t know why she said that. She never said she was sorry before. She just kept walking round the house saying, ‘My God. Oh my God.’ But she never cried or anything, like you do when you’re sorry. She didn’t know Josie Farraday because Josie never came to my house.

Mrs Farraday said, ‘Josephine told me about you. She said you always got good marks in History and English.’ And that was a big surprise. I never knew Josie cared any more about me than I cared about Josie.

Then Mrs Farraday said, ‘This must be awfully upsetting for you. I’m so very sorry.’ And she walked away.

Mum said, ‘What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you say something?’ Her voice sort of slithered like a snake. She does that when she’s angry. She ran off after Mrs Farraday.

It’s her own fault, bringing Mrs Farraday over. What did she want? Seeing people cry always makes me want to cry too, even if I’m not upset. And I’m not upset. I’m going to be on TV. This is the best day of my life.

Then I thought, maybe I ought to look upset for TV. Like you always have to look serious in school assembly. And when the Head stood up after the Lord’s Prayer and said, ‘Now, I’m afraid I have some tragic news for you all…’You could see everyone standing straighter and arranging their faces. But you just knew they were dying of excitement and curiosity.

That afternoon we were all given envelopes to take home to our parents. And a teacher came to stand at the gate. Another stood at the entrance to the park.

Caro said it was too little too late, and now all they wanted to do was to stop us talking to reporters. But she still managed to say that thing about all of us missing Josie Farraday. Then we dashed across Kennington Park Road to the newsagent to buy the Evening Standard. Because although the Head told us Josie was murdered we still didn’t know what we wanted to know about it – when, where and how. And why? That’s when we saw the headline – ‘Schoolgirl Killed in Brutal Sex Attack’. We saw that in the shop. I wanted to giggle. Because of the ‘Sex’ word.

So we rushed out of the shop, and I said, ‘What’s a sex attack? I mean what is it really?’

And Caro said, ‘Shut up. I’m reading.’

So I read too, but the more I read the more mysterious it became. Of course I know what an attack is. And of course I know what sex is – we did reproduction in biology last year, and anyway you see it all the time on TV. People kissing and rolling around on beds undressed. And you see sex attacks on TV too – girls in beautiful clothes being dragged into bushes screaming before the man comes and saves them. The man is strong and beautiful, and he says something like, ‘Don’t worry. I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right.’ He has blue eyes and dark straight eyebrows.

But sometimes the man doesn’t save the beautiful girl, and then you see a body and lots of blood, but the girl still looks beautiful, and it seems to me that sex only happens to pretty girls on TV. It doesn’t happen to plain girls like Josie in the borough of Lambeth at six o’clock at night in the middle of January.

It’s very annoying. If only Josie had been prettier. I could feel sorrier for her if she’d been pretty. And I wouldn’t have to stand here with my hair parted in the middle and no styling mousse. I wouldn’t have to look like a freak and a frump for my first TV appearance. It’s very annoying, not being allowed to be pretty on TV.

Even Mum thinks so. She came back from talking to Mrs Farraday and said, ‘Oh dear, your hair. Well, never mind, at least it’s clean.’

I said, ‘I wish they’d let me wear some make-up.’

And she said, ‘Josephine didn’t wear any. Besides you know I don’t like you in make-up. You’re too young.’

A lot she knows. Even girls in the lower third wear make-up. But Mum is always trying to spoil things for me.

Then she said, ‘Listen dear, the man from London Tonight wants a word with you.’

I was so excited I couldn’t speak. So she said, ‘For goodness sake behave yourself and be sensible. Stand up straight. Take your hands out of your pockets. Stop looking at your feet. Just answer his questions quietly and politely. Don’t squirm and look sullen like you did with poor Mrs Farraday. That was very rude and unkind. It’s not like you to be unkind.’

I took my hands out of my pockets – out of Josie’s pockets – but they dangled by my sides and felt lost. I was looking at the man from London Tonight. I hoped he wouldn’t shake my hand, because I knew it was clammy. I wiped it on the back of the ugly blue skirt.

The man from London Tonight is very good-looking even if he’s rather old. He’s tall and he’s got a lovely tan. His eyes are blue and his eyebrows are straight.

When he came over to me, he smiled and looked into my eyes. And even though I couldn’t breathe I found myself smiling back. I couldn’t believe I was actually with him. He is so tall, and his eyes are so blue, no wonder he fills the screen when he’s on TV. You can’t look at anyone else.

