First published in Great Britain 2014

by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © Catherine Bruton 2014

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2014

ISBN 978 1 4052 6719 9

eISBN 978 1 7803 1345 0

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.

EGMONT

Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street. He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

For all my Peckham people, Clare, Howard, Nye, Nicola, James, Jo, Millie, Jonny, Joe and Elsie the Twinkle, with love.

CONTENTS

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

SCENE 1: MAGGIE’S HOUSE, BY THE SEA

SCENE 2: A PARK IN SOUTH LONDON

SCENE 3: CORONATION ROAD LIBRARY

SCENE 4: OUTSIDE THE LIBRARY

SCENE 5: CORONATION ROAD

SCENE 6: BEHIND THE FISH FACTORY

SCENE 7: MAGGIE’S HOUSE

SCENE 8: OUTSIDE MAGGIE’S BEDROOM

SCENE 9: THE NEXT MORNING. CHOUDHARY’S ELECTRICAL STORE

SCENE 10: MAGGIE’S DEN

SCENE 11: OUTSIDE THE STARFISH PROJECT

SCENE 12: CORONATION ROAD

SCENE 13: OUTSIDE THE PICTURE GALLERY

SCENE 14: MAGGIE’S BEDROOM

SCENE 15: MAGGIE’S DEN

SCENE 16: THE LOUNGE IN MAGGIE’S HOUSE

SCENE 17: TOKES’S BEDSIT

SCENE 18: CORONATION ROAD

SCENE 19: CORONATION ROAD. DUSK

SCENE 20: CORONATION ROAD. EVENING

SCENE 21: CORONATION ROAD. THE NEXT DAY

SCENE 22: THE LOUNGE IN MAGGIE’S HOUSE

SCENE 23: BEHIND THE FISH FACTORY

SCENE 24: THE PARK

SCENE 25: THE PARK. MOMENTS LATER

SCENE 26: THE PARK, A FEW MINUTES LATER

SCENE 27: A HOUSE BY THE SEA. ONE YEAR LATER

SCENE 28: THE BEACH

Acknowledgements

Praise for We Can be Heroes and Pop!, also by Catherine Bruton

Books by Catherine Bruton

SCENE 1: MAGGIE’S HOUSE, BY THE SEA

It’s been a year since everything happened, but I still have bad dreams. Dreams of last summer – of me and Tokes and Little Pea – in the park, under the arches, racing through burning streets on the night the city was in flames. It’s like a movie running through my head – the same one night after night. Then I wake up to the sound of the waves and I remember how the story ends.

We live by the sea now, my mum and me. In a house with a long garden that runs down to a pebbly beach, far away from where it all happened. I can see the water from my bedroom window, hear the waves lapping on the pebbles. And there’s nothing to do here but remember how one of my friends is dead and the other one might as well be. All because of me.

I think he has a new name now which would make Little Pea laugh because he always reckoned it was a stupid name. He’s got a whole new identity too: new home, new life – new start. A witness-protection programme. The police had to make him and his whole family disappear so Shiv and the Starfish Gang would never find them. And that means they can’t tell me where he is and I can never contact him. Ever. No phone, no text, no email, no Facebook. Nothing. It’s for his own safety, I suppose, but he probably never wants to see or speak to me again anyway.

Most days I watch the film we made last summer. I’ve had a long time to try and finish it, but it still feels like something is missing. Even though I’ve cut and edited bits, changed angles, altered the soundtrack, I can’t ever seem to change the story it tells. Just like in my dreams.

SCENE 2: A PARK IN SOUTH LONDON

‘The boys are back in town!’ Little Pea was singing.

All the other kids in the park had gone silent. Little Pea was perched on one of the kiddie swings like some kind of weird boy-bird, staring in the direction of the approaching Starfish Gang who were obviously going to beat him to a squishy pulp. But he kept on singing like a canary in a cage.

He knew what was coming. I’d zoomed in so the lens of my camera was staring right into his pupils. If you ask any film director, they’ll tell you it’s all in the eyes and, even though Little Pea had this massive crazy smile spread over his funny baby face as he sang, you could tell from his eyes that he knew he was in for a beating.

If this had been a proper film, it would be a gangster movie or maybe a Western. There’d be whistling wind in the background, or the strumming of a lone guitar as the baddies walked into view across the horizon while the little guy trembled and prayed for the hero to ride in and rescue him. Only there was no hero coming to rescue Little Pea from what I could see. Because real life isn’t like the movies, is it? That’s what my mum’s always saying anyway.

I was perched in the middle of the roundabout, cross-legged, filming everything, but trying to pretend my camera was just a mobile phone so nobody would realise. I think I knew that if the Starfish Gang caught me they’d smash my camera – and probably me too. But I thought I was invisible in those days. Invisible and safe. I was wrong on both counts.

