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motive.
    ‘Yeah, me baby-sitting,’ she said. ‘For our next-door neighbour.’
    ‘And?’ I asked.
    ‘And,’ said Nesta, ‘it just happens that their oldest son Nathan will be back for the weekend from university.’
    ‘Why can’t he baby-sit?’ asked Lucy.
    ‘He’s going to some concert in town,’ explained Nesta. ‘That’s why I said I’d do it. I want to see him before he goes.’
    ‘Why? Do you fancy him?’ asked Lucy.
    ‘Nah,’ said Nesta. ‘But he does go to university in Scotland. And a young man I have my eye on will be studying there. I’m hoping Nathan’ll get to know him and
introduce me.’
    ‘This is the first you’ve told us,’ I said. ‘What young man?’
    ‘James Parker Henson,’ said Nesta.
    ‘Isn’t his dad one of the richest men in England?’ asked Lucy. ‘I saw him in one of my glossy mags.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Nesta. ‘And why not? You have to aim high.’
    ‘And what have you got to offer?’ asked Lucy.
    ‘My fabulous company and sense of style,’ said Nesta with a grin.
    Despite my disappointment at not seeing Mark, I had to laugh. If there’s one thing Nesta’s not short of, that’s confidence.
    After the girls had gone, I mooched around for a while by myself, looking for Christmas presents for Lucy and Nesta. With still an hour to kill before the end of the fair, I
had a henna tattoo done on my ankle. A delicate bracelet of leaves, it looked really cool.
    ‘I hope my mum doesn’t freak out too much,’ I said to the woman painting it on.
    ‘Oh don’t worry. They only last a few weeks, then if you want it done again, you can come to our shop in Kentish Town and have it redone. Or pick another design.’
    ‘Fab,’ I said, then had an idea. I could buy Nesta and Lucy one for Christmas. They’d love them.
    ‘I don’t understand why people have permanent ones done,’ continued the woman, ‘when they can get one of these instead. They look just as good. And tastes change. If
it’s permanent, you can’t do much about it except laser it off, which can be painful and expensive.’
    After my tattoo, I bought a toe-ring and some organic chocolate, then some love charms from a rather strange woman on another stall. By now, most of the stallholders were packing up and the
crowds were beginning to disperse.
    He’s not coming, I thought. I might as well go.
    Feeling let down and dejected, I changed back into my long skirt and made my way out of the hall and down the hill to the bus stop.
    Get a grip, I told myself as I sat on the bus. It’s not like you even know Mark. In fact, to tell the truth, I couldn’t even remember what he looked like very clearly. I’d got
myself in a state about nothing. I decided to think about a new song. Making up lyrics always makes me feel better and I decided I’d think about a subject far removed from boys and love and
heartache. At the beginning of term, we had a class about all the countries in the world that didn’t have enough to eat. I told Lucy I was going to write a song for Africa and as I sat on the
bus thinking about it, words started buzzing round my head.
    By the time the bus reached my stop, I was feeling more like my old self. I’d finish my song when I got home, I decided, then watch a soppy DVD with my bar of organic chocolate. Perfecto.
Boys! Phfff! Who needs ’em?
    As I walked past the shops towards our road, I noticed a bunch of lads walking towards me. They were all dressed in muddy football gear and I decided I’d cross the road
to avoid them. I knew what boys could be like in a group when they see a girl on her own and I wasn’t in the mood for any comments, even nice ones. Then my heart stopped. One of the boys was
Mark.
    What should I do? Oh God. They were getting closer. I couldn’t resist. I’d stay on that side of the road and see what he did.
    The gang of lads walked past all engrossed in some conversation about the game they’d just played. I looked straight at Mark, waiting to