He said, ‘You have agreed to help out with tonight’s police reconstruction. You must be a little bit nervous.’

Why does everyone say that? I didn’t want him to say what everyone else said. I wanted him to look into my soul and say something different. Just to me. I waited, but he said, ‘You must be just a little bit apprehensive.’

So I said, ‘I am a little bit.’ Because that seemed to be what he wanted.

Then he said, ‘It must have been an awful shock for you and the other girls at your school to hear about Josie Farraday,’ and he looked at me like he wanted some more.

So I said, ‘We were all very sad. Josie Farraday never did anyone any harm.’ But I still couldn’t breathe properly, and I knew I was blushing. All I could think of to say was what Caro said to the reporters.

He said, ‘So now you are helping the police track down your friend’s killer.’

And I said, ‘Well, it was the least I could do.’ Which is exactly what my mum said to Mrs Farraday.

Then he said, ‘I know the police are anxious to begin, and we don’t want to keep them waiting. So thank you very much for talking to us tonight.’

And he turned away and started to say something else into the camera.

My mum pulled me back, away from the TV van.

I was ever so upset. It was my big moment and I couldn’t find my own words to talk with. And my hands had crept back into my pockets – Josie’s pockets – of their own accord.

Mum said, ‘You were fine, dear. But I do wish you hadn’t grinned at him like that. Anyone might have thought you were enjoying yourself.’

But I was thinking, ‘Is that all? Is that all there is?’ I thought it was going to be wonderful and special. But it wasn’t. And the man from London Tonight talked as if it was just another item of news. Not as if it was special and I was special.

The lady policeman came over and said, ‘We’ll be ready to go in five minutes. Now, you know what to do, don’t you?’

My mum said yes, I knew what to do.

The lady policeman said, ‘Right, good, because we’ve been over the route, haven’t we? So all you have to do is follow it, not too fast, and do what we know Josie did. All right?’

My mum said it was all right.

So the lady policeman said, ‘Don’t be nervous. We’ll all be close by. But don’t look at us and don’t look at the cameras. Pretend you’re out on your own.’

And Mum said thank you very much.

Then, when we were standing by ourselves again, she said, ‘You know, what I don’t understand is, why did Josephine go the long way round? If she was going to her friend in Methley Street, why did she leave the square by the art school? Why didn’t she go up Bowden Street?’

My mum doesn’t understand anything. I know why Josie Farraday went the long way round. It’s because she didn’t want to walk past Broadgate Estate. None of us likes walking past Broadgate Estate because the white boys shout at us, and the black boys stare at us. The square is safe, but from where I live you have to pass Broadgate Estate to get there. Usually I run. And so does Caro.

You can hear people fighting in Broadgate Estate. The women scream with the windows open. And the men and boys hang over the balconies and shout at us when we go past.

Once when Caro and I went past, someone shouted, ‘Does your friend fuck?’ And we started to run. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, which one of us was he talking to? And which one was the friend? Caro and I discussed it for ages, but we never could decide. It was very, very mysterious. Caro said he was on drugs. She says they all take drugs in Broadgate Estate. They must be very funny drugs if they make you lean over a balcony and shout, ‘Does your friend fuck?’

I can remember when no one shouted anything. No one seemed to see us. But that’s all changed. Caro says it’s because nowadays we wear bras. She calls our bosoms ‘chesticles’. And she calls Cornwall Court, where we live, ‘Castle Cornwall’ because of the iron gates and the security locks. She says we’re like princesses locked in a tower. But I said, ‘If I were a princess I wouldn’t have to do the washing up.’

And she said, ‘Or homework.’

I am excused homework tonight because of the reconstruction. Which is another reason why this is the most special day of my life.

My mum said, ‘I think they’re ready for you, dear. Now, do what you’ve been told, and don’t worry, I won’t be far away.’

My mother treats me like a child. I wish she’d go home and let me enjoy myself. No one can enjoy themselves with their mother looking on.

I started from the steps of Josie Farraday’s house. The lights were blinding. Everyone was watching. I wanted to toss my hair out of my eyes so I could see everyone watching. But it wasn’t my hair, it was Josie’s, and Josie’s always flopped in her eyes.

I come down the steps, sort of clumping on my heels. It isn’t my fault. It’s because of the horrid black shoes. Clumping on my heels made me feel as if I actually looked like Josie. And Josie’s socks started slipping down my legs. So I pulled them up. Which is what Josie was always doing. It was one of the things that made her a nerd. And I am furious. Josie is making me look like a nerd on TV.