Little Pea was acting like he wasn’t worried either. ‘The boys are back! The boys are back!’ he squawked, high-pitched, bird-like, kind of out of tune.

Little Pea was in Year 8 so I suppose that made him about twelve, but he looked no bigger than a nine-year-old. I’d heard someone say he was a fully-grown adult midget; and another who reckoned his mum had been poisoning him and stunted his growth. I’d even heard a rumour that he was an alien or that he’d been abducted by aliens who’d shrunk him on their spaceship! There were a lot of rumours about Little Pea.

Pea wasn’t his real name either, but it kind of suited him because he had this small round face and eyes that looked kind of green in the light, although they were twinkling with what looked like fear now as he stared in the direction of the Starfish Gang.

With my camera perched on my knee, I could catch their shadows as they walked across the concrete, and the white clouds scudding across the high-rise flats behind them. It made them look like they were walking in slow motion. Or maybe that was something they did – another trick to make themselves seem even scarier. Like everyone in the neighbourhood wasn’t scared enough of them already.

No one messed with the Starfish Gang. Even I knew that, and I wasn’t even from around there. Not really. I knew about the drug raps, the robberies, the street wars and stabbings and shootings. And about the army of local kids they had running errands for them all over town. Rumour had it that Shiv, the gang leader, stabbed some kid over in North London, and that Tad, his number two, carried a gun shoved down his left sock.

How did I know? Because I watched and I listened. That’s something all the great film directors do. I read it in an interview in a film magazine: you have to sit in cafes and bus stops and parks and listen to people, find stories. There are stories all around you, all the time, it said. Stories waiting to be told.

So that’s what I used to do, ever since my mum and dad split up anyway. My mum said I needed to stop filming other people’s lives and live my own, but she didn’t get it. That was exactly why I did it: to escape into other people’s stories so I didn’t have to think about my own rubbish life at all.

That day the Starfish Gang strode across the park like they owned it, their jeans hanging so low you could see pretty much all of their boxer shorts, their baseball caps resting on the top of their heads like they were far too small. And at the front was Shiv, the gang leader, skinny like a snake with a face the colour of storm clouds, wearing this long black leather coat that flapped round his ankles. It made him look like a vampire.

He had marks on his cheeks, symmetrical half-moon scars, mirror images below the whites of his pale milky eyes. I think I’d heard someone say he was only seventeen, but his eyes glared like his insides were rotting away in his belly. It made you wonder what he’d seen to make him look that way. Or what he’d done.

He came to a stop about five metres short of the swings and the rest of the gang stopped behind him. Little Pea was still chirruping away. Shiv just stood there and stared at him – totally still, like you see lions doing on those wildlife programmes when they’re about to pounce. There was a pause – it’s just a couple of beats when you watch it back on film – before Pea stopped singing and fluttered down off the swing. He was grinning as if he was their puppy dog, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes and they were bright as buttons and blinking like mad.

‘Whatcha, Shiv?’ he chirped. He was doing a funny dance thing, like a cross between Riverdance and body-popping, and grinning nervously.

Shiv stayed silent. From the railway track that runs alongside the park came a distant ringing: that sound the rails make when a train is coming close.

‘Whassup, Shiv-man?’ Pea squeaked. ‘What can I do for you, my main man, eh?’ He was doing a moonwalk on the hot concrete now, in a pair of dirty white trainers with a Nike tick drawn on in pen.

‘You, blud!’ Shiv hissed. He took a step forward and Pea stopped dancing. ‘You’re whassup!’

‘Why? What I done?’ said Little Pea, mouth still grinning, but his eyes flicking from side to side.

‘You know what you done,’ Shiv said, taking another step forward. Pea darted backwards, tripping up over his feet. His fake trainers looked weirdly big for his tiny body.

‘My cousin Pats got a beating cos of you, boy!’ Shiv went on, tipping his head to one side and staring so hard at Pea he looked like he could pin him up against the fence just with his eyes.

‘Hey, no way, Shiv-man!’ Pea protested, wriggling backwards some more. ‘I wasn’t even there when it happen, bro!’

‘Ex-act-ly!’ said Shiv, spitting out each syllable. His eyes were thin black slits just like a snake, poised, ready to attack. ‘You were s’posed to be on lookout, but the minute you see trouble you ghosted yourself away, innit?’

‘No way,’ said Pea, a high click of fear in his sing-song voice now. ‘I did jus’ what you tell me, Shiv-man.’

‘Yeah?’ Shiv’s eyes widened just a fraction, the two black slits dark ovals for a moment. ‘So why you do a runner when you seed the police comin’, instead of soundin’ the warnin’?’

