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then decided he couldn’t face the ride.’
    ‘He had claustrophobia,’ I said.
    ‘That’s right. And the queue was terrible. So we took the ticket. And gave it to Salim. And Salim went up on his own. And he didn’t come down.’
    Aunt Gloria shaded her eyes and looked up. ‘So he’s up there somewhere,’ she said, smiling. Kat had a hand to her mouth and her fingers were wriggling like worms. I’d never seen her act like this before. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He went up ages ago. Ted and I tracked his pod. But when it came down – he wasn’t on it.’
    Mum’s face scrunched up, which meant she was a) puzzled or b) cross or c) both. ‘What on earth do you mean, he wasn’t on it?’
    ‘He went up, Mum,’ I repeated. ‘But he didn’t come down.’ My hand flapped and Mum’s mouth went round like an O. ‘He defied the law of gravity, Mum. He went up but he didn’t come down. Which means Newton got it wrong. Hrumm.’
    Mum looked more cross than puzzled by now. But Aunt Gloria’s face remained smooth like paper without a crease. ‘Bet I know what happened,’ she said, smiling.
    ‘What?’ we all said.
    ‘He probably went round one more time.’
    The simplicity of this solution struck Kat and me at once.
    ‘That’s it. He just stayed on,’ said Kat. I looked at my watch. ‘In which case he’ll land at twelve thirty-two.’
    We went back to the Eye, this time with Mum. Aunt Gloria said she would stay where she was, because Salim would know where to find her if we missed him.
    We watched several pods open and close, but no Salim. 12.32 came and went. No Salim. Mum asked the staff if they could help. A woman from customer services came to talk to us. She said she’d like to help but couldn’t. She said that the London Eye management policy states that children are not supposed to ride without an adult accompanying them.
    Mum’s eyebrows met in the middle. ‘Kat,’ she said,
    ‘I relied on you. You should never have accepted that ticket. You should never have let Salim go up on his own.’
    Something terrible happened then. Kat started crying. She hadn’t done that in ages. She pressed her knuckles up against her cheekbones. ‘It’s always my fault. Never Ted’s. I’m always to blame. Ted never does anything wrong.’
    ‘You’re older, Kat. But obviously not much wiser.’
    Mum bit her lip and they both stared at each other.
    ‘Why don’t we call his mobile?’ I said.
    Mum frowned as if I’d said something stupid; then her face cleared (which is what you say when someone’s been looking unhappy and then they suddenly cheer up, and I like this phrase because it is another weather metaphor. A face can clear just like the sky can when a dark cumulonimbus cloud has passed over and the sun comes out again). ‘Of course! Ted,’
    Mum said, smiling, ‘you’re a genius. We should have thought of that right away.’
    We hurried back to where Aunt Gloria was waiting at the table. There was no sign of Salim. When she saw us come back without him, she gave a big sigh. ‘Where has that boy got to?’ she said. Mum picked up Aunt Gloria’s handbag. ‘Call him. Get your mobile out. Give him a call.’
    ‘OK,’ Aunt Gloria said. ‘He’s probably only a few yards away.’
    She pressed some buttons and put the phone to her ear with a smile and a nod of her head. Then her expression did the opposite of ‘clear’. It clouded over.
    ‘ The mobile phone you are calling has been switched off ,’ she repeated. ‘ Please try later .’
    She dropped the phone down on the table. Her lips trembled.
    ‘Why’s his phone off?’ she whispered. ‘Why?’
    Kat said later that we spent the next hour darting around the South Bank like headless chickens. It is a puzzling fact that chickens can run around in a frenzy for some seconds after being decapitated, but I do not think they do this for a whole hour. We looked everywhere but there was no sign of Salim. We went back to the staff, who called in the