All the lights were on in the art school because they have evening classes there.

Caro and I tried to get in once, to see what they got up to, but they turned us out. One of the students told us strangers weren’t allowed in. She said it was because some dirty old men were always trying to get a peep at the nude models. I wish we could have seen a nude model but we only saw the entrance hall which was dark and dusty.

After you walk past the art school, you get to Kennington Park Road. I turn right, because that’s what Josie did.

Cleaver Square is like a small dark room in a house. When you leave it, it’s like going outside. Life begins outside Cleaver Square. On the main road it’s never dark, and lorries and buses rush past at all hours of the day or night.

People were crowded at the windows of the White Bear pub to see me walk by. And just then, a number 33 bus went past and everyone stared out. The lady policeman told me they would stop the buses down by the tube station and give all the passengers leaflets with a number to ring if anyone remembered me – I mean Josie.

Why would anyone remember Josie? She was just a nerdy girl who clumped on her heels. She didn’t look like anyone in particular. And how could anything happen on Kennington Park Road? It’s so public and ordinary.

A policeman was standing in front of me to remind me to go down Ravendon Road. So I turned right again. Out of the light and into the dark. Ravendon Road is a creepy black corridor and I felt like a rabbit going into a hole. If Josie met a man it must have been somewhere like this. Where she couldn’t see him properly, and he couldn’t see her. If he could’ve seen her properly he’d have seen the clumpy shoes, and the socks.

She’d have seen… Well she wouldn’t have seen a strong beautiful man with blue eyes. Sex attackers aren’t like that. You can always recognize a sex attacker on TV because he has piercing eyes and he stares. And while he’s staring he smiles. But it isn’t a nice smile. It’s a crocodile smile. Sometimes he has a scar on his cheek. If Josie could’ve seen him properly she’d have known he was a sex attacker. Except Josie was too stupid to know anything.

This must have been where they met. Because, if Josie didn’t meet someone in Ravendon Road she would have gone to her friend’s house which is just round the corner in Methley Street. And they would have spent all evening watching TV and doing French irregular verbs. I know they would, because that’s what Caro and I were doing at Caro’s place.

Anyway the police know she turned into Ravendon Road because someone saw her. And they know she came out again the same way because the next time she was seen it was in the newsagent opposite Kennington Park where she bought a packet of smokey bacon flavoured crisps. And that is very mysterious because her mother told the police Josie didn’t like smokey bacon flavour. So I think she bought them for the man. And that is very peculiar too. Because when she went into the newsagent there wasn’t a man. She went in alone.

Caro and I have talked about this a lot. Caro said, ‘A sex attacker has to be a grown-up man, doesn’t he?’

I said, ‘Yes. Except, what about some of those boys from Broadgate Estate?’

And she said, ‘They wouldn’t be strong enough.’

I said, ‘But it’s very weird, Josie Farraday buying smokey bacon flavour crisps for a grown-up man.’

Caro said, ‘Maybe he hadn’t paid his paper bill, and he didn’t want to go into the shop in case Mr Dessai shouted at him for the money.’

I thought that was a very good idea. But I said, ‘Yes, except can you imagine him, out on the main road with everyone going by, saying to Josie Farraday, “Would you mind going in there and buying me a packet of crisps?” I wonder if he gave her the money?’

Caro said she didn’t think sex attackers had any money.

So I said, ‘Suppose he had already decided to do a sex attack on Josie Farraday? When they were outside the shop. So he sent her in alone so that Mr and Mrs Dessai wouldn’t see him. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him and Josie together.’

But Caro said, ‘If he’d already decided to do a sex attack he wouldn’t want any smoky bacon flavour crisps either.’

And I really couldn’t argue with that.

Actually, that’s one thing Josie Farraday and I have in common. I don’t like smokey bacon crisps either. Outside the shop I wondered if I really had to buy them. I had some money, but I wondered if I was supposed to pay for crisps I didn’t want to eat. And what was I supposed to do with them when I had them? Josie gave them to a sex attacker. I don’t have anyone to give them to.

I went inside, and there was Mr Dessai in his grungy old suit and Mrs Dessai with that hand-knitted cardigan she always wears over her sari.

