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school. I wasn’t so confident he’d forget seeing me in the van. But if I took a little extra care, dropped back an extra meter or two, be a tad more subtle, I could still swing it. I flicked on the kettle and then the radio, just to hear the sound of a human voice. The radio, like all media, was strictly controlled by the Law. Of course that meant it was mostly rubbish, but now and again they did play a little summer cheer to try and up the community morale. Nobody got fooled by it, but we all liked to pretend, if only for a short time, that life smelt rosy.
    I caught the tail end of the news. A politician rabbited on why the ERP and letting all those cons out had proved such a good idea. He used phrases like, ‘community control’ and ‘real people at grass roots,’ … ‘the Law’s course of correction has cut petty crime to zero.’ It was all about control. I pictured him waving his arms around in genuine excitement. The presenter joined in. They sounded like a pair of ignorant children trying to brainwash the nation. Morons. I turned them off, set my alarm, and waited for sleep, pondering whether I should report the morning’s events to Joe. I decided not.
    Things I learned over the next few days. Stuart hated his dad. Stuart’s dad hated Stuart, despite handing over wads of cash every five minutes. I could love pretty much anybody if they gave me dosh like that to play with. Stuart didn’t shy away from spending it either. He wore the best gear and, when not in school, treated his mates to food and drink at home and away. I spent hours loitering outside cafes and arcades. He didn’t half have an easy life. Born lucky.
    I also saw how fond he was of Gemma. He listened to all her babbling and called her silly names like Hiccup and Fudgkins. He made her giggle and squirm and he stood behind her and scowled at the bigger kids when they teased her for her bizarre dress sense. Lucky little Gemma.
    I’d been following Stuart for almost a week and, apart from the one incident at the park, he hadn’t spotted me at all. Neither Bluebottle, the limo, nor the gold-toothed greasy guy appeared again and I put them out of my head. Stuart dealt with any approach from the recruiters like a pro. The boy was doing well enough without me. I deserved a break. Not to say I left him to get on with it but one night, after his bedroom light went out, I decided to give Fran a shout and see if she wanted another night in the trance. A more chirpy one this time.
    Fran and Carl lived on the Shanks estate in a typical west-side hovel. The Law tend not to patrol or care about such places so the people on Shanks run the streets themselves and that meant mob-rule. Fortunately, Joe runs the mob. But he can only do so much and he tends to focus on sorting the violent stuff. Everything else is left to take its natural course and, left to their own devices, things always run downhill. I trotted down alleys strewn with rubbish, broken bottles and lemondrop needles. Many houses had boarded up windows and patchwork doors. Life on the estate looked grim but nobody ever died from being grubby.
    I knocked at Fran’s door for ages before the old woman next door poked her head out of an upstairs window. ‘Stop making that racket. I’m trying to watch Corrie in here.’ She paused and must have thought again when she saw just me, a girl, and her voice softened. ‘Nobody there any more, love. Gone.’
    ‘Gone where?’
    ‘Kid went a week or so ago. Haven’t seen anybody go in nor out since.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s all I know.’ And she slammed the window shut.
    Fran wouldn’t go away without saying goodbye. I went around the back and found an old pipe amongst the debris in the alley and jimmied it under the bars that covered the kitchen window. It took every ounce I had and blistered my fingers, but after ten minutes of heaving I’d made a big enough gap to squeeze through. I wrapped my fist in my jacket and punched the window in.
    The