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Don’t be such a hooligan . . .’
    There were some large, concrete pipes lying on the pavement, waiting to be buried in a long ditch in the ground. We crawled inside one of them. ‘I’d be frightened to come inside here on my own,’ Lulu said, the wind whistling through her voice.
    ‘The wind’s dropped again.’ My voice trembled in the cold air. ‘You should have worn a coat.’
    ‘Let’s crawl a little further inside. I don’t want anyone to see us.’
    ‘So you’re not going back home tonight, then?’ I swivelled my legs round, sat down, and was relieved to find that there was enough headroom for me to sit up straight.
    ‘No. My father hit me . . .’
    ‘But he’s not even your real father . . .’ Lulu didn’t react to this comment, so I asked, ‘Did your mother see him hit you?’
    ‘Keep your voice down. There are people walking past.’
    I remember the sound of those footsteps treading over the grit and sand on the pavement. The footsteps would grow louder then slowly fade away.
    ‘What happened to your real father? He was a percussionist, wasn’t he?’
    She squashed her head between her knees and said, ‘My mum told me he was arrested and sent to jail.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘The opera company’s Party secretary accused him of leading an immoral and licentious lifestyle.’
    I remembered that I was four years old when I first met my father. At nursery school, I was made to stand outside the classroom during the singing lessons. The teacher said that, as a son of a rightist, I had no right to learn revolutionary songs.
    ‘You must promise not to tell anyone that my real father’s in jail,’ Lulu whispered. ‘Especially not Suyun. She keeps trying to wheedle the secret out of me. The other day she told me that her father had gone to the cinema with another woman. I knew it was just a ploy to make me open up to her.’ She lifted her face as she spoke. The white steam escaping from her mouth scattered into the cold wind.
    Her body was a black shadow squashed inside the pipe. There was nothing girlish about the silhouette.
    ‘Your mum is nice to you, though, isn’t she? She took you shopping last week.’
    ‘Did you see us?’ Her face seemed to move, but I couldn’t be sure, because it was too dark for me to see much any more.
    The night was quiet and still. Inside the pipe, we could hear people cycling down a road a couple of streets away. Sometimes, when a car drove past, I’d see the shadow of a passer-by move through the light, then everything would go black again. The only constant light came from the window of a distant building, but when a curtain was drawn across it, that light disappeared as well. It was a four-storey brick building that was still under construction. A few residents had moved in ahead of time, hooked up lights to a mains electricity supply and fitted glass panes into the window frames. The half-finished building looked like a monster frozen into the night sky.
    ‘Do you like me?’ Her twisted face appeared to turn to me again.
    ‘Yes, I like you.’ My heart started thumping. I clenched my teeth together to stop my jaw trembling.
    ‘You gave me two of your stamps, so I know you must be fond of me.’
    ‘If you want, I’ll give them all to you. I also have a metal box I want to give you. It has a little lock and key.’ My voice sounded strange as it bounced across the interior walls of the concrete pipe.
    ‘It’s getting cold now,’ she said.
    I rose into a squat and moved closer to her. Inside my head I heard a pounding, then a crack that sounded like a block of ice being plunged into hot water. I touched her hair that smelt of fried celery, then put my arms around her.
    She took a sharp intake of breath, smiled and pushed me back. I pressed her hands down and moved closer to her face. I was probably trying to kiss her.
    ‘You can’t do that,’ she said, ‘I’m too young . . .’
    The steam escaping from her mouth as she spoke became