The last time I was in there was when Caro and I bought the Evening Standard to find out what really happened to Josie. That time, Mr Dessai hardly looked up. He just said, ‘Thirty p.,’ and that was that. This time he looked all nervy and jumpy and he didn’t say anything. But a lady in a brown woolly hat did. It was awful.

She said, ‘Don’t you go telling no one it was a black man did it.’

I said, ‘Pardon?’

And she said, ‘You folks’ shit stink too, y’know.’

And Mr Dessai handed me a packet of salt and vinegar flavoured crisps. But his hand was shaking so much he dropped it.

The lady in the woolly hat said, ‘You, little girl.’

‘Me?’

‘You little girl know nothing, get yourself in trouble, firs’ thing happen you blame one of us.’

I left the salt and vinegar flavoured crisps on the floor and got out as fast as I could. I mean, what a thing to say! It was incredible. Fancy telling a total stranger her shit stank. In public.

My face burned, and I wondered if the cameras could see how red I’d gone. Josie Farraday has a lot to answer for, getting me humiliated like that.

And then I almost turned back into the newsagent. I wanted to tell the lady that I hadn’t got into any trouble and I wasn’t blaming anyone. And I wanted to pick up the crisps and tell Mr Dessai he’d got the wrong flavour. But I couldn’t go back in. I just couldn’t. It’s all too horrible. And it isn’t my fault. It’s Josie’s.

So I pulled up Josie’s socks again. It was funny, because this time I was quite glad she wore loopy old socks and flopped her hair all over her face. It meant the cameras couldn’t see me blushing. And I was glad the cameras hadn’t been inside Mr Dessai’s shop.

It’s bad enough when horrid things happen, but it’s even worse when other people know about it. When horrid things happen to me I never tell anyone any more.

Once I went to the Tate Gallery with a boy called Mark. It was sort of like a date except that our parents arranged it. I liked Mark and I was quite excited I’d been allowed to go out alone with him. We caught a bus down to Millbank and we sat right at the front on the top deck. We were sitting so close together our legs touched and I wondered what I’d do if he held my hand. Just thinking about it made my hands sweat so I hoped he wouldn’t. But on the way back, he did. He picked up the hand closest to him in both of his. And my heart kicked the inside of my chest and I thought I was going to be sick.

He said, ‘You know what really hurts?’

I said, ‘What?’

So he said, ‘What, what?’

And I said, ‘What really hurts?’ I wasn’t thinking about anything except him holding my hand.

And he folded my hand into a fist. Then he squashed down really hard on my bent little finger. Really hard. I couldn’t get my hand away because he was holding on so tight. And it hurt. It really hurt. I had tears running down my face. I screamed. And he let go.

I said, ‘What did you do that for?’

And he said, ‘You asked me to.’

I said I didn’t. But he said, ‘Yes you did. You asked, “What really hurts?” And I showed you.’

So it wasn’t much of a date. But when I got home, Caro said, ‘What happened? Does he like you? Did he kiss you?’

I said, ‘We just held hands.’

And she said, ‘Is that all?’ But I could see she was jealous because she kept going on about Mark being my boyfriend. I got pretty fed up, so in the end I told her about how he squashed my finger.

And she said, ‘That would never have happened to me. I don’t have sweaty hands. Your hands sweat. Yeugh! Boys only like cool dry hands, like mine. You should have dusted your palms with talcum powder before going out. It isn’t romantic to have sweaty hands.’

I shouldn’t have told Caro about it because she made it seem like it was all my fault when it wasn’t.

From then on, I always dusted my hands with Mum’s talcum powder. Until one day when I dropped the tin in the basin and it all spilled out.

Mum said, ‘What on earth were you doing with my powder?’

So I told her what Caro said. And she said, ‘I don’t know why you waste your time with Caroline. She’s a profoundly ignorant little madam.’

I didn’t tell Caro that because it isn’t true. Caro isn’t ignorant. She knows a lot more about what boys like than Mum does.

I always keep my hands in my pockets so no one will see them. That’s where they are now – in the pockets of the brown leather jacket just like the one Josie Farraday wore. If this really was Josie Farraday’s jacket I bet the pockets would be all wet and soggy. Her hands sweat too. But nobody knows this except me, because even the police and TV cameras can’t see into people’s pockets. Which is just as well, because the lights from the Esso Station and car-wash are very bright and everyone is staring at me.

The lady policeman said, ‘Slow down. Don’t run.’ She made me jump. I’d almost forgotten about her.

She said, ‘We want everyone to get a good look at you.’