Pea’s face was flushed and there were little beads of sweat on his pinched cheeks. ‘I never see dem comin’, Shiv,’ he squealed. ‘They snuck up on me. I dittn’t have no time to warn you!’ His eyes were sparkling like Christmas lights and it was impossible to tell if he was lying or not.

‘Not much of a lookout who don’t see nuttin’, eh?’ Shiv snarled, taking another step forward, a swaying movement in his long black coat.

Behind him the rest of the Starfish Gang were lounging up against the swings, watching. Shiv’s right-hand man, Tad, was standing on the kiddie swing, rocking gently. ‘You need glasses?’ he called out to Little Pea. ‘Or mebbe you was too busy savin’ you own self to bother lookin’ out for nobody else?’

Pea stuttered out a few squeaky vowels, like a car engine that wouldn’t start, then spluttered into silence. Shiv was up so close to him now they were almost touching. The sound of the approaching train wailed louder on the tracks, an insistent whine cutting through the searing heat of the day.

Shiv glanced around quickly. Looking for something? Checking the coast was clear? And, as his eyes swung over the roundabout, he clocked me sitting there and his eyes narrowed. Quick as a flash, I pretended I was texting on my ‘phone’. Shiv stared at me for a moment before scanning over towards the gate.

I let out a sigh of relief and I probably should have just stopped filming then and disappeared, but I didn’t. I guess I knew I wasn’t really invisible, but I think I still thought I was safe. My mum was always going on about parallel universes. She said London was full of them, all existing side by side, but never really noticing each other. The Starfish Gang and Shiv and Little Pea belonged to one universe and I belonged to another and I thought that meant they couldn’t touch me.

Shiv’s snake eyes swung back to Little Pea.

‘I stayed right where you told me, Shiv, I swear!’ Little Pea yabbered on. His big fake Nikes jigged up and down on the ground as he spoke. He couldn’t seem to keep still. ‘Mebbe my eyes is goin’ cack. Mebbe I needs to take myself down the op-ti-cian, but I promise I don’t see nuttin’. I dittn’t see da feds comin’.’

‘You see who give my cousin Pats a beatin’ then?’ Shiv hissed.

‘No, Shiv. He was fine when I see him.’

‘Cos someone hurt him bad,’ said Shiv, eyes boring into Pea like he was the one who’d done it. ‘Someone put him in hospital and they gonna pay for it, unnerstand?’

‘Yeah, I unnerstand,’ Pea said, head nodding frantically like those toy dogs you sometimes see in car windows.

‘So, if you saw who done it, you bes’ tell me, right?’ Shiv glowered at Pea and, out of the blue, I remembered another thing I’d heard about him: that he’d smacked his own mum once, so hard he broke her jaw. I didn’t know for definite if that was true – there were as many rumours about Shiv as there were about Pea – but looking at him then it was easy to believe.

Suddenly Shiv’s hand was in his pocket and then in one swift movement it was up close to Little Pea’s face. Little Pea squirmed and wriggled like a fish in a net and for a second I couldn’t make out what was going on. And then I saw the narrow blade in Shiv’s hand, pressed up against Pea’s cheek, gleaming against the scars that ran over it.

If you watch the film, you can hear me gasp when that happens. Shiv might be named after the knife people say he cut the scars on his own face with, but I was still shocked when he pulled it out. And that was when we had the proper ‘movie magic’ moment. The little blade caught the light and sent a disc of fire flashing into my camera lens, obscuring everything in a haze of white. Then, as the viewfinder cleared, I caught sight of the New Kid.

I’d never seen him before, but I knew right away he wasn’t from Coronation Road. Not because he looked different exactly. It was just the way he kept walking, like he hadn’t noticed anything was up. Like he didn’t have a clue who the Starfish Gang were. He was walking right into the middle of a war zone and didn’t seem to realise it.

There was a perfect backdrop to the scene. The grass behind him was yellow and sparse, and beyond that there was a view over the whole of Coronation Road, over the terraces and shops and the miles of tower blocks towards the city in the distance. You could even see the giant wheel of the London Eye nestled between the skyscrapers and the white clouds. And the New Kid had the sun shining on him as he walked towards us, just like the hero in a cowboy movie.

Shiv hadn’t spotted him yet and neither had the rest of the Starfish boys, but Little Pea had, and his eyes widened in surprise. The New Kid was only about ten metres away, but he had on a massive pair of headphones and seemed lost in his own world. He had a face like chocolate sunshine, I thought. I wanted to call out to stop him, but something made me hesitate.

‘You gonna ansa me or what?’ Shiv hissed. The blade was tight against Little Pea’s neck. ‘You gonna tell me who put my cousin Pats in hospital or am I gonna do da same for you?’

‘Um . . .’ said Pea, looking desperately around him like somebody might be able to give him the right answer. Like he could phone a friend or click his heels together and go up in a puff of smoke. He glanced at me and at a couple of little kids who were playing over in the mucky sandpit.

