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ride, a souvenir photograph is taken automatically. The London Eye managers have fixed a camera into position, so that a good shot of everyone is possible against a backdrop of Big Ben. It happens somewhere between eight and seven o’clock. I saw the dark figures inside Salim’s pod gather to one side, facing out northeast to where the camera was. I even made out a flash.
    Then we walked back to where we’d arranged to meet Salim and waited for his pod to land. At 12.02 precisely it came back to earth. The pod doors opened. A group of six grown-up Japanese tourists came out first. Then came a fat man and woman with their two small boys who were also fat, which probably meant they all ate too much convenience food and needed to improve their diet. The girl in the fluffy jacket followed, arm in arm with her boyfriend. A big burly man in a raincoat, with white hair and a briefcase, came out next. He looked like he should have been getting off a commuter train, not the Eye. And then came a tall, thin blonde lady holding hands with a grey-haired man who was much shorter than her. Finally two African women in flowing, colourful robes came out, laughing like they’d just been at the fun fair. Four children of various ages were with them and they looked very happy.
    But of Salim there was no sign.
    I knew straight away that something was wrong.
    ‘Hrumm,’ I said.
    Kat screwed up her face. ‘I could have sworn he was in that one, with the Japanese . . .’ The passengers wandered off in different directions. ‘He must be on the next one.’
    We waited but he wasn’t. Nor the one after, or the one after that.
    A bad feeling slithered up my oesophagus.
    ‘Stay here,’ Kat said, gripping my hand. ‘Don’t move.’
    She dropped my hand and ran off. I didn’t like being left on my own in those crowds. I kept blinking and looking around, thinking Salim would re-materialize. Then I started to think I’d lost Kat too. Then I realized I didn’t know how to find Mum and Aunt Gloria, which meant I was lost as well. My hand flapped and I forgot about trying to stop it. Then Kat came back. ‘No sign of Salim?’
    ‘No, Kat.’
    ‘I bought this,’ she said. ‘A souvenir photo. I looked at all of them, the ones before and the ones after, but I couldn’t find any with Salim in. This is the one with the Japanese and the African ladies.’
    She showed me the photograph and I looked at the faces of strangers, smiling and waving at the camera. Various bits of people were chopped off, as the pod had been quite full. You could see half a face here, an arm waving there. But nothing that looked remotely like Salim.
    ‘Salim isn’t there,’ I said.
    Then I said, ‘Salim has disappeared.’
    Kat groaned. ‘Mum and Auntie Glo are going to be livid.’

EIGHT
    What Goes Up Doesn’t Necessarily Come Down

    We walked over to where Mum and Aunt Gloria were having coffee.
    ‘Let’s lie,’ hissed Kat. ‘About taking that ticket from a stranger.’ She grabbed me by the wrist so hard it hurt.
    ‘Lie,’ I repeated. ‘Hrumm. Lie.’
    ‘We could say that Salim got lost in the crowds, that he—’ She let my wrist go. ‘Oh, forget it,’ she said. ‘I know telling a lie with you is useless. And stop doing that duck-that’s-forgotten-how-to-quack look!’
    We reached the table where Aunt Gloria and Mum sat talking up another storm. We stood by them in silence. A pounding started up in my ears, as if my blood pressure had shot up above normal, which is what Mum says happens to her when Kat drives her distracted.
    ‘There you are,’ Aunt Gloria said. ‘Have you got the tickets?’
    Kat waited for me to say something.
    I waited for Kat to say something.
    ‘Where’s Salim?’ asked Mum. ‘Not still in the queue?’
    ‘Hrumm,’ I said. ‘No.’
    Mum looked as if Salim might be behind us.
    ‘Where then?’
    ‘We don’t know!’ Kat blurted. ‘This man – he came up and offered us a ticket. For free. He’d bought it and