Then she said, ‘Are you all right?’

And I said, ‘Where’s Mum?’ But I regretted it immediately. I don’t want her. Only little girls want their mothers. Mothers spoil everything.

The lady policeman told me to keep my mind on what I was doing, and walk slowly to the Social Security office on the corner.

It isn’t so bad at this time of night, but usually the Social Security office is a place to avoid. It’s a huge, dark grey building and in the daytime it’s always busy. People just hang around and sit on the steps smoking cigarettes and drinking things. Even now the pavement is filthy with cigarette ends, drink cans and broken glass.

If I have to come this way, I always go on the park side of the road. But that is where all the bus-stops are. So even if I’m on the other side of the road to the Social Security office there are still lots of people, and there’s always the risk someone might stop me.

They ask me for money and they say things like, ‘The bastards wouldn’t give me no emergency payment.’ And then they ask for the bus fare home, or a cup of tea. And sometimes they say, ‘Ain’t you lucky to have such lovely shoes?’ And that makes me feel awful. So usually when I come this way I run.

I haven’t got any money either. Why can’t they see that? Mum is very mean with my allowance.

You don’t see many girls from my school here, and I can’t think why Josie Farraday came this way. If, all the time, she was planning to go into Kennington Park, why wasn’t she walking on the park side of the road? There are a lot of things I don’t understand, and now that I’m actually walking in Josie’s footsteps they seem even more mysterious. I keep looking towards the park, even though it’s so dark and I don’t want to. I am going to walk in there later. But there are other things to do first.

If you don’t look at the park, but instead you look across the big junction where Kennington Road meets Kennington Park Road you see the bank, the cafe and the Post Office. And you see Ashton’s, the funeral parlour.

I stood for a long time waiting for the lights to change so that I could cross the road. Lots of police people stood around handing out leaflets with my photo on them. I mean Josie’s photo. But I didn’t see a single hearse.

When Josie Farraday crossed Kennington Road she walked right up to the funeral parlour. She could have touched the window. She might have seen one of the hearses. She might even have seen her own hearse. Because, as Caro said, it was awfully convenient Josie getting herself murdered so close to a funeral parlour.

What Josie Farraday did next was very peculiar. She dithered outside the Parma Café for several minutes. The Parma has windows from top to bottom, and the lady behind the counter saw her dithering before she went in. So I tried to dither a bit although it’s difficult when there’s nothing to dither for.

And then I went in. I went over to the counter and I asked the lady how much a cup of tea was. Even though the price is written on a board right in front of me.

The lady behind the counter said, ‘Big cup or little cup?’ And I said little cup. The lady told me how much. But I didn’t ask for a cup of tea. I asked her what the time was. Even though Josie and I are wearing watches.

This watch does not do anything clever, such as stopping at exactly the time of the murder, like watches do on TV. It was still working when they found Josie in Kennington Park at four-thirty the next morning.

After the lady told me the time I said thank you, and left the café. The lady told the police she thought Josie was waiting for someone who didn’t come. She said she thought Josie was too embarrassed to wait inside by herself.

I said, ‘How awful to wait and wait in a public place with everyone staring and thinking you’ve been stood up.’

Caro said, ‘That might happen to someone like Josie, but it’ll never happen to me. I won’t wait for anyone.’

And I said, ‘It all depends.’ Because I can imagine waiting and waiting until my heart breaks. Not for any old boy like Mark. But I’d wait for someone tall and strong.

He says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there, and then everything will be all right.’ He has blue eyes which look at me and see beauty. There is a special me which only his blue eyes can see.

Josie waits outside the Parma. I’m not waiting for someone. No one is coming. I’m waiting till the police say it’s time to cross the road and go into the park.

My mother says, ‘Don’t ever go into the park at night.’

There are so many things I mustn’t do – like hang around the skateboard rink, walk home alone, pet strange dogs. And if it was bad before, Josie has made it much much worse. Mum even started to meet me outside school but I soon put a stop to that. I don’t want to look like a nerd. But I had to promise to stay with Caro, and Caro had to promise to stay with me. Since Josie, Caro and I have been like Siamese twins.

We both had to promise to keep out of the park. But we broke that promise the very next day because we just had to see where it happened.

I said, ‘No, no we promised.’ But Caro said two promises didn’t count. She said two minuses made a plus in algebra. So two promises not to do something made a promise to go out and do it.

There is a little walled flower garden in the corner of the park.