The sun was shining directly on Pea so the mass of tiny scars on his cheeks, similar to Shiv’s, stood out clearly like chickenpox craters only more symmetrical. Even his scalp, beneath his closely shaved head, was criss-crossed with pale scar lines, like someone had drawn them on with something sharp, or splattered hot wax all over him.

The train was close by, its screech staining the air with noise. And I knew deep in my stomach that it wasn’t right to be filming this. That standing by and letting it happen was wrong. But that was when I realised that the New Kid had stopped and was staring. Shiv and the Starfish boys still hadn’t clocked him, but he’d seen them and he had this look on his face – not scared, but sort of angry, and also something else I couldn’t make out.

Little Pea started to giggle, a hiccupy, high-pitched giggle, as the train came hurtling along the track. And suddenly Shiv grabbed him and pushed him up against the railings so his massive feet were dangling just above the ground and he was choking, spluttering, coughing. He cried out and I saw a thin trickle of red run down his neck and drop on to his trainers.

Then the New Kid was right behind Shiv, pulling him off Pea. The train was still going past, roaring behind their heads. And I definitely should have stopped filming then. If I had then maybe things wouldn’t have gone like they did. But I kept the camera rolling as the New Kid grabbed Shiv by the collar and pushed him up against the railings while Pea fell to the ground and slithered out of the way, like a small animal. I was frightened suddenly; my heart was racing so hard I swear you can hear it on the film.

The New Kid looked younger than Shiv – my sort of age, fourteen, fifteen maybe – and smaller too, with cocoa-brown skin, eyes like pebbles and an open face that could not have been more different to the sly, bolting, mad look on Shiv’s. Shiv was panting fast; the New Kid had taken him by surprise. And he might have been smaller than Shiv, but he was strong, because Shiv couldn’t seem to push him off. But the weirdest thing was that he didn’t look frightened at all; he just looked gutted, totally gutted, and I remember thinking: heroes aren’t supposed to look like that, are they? Not when they’re riding in to save the day.

There was a pause – 4.6 seconds it lasts on the film loop. Shiv stopped struggling and just glared down at the New Kid who stared right back at him, and neither of them said a word. No one else dared say anything either. Tad and the rest of the Starfish Gang were a few metres behind the New Kid, standing in a line, fists balled, unmoving. Pea was still sprawled out on the ground, watching. Nobody moved a muscle. I guess nobody had ever seen anyone get the better of Shiv before and we were all waiting to see what would happen next.

After 4.7 seconds, the New Kid let go so fast that Shiv’s knees buckled. Then the New Kid shrugged his shoulders and started walking away. I think he said something, but you can’t make it out on the film because there was a siren wailing in the background. Shiv caught it though. His face flashed with a spasm of anger and for a second it looked as if he was going to lunge at the New Kid. He didn’t. He just pulled himself upright and stared, like he could stab him with his eyes.

‘Come on.’ The New Kid was offering a hand to Pea, who was still sprawled on the floor among the broken glass and the empty crisp packets and old tin cans.

But Little Pea looked up at him and gave him this weird grin. He glanced at Shiv then back at the New Kid’s outstretched hand. Then he shook his head and giggled in his strange, tinny way. ‘No way, crazy boy!’

The New Kid sighed, like he hadn’t expected Pea to take his hand anyway. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said with a shrug.

Shiv started to laugh. His pale eyes were glinting and his laughter was hard and angry. ‘Hey, come on, Little Pea,’ he crooned. ‘Come to mamma!’

In the movies the little guy never goes running back to the villain. Not after the hero has rescued him from mortal peril. But Little Pea seemed to have forgotten that Shiv had been about to stick him with a knife two minutes before. He just jumped up and trotted over obediently. Shiv stood up and brushed down his long leather coat, staring the whole time at the New Kid, who stared right back.

The rest of the Starfish Gang were still lined up a few metres away. Tad looked like a dog straining on a leash, waiting for a nod from Shiv to tell him to rip the New Kid’s throat out.

And Pea? He was jiggling on the spot like he needed a wee, and that was when he glanced in my direction and noticed my camera. I quickly pretended to send a text again, but not before I saw his beady eyes widen, just a fraction. Then he looked me right in the eye and grinned. And I could tell he knew.

The New Kid was pulling his earphones back on to his head and walking backwards in the direction of the park gates, his eyes all the time on Shiv.

From over by the swings Tad grunted, ‘You gonna jus’ let him walk away, Shiv? You gonna let him disrespec’ you like that and walk outta here with his head still on his shoulders?’ He was pumped up, ready for a fight, although his luminous white skin and pale eyelashes made him look a bit like a ghost.