That’s where it happened. At least, that’s where they found Josie Farraday. But we didn’t get to see it, because the police wouldn’t let us in to look. They told us to go home and not be so morbid.

Caro said, ‘But it isn’t morbid. It’s educational. The whole school was taken to the Tower to see where Anne Boleyn got her head cut off.’

And I said, ‘I don’t have to see. I know exactly where it happened.’

‘Where?’

I said, ‘Near the shelter, with the bench and the one-eyed cat.’ Because Caro and I had been there before. Before Josie.

I said, ‘Remember the L-shaped hedge?’

And she said, ‘Ooohh yes!’ Because, one time, we found some very funny things under the yew hedge. We found some donner kebabs, three plastic forks and a syringe.

‘And a condom!’ I might have known Caro would remember the condom.

Caro said, ‘Well, of course. That’s where everyone goes to do rude things. And afterwards he rolled Josie’s body under the hedge with all the Chinese takeaways and polythene bags.’

And I said, ‘After what?’ Because that was the biggest mystery of all. What did he do, and why did Josie let him?

Caro said, ‘Shut up. I’m thinking. After that maybe he ate the smokey bacon flavour crisps.’ And we laughed a lot because it was so ridiculous. But that night I dreamed about hundreds of snakes writhing around under my bed. The snakes all shed their skins and the skins were made of milky white rubber.

What I can’t understand is why a nerd like Josie Farraday was so brave. She went into the park alone in the dark. Or she went into the park with a strange man. Which is very brave and very stupid. I always knew Josie Farraday was stupid but even stupid girls are frightened in the dark.

I have never been into the park after nightfall. It wasn’t me. It was Josie. But I have to go into the park. The police told me to. Even Mum gave her permission. Everyone says it’s all right tonight. Nothing bad will happen.

Nothing bad can happen because this is going to be on TV. People watching TV will see me being brave, walking through the gate into the dark. Like watching the diving on TV. Maybe if there was no one watching, the divers wouldn’t have the nerve to go off the high board and fall headfirst, tumbling, into the water.

So who was watching Josie? Who said it was all right? Someone gave her permission or I wouldn’t have the nerve to go into the park at night.

He says, ‘Don’t be frightened. I’m here. Nothing bad will happen.’

I cross the road, and it’s like crossing a river. It’s wide and deep and full of snakes and crocodiles.

Josie crossed the road and walked into the park. All the gates are locked after dark but there is a path which is always open. There are railings on either side, and trees which hold their bare arms out over the path. The path is wet and shiny. The path says yes, yes. The trees say no, no. They cross their bare arms over the path, and say, ‘Don’t ever go into the park at night.’

I wait at the entrance where everyone can see Josie.

The policeman says, ‘Go on. It’s all right.’

Josie walks into the park. He says, ‘Come on. It’s all right.’

I look up at him. He is much taller than me and his shoulders are broad. He fills the screen. He has blue eyes and straight, dark eyebrows. He is strong and beautiful. He looks down at me and I am small and beautiful. My hands do not sweat. I am not a nerd.

He says, ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Ever.’

He is so strong, he will protect me from everything. I would never go into the park alone. Without him.

He says, ‘Don’t worry. You’re with me.’

So I go into the park. And he is by my side. We are all alone and it’s dark. He takes my hand, and my heart kicks me.

And he says, ‘You know what really hurts?’

‘What?’

‘What, what?’

‘What really hurts?’

And he half throws, half drags me over the railings onto the grass. There are tears running down my face and I scream but he doesn’t let go. No one comes to rescue me.

My ugly black shoe is wrenched off, and I say, ‘What did you do that for?’

And he says, ‘Because you asked me to.’

They found my shoe in the morning. It was what led them to Josie.

I walk into the park. There is no one tall and strong beside me, so I’m frightened.

No one says, ‘Don’t be frightened. You’re with me.’

I walk into the park with the TV cameras watching. Tomorrow I will watch TV and I will see myself walk into the park alone. Caro will be jealous, and she’ll say, ‘You look like a nerd. You look just like Josie Farraday.’

I walk into the park.

He says, ‘Are you nervous?’ He has a scar on his cheek and he stares at me, smiling.

I say, ‘Yes, I’m nervous.’

I walk into the park alone. He isn’t there. I waited and waited but he didn’t come. I’ll wait until my heart breaks but I don’t think he will ever come.

But I walk into the park because he puts his arm around me and Josie Farraday feels warm and safe.