But Shiv just stood there, watching the New Kid until he reached the gate. Then he called after him. ‘Bes’ watch your back from now on, boy!’

When you watch that bit of film you can tell – just like everyone in the park could tell – that the New Kid was dead meat. A marked man. Kaboom.

SCENE 3: CORONATION ROAD LIBRARY

I’ve always loved films. I love the stories and the music, but most of all I love the pictures: the close-ups, the long panoramic shots, the follow shots, even the blurry hand-held ones. I love the way the pictures tell the story, more than the words themselves. Me and words don’t always get on very well. Like me and real life.

My dad got me a little digital video camera just before he and my mum split up. I think he knew he was going to leave; maybe that’s why he bought it. Anyway, it was the best present ever. It was tiny – looked a bit like a smartphone and fitted into my pocket – but I could make proper movies with it. I don’t think I went out anywhere without it since the day he gave it to me. He said I’d be the next Spielberg. My mum said it was just another thing for me to hide behind. I think they had a row about that as well. Two weeks later he left.

That’s when I started filming everything. It felt like my life had fallen to pieces, so I started watching the world second hand through the lens instead. I filmed meals, train journeys, my feet on the pavement, the leaves in the garden. I even filmed the TV while I was watching it. I stopped looking directly at anything. And it made life so much less sharp, less painful. And more beautiful.

At school it meant I didn’t have to talk to anyone. There’s not much to make a film about at boarding school so mainly it kept me safe, cut off. But in the holidays, when I came back to London, my mum worked all the time and my dad had moved to New York so there was nothing for me to do but make movies.

I saw the New Kid the next day, down at the library. He was in the teenage books section, curled up on one of the big armchairs with a pile of books a mile high stacked up next to him. I could see one of the librarians giving him a funny look, like he shouldn’t be there, like he didn’t belong. But he was so deeply engrossed in what he was reading he didn’t even notice.

It was funny, running into him like that – the sort of thing that normally only happens in the movies – especially since I realised I’d been hoping I’d see him again, the hero kid with the death wish.

I watched him for a bit, and it made me smile. He looked like he was miles away in his head, like he’d totally forgotten real life even existed. I don’t get that with books. Films, yes, but I’m dyslexic so words on a page jump around and won’t stick in my head.

The New Kid didn’t even notice when a group of mums and toddlers started gathering for a storytelling session nearby, until the librarian lady went over and asked him to move. Then he looked up like he’d just resurfaced from a deep-sea dive. His brown eyes were like wet, faraway pebbles.

‘Oh, yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’ He scrambled up, gathered his books and made his way over to the front desk.

So I followed him. I didn’t film him, but I just sort of hung out nearby while he tried to check out his books.

‘I’m sorry, but if you want to register for the library you need to bring your parent or guardian with you,’ the lady behind the desk was saying in a posh, crinkly voice that didn’t really fit with the way she looked – lumpy cardigan, hair the colour of mildew, tired eyes.

‘But my mum works,’ the New Kid was saying. ‘She works, like, all the time.’

‘Your father then?’

The New Kid frowned when she said this. His pebble eyes went blank and I wished I’d been filming then so I could catch his expression.

‘No worries,’ he said, putting the books down on the desk and pulling his massive earphones back on to his head. ‘I’ll just leave it.’

He went out into the lobby then and called the lift. I kept following him, because he had somehow become the hero of my film and I needed to see how his story panned out.

The lift doors hovered open and I jumped in just before they closed. I stared at the New Kid’s feet, and his hands which seemed empty without a book in them.

‘Are you following me?’

I jumped. He was looking at me and I felt myself go bright red. The lift was probably halfway down. ‘No,’ I murmured.

He tugged his earphones off and looked at me even harder than before.

‘I saw you in the park yesterday, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘When it all kicked off. You were there.’

I could feel myself going pinker by the minute. I gave a sort of shrug.

The lift doors opened. We both hesitated, then the New Kid stepped back to let me go out first, like my dad always does. Did.

‘Thanks,’ I said quietly, avoiding his eye as we both stepped out into the lobby and headed towards the exit.

‘Seriously, are you some kind of spy or what?’ said the New Kid, when we reached the glass doors. He had a look in his eyes that might have been a challenge or might have been amusement.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. The words came out way posher sounding than I meant them to.

The New Kid gave me another weird look then turned round and shrugged as he stepped out on to the concrete outside.

Coronation Road Library is an award-winning design, my dad told me once. It’s built in the shape of a C – for Coronation Road – and it’s all multicoloured glass and chrome. Outside, in the curve of the C, is a courtyard scattered with these giant stone globes, some half submerged in the concrete, some barely rising out of the surface, and all covered in tiny multicoloured tiles. There are some strange metal benches that look more like sculptures than seats, and they’re dead uncomfortable. Some people hate that library – my mum included – but my dad and I like the shapes, the way they intersect with the sky and the rubble and the estate that runs for miles behind them.

The New Kid plonked himself down on one of the funny sculpture benches. ‘You want to join me?’ he asked, looking up and staring me right in the eye.

I hesitated for a second before I said, ‘Um, OK.’

So I perched next to him and we sat there, watching the pigeons and not saying much. He definitely wasn’t your typical hero, this skinny, smiley-faced bookworm, who went around saving kids from being stabbed in the park. But there was something about him, some kind of quality which seemed to shine out of him, even here, surrounded by litter and concrete.

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.

‘Do what?’ said the New Kid.

I bit my lip nervously. ‘Um, help Little Pea in the park yesterday.’

‘Is Little Pea the boy with the big shoes?’

I nodded and waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, so I said, ‘So why did you then? Do it?’

He shrugged and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. It had been one of the hottest summers on record. There had been no rain for so many weeks that everyone had forgotten what a cloudy sky looked like. ‘Probably cos I’m an idiot,’ he said.

‘I thought you were brave,’ I said, feeling my cheeks burning again. ‘I never saw anyone stand up to the Starfish Gang before.’

‘Maybe. It was still stupid,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘I promised my mum two things: to stay out of trouble and always brush my teeth.’ He turned to me with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And what do I go and do? Get myself in a whole heap of trouble first week of the school holidays.’

I wanted to ask him why his mum made him promise to stay out of trouble, but I didn’t want him to think I was prying into his business, so I just said, ‘Your teeth look OK.’

He grinned with his big sunshine smile, properly this time, and I found myself smiling back.

‘Who did you say those other kids were anyway?’ he asked. ‘The ones who were beating on Pea or whatever you say his name is?’

‘The Starfish Gang?’ I said, staring down at my thin, grubby fingers. ‘And the boy with the knife is called Shiv. Shiv Karunga.’

The New Kid looked down at the tatty Vans on his feet and frowned.

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ I said.

A shadow passed over his eyes and he said quickly, ‘It’s none of your business where I’m from.’

‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.

He sighed again. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just . . .’ He hesitated, then said something I wasn’t expecting. ‘You filmed it all, right?’

My fingers curled tightly round the camera in my pocket.

‘I saw you with a camera so I figured maybe you filmed what happened.’

He was looking me up and down and I wondered what I looked like to him: a skinny, purple-haired girl with a face like a freckly elf, wearing an ET T-shirt, boys’ surfing shorts and massive cherry-red boots.

He had the kind of face you couldn’t lie to, so I just nodded.

‘You got it with you then?’

I pulled my camera out of my pocket and passed it to him, looking down at my hands again.

‘Cool,’ he said, checking it out. He flicked it on and pressed the play button. The footage I’d taken in the park yesterday appeared on the tiny screen and his own face came into view – close up, with that gutted-and-something-else expression I couldn’t make out.

His brow furrowed as he watched, but he didn’t say anything. He let it play for another thirty seconds or so then turned it off.

‘Yup, I’m an idiot!’ he said, handing it back to me. ‘So do you always go around filming people when they’re not looking?’

‘I didn’t exactly mean to,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’m sort of making a movie.’

‘Serious?’ He looked genuinely interested.

‘There’s this competition,’ I found myself saying, ‘for young film-makers, and I want to enter it.’

I shrugged and looked down at my beloved cherry-red, steel-cap DM boots, with a sad face Tippexed on one foot and a happy face on the other. My mum hated those boots so I wore them every single day, even when it was blisteringly hot and my feet were totally boiling like they were that day. I think I’d have worn them in bed if I could.

‘What’s it about?’ he asked. ‘Your film.’

‘I’m not exactly sure yet,’ I said. My face felt as red as my boots. ‘I don’t really have a story. I just film stuff.’

‘What sort of stuff ?’

My toes wiggled uncomfortably. ‘Just stuff around here. The Coronation Road, the Starfish Estate. Inner-city kids living in parallel universes. That kind of thing.’

‘Right,’ he said, looking at me curiously for a second. ‘Um – why?’

I scrunched up my toes some more. If I told him the whole story, I’d have to tell him about my mum, and about dad leaving and everything. So I just said, ‘I don’t know really. It’s just what there is around here.’

He grinned again unexpectedly. I figured if anyone’d been filming us right then we’d have looked an odd couple. Then he said something else I wasn’t expecting. ‘I could help, you know?’

I tried not to look as freaked out as I felt when I said, ‘Really?’ But I don’t think I exactly managed it.

‘Yeah. I like stories. Words, you know? Maybe I could help with that bit.’

‘Right,’ I said, chewing my lip some more.

‘And my mum said to keep out of trouble,’ he went on. ‘So maybe I can help you keep out of trouble too? Cos, you know, it’s really not a good idea to go around filming guys like Shiv.’ His eyes clouded a little as he said the last bit.

The Tippex faces on the toes of my boots seemed to wink up at me. ‘My dad reckons filming keeps me out of mischief,’ I said.

And I remembered the ‘chat’ we had on the day he walked out. ‘Keep filming. Keep out of mischief. Look after your mother for me,’ he’d said, like he was just going away on holiday, not leaving us for good. Then he’d given me one of his big hugs and walked out of the door.

‘Yeah?’ the New Kid said, giving me a funny look like he was trying to read the thoughts in my head. ‘Well, maybe we can do it together. Look out for each other, you know? And make a movie at the same time.’

I looked really hard at him, disbelieving suddenly. Why did someone like him want to hang out with me? ‘Seriously?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘You do the pictures, I do the words and we both do the film-star bit!’

I smiled and twisted my fingers tightly round the camera. The sun was shining on the New Kid’s face, making his chocolate skin glow and his Afro hair look like a halo round his head.

‘So what’s your name, director girl?’ he asked.

‘Maggie,’ I said. Then I added quickly, ‘Only that’s not my real name.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘OK . . . um, what’s your real name then?’

‘Emmeline Margaret,’ I said quickly. ‘My mum thought I might be the pioneering type. You know, like Margaret Thatcher or Emmeline Pankhurst, the suffragette lady. Only nobody’s ever called me that. They just call me Maggie.’

‘Right. Well, Maggie’s a good name. Suits you.’

‘Thanks,’ I nodded.

‘I’m Tokes,’ he said. ‘Just Tokes.’

And then the New Kid – who was called Tokes, just Tokes – smiled. And I think maybe that’s when we first became friends.

SCENE 4: OUTSIDE THE LIBRARY

‘You are so dead!’

We both turned round and there was Little Pea, scrambling out from behind a load of wheelie bins and skipping towards us across the concrete. He had a brand-new black eye, but he was grinning widely. When he reached us, he did a little ballet hop then jumped to a standstill in front of our bench.

‘Seriously, you pair is already in body bags, innit!’ he squeaked with a flick of his head like he was performing a girl-band dance routine.

‘Right,’ said Tokes as Pea jiggled on the spot in front of us. ‘And there’s me thinking you’d come to thank me for saving your skin yesterday! How did you even find us?’

Pea giggled and flicked his head again, but didn’t answer Tokes’s question. ‘Like I’m gonna thank you for jumpin’ off a cliff an’ takin’ me wit’ you,’ he said, talking in his too-loud, too-fast, little-kid voice.

I looked at his black eye and wondered if any of the things I’d heard about him were true – the stuff about the jungle magic and juju and his mum trying to beat the devil out of him in church.

‘Your girlfrien’ tell you who you mess wit’ yesterday, man?’ Pea was saying, nodding and winking in my direction.

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ said Tokes, shooting me a quick look.

‘If you say so!’ Little Pea just winked at me again and said, ‘Anyways, she probably already tell you that you nearly got me killed wit’ your meddlin’.’

‘Way I remember it, I rescued you from Shiv,’ said Tokes. He spoke differently when he was talking to Pea. He sounded more, I dunno, like a kid from the streets rather than a guy who read piles of books in a library.

‘I had it all under control!’ said Pea breezily.

‘Sure you did, kid,’ said Tokes.

‘Hey! Who you callin’ kid?’ Pea was still grinning like a maniac, and pretending to punch the air like a boxer. He seemed to be totally enjoying this. ‘Don’t you know to judge a man by his shoe size, an’ these takkies tell you I twelve years old, man. Nearly a teenager me, innit.’

Tokes raised an eyebrow in surprise as Pea waggled his fake Nikes in the air, but he said nothing.

‘How old is you anyway, alien boy?’ demanded Little Pea.

‘I’m fifteen,’ said Tokes. ‘And I’m no alien.’

‘Well, you like an alien in this hood, bruv!’ said Pea. ‘Anyone can see that. An’ you gonna get yourself killed too if you keep takin’ on da locals. Which hood you from anyway?’

‘None of your business,’ said Tokes quickly. Too quickly, just like he’d jumped down my throat earlier when I’d asked the same question.

‘Hey, don’t go chewin’ my head off, space boy!’

‘Tokes,’ I said quietly.

‘You what?’ said Pea, turning to me again with a funny little head movement. Honestly, I’d never seen a kid as fidgety as he was. Like a toddler, or a dog with fleas. ‘You say summat, posh girl?’

‘His name is Tokes,’ I said. ‘And I’m Maggie.’

Little Pea gave us each a look then folded up with giggles. His laugh was high-pitched, like a little girl’s. ‘An’ I’m Little Pea, es-quire, at your ser-vice,’ he said with a low bow, followed by a bit of a moonwalk. ‘What kind of stupid name is Tokes anyway?’

‘No more stupid than Little Pea!’ Tokes retorted.

‘Hey! Pea is short for Paris!’ Pea went on. ‘My mamma, she wanted to name me after Michael Jackson’s kid. Only she got da girl’s name by mistake.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘You think I gonna lie to you ’bout my own name?’ he said, with a hint of a challenge in his voice. ‘It ain’t every twelve-year-old midget can carry off a girl’s name an’ still stay mega-dope cool like me! Be-lieve!’

‘Pea’s good,’ said Tokes with a shrug. ‘It’s . . . enigmatic.’

For some reason the long word didn’t sound odd coming out of his mouth. He made it sound like a jewel, multicoloured and shiny and perfect. But Pea was looking at him suspiciously. I guessed not many people used big words around Pea. Or said nice things to him for that matter.

‘You swallow a dictionary or summat?’ he said.

‘He likes books,’ I said quietly.

‘Oh yeah!’ said Pea, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree suddenly. ‘An’ you like movies, innit.’

‘What?’ I said, flushing hotly.

‘Yeah, I see you, all lights, camera, action! in da park yesterday!’ Pea lurched back into another moonwalk with a massive grin. ‘Hey! How cool was Shiv’s face when Mr T-bone here had him against da wall?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You think nobody clocked your little filmin’ stunt?’ said Little Pea. ‘Cos these eyes see everyt’ing, I tell you! Figure you don’t want me to tell Shiv ’bout it, am I right?’

‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Tokes.

‘Cos you know you gonna get yourself a ticket to da morgue if you keep filmin’ da Starfish boys, right?’ said Pea, looking straight at me with his eyes that flickered and danced as much as his crazy feet.

‘That’s what I told her,’ said Tokes quietly.

‘If Shiv find out you got footage of da T-man disrespectin’ him, he ain’t gonna be best pleased. Mr Shiv value his hard-man rep-u-ta-tion! An’ you, boy, you already got a price on your head for dissin’ da Shiv-man on his turf,’ said Pea, grinning at Tokes like he’d forgotten it was all his fault Tokes was in trouble in the first place. ‘So, if Shiv find out ’bout Spielberg’s little film, she good as dead, innit.’

‘Nobody better tell him then, had they?’ said Tokes.

‘Ex-act-ly!’ whispered Little Pea loudly. ‘Bes’ keep it on the down-low. All hush-hush an’ that, right?’

‘Right,’ said Tokes. He gave Little Pea a look, and Pea met it with a grin that didn’t promise anything.

‘Hey! I real good at keepin’ secrets!’ Pea insisted. ‘You see me in da park – even when I got a knife in my face I don’t spill.’

‘Spill what?’ I said.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ said Pea, with a shimmying shrug. ‘If I got intel, I ain’t gonna reveal till it worth my while. That’s all I’m sayin’.’

‘So what’s it gonna take for you to keep quiet about this then?’ said Tokes.

Pea ignored him and turned to me. ‘Way I see it, you wanna buy my silence you gonna have to let me star in your film, innit.’

Tokes looked at him suspiciously. ‘How do you even know she’s making a film?’

‘Ain’t nuttin’ happen in Coronation Road wi’out Little Pea got his eyes on it,’ Little Pea said, his face gleaming.

‘So you were spying on us? Listening into our conversation?’

‘I can’t reveal my sources!’ said Pea with a big grin.

Tokes shook his head and Little Pea went on excitedly, ‘But I wanna be one of them reality TV stars. Only Way is the Starfish, Made in Coronation Road – that sorta thing!’ He looked at me and I couldn’t help thinking that people would totally want to watch him. It was hard to take your eyes off his weird twitchy body and his crazy, mad-as-the-moon little baby face.

‘Seriously?’ Tokes said. ‘That’s what you want in return? To be in our movie?’

‘Da Pea wants what it wants.’ Pea shrugged. ‘I got a good backstory too.’ He kept glancing at me, grinning like we had some kind of secret between us. ‘I ’spect you heard that I’m possessed by da devil, right?’

Tokes raised his eyebrows.

‘She knows, innit,’ Pea said, turning to me. ‘Everyone round here knows I got da devil man in me bones. I got da scars to prove it too.’ He lifted up his top to show his torso. It was etched with more of the tiny scars he had on his face, as well as round red patches. I imagined tracing the indentations with the camera, focusing in on the raised white scar tissue.

‘Who did that to you?’ Tokes demanded.

‘Like I say, I only reveal intel when I ready!’ Pea quickly tugged down his top with a sly grin. ‘But I got other stuff for your film too,’ he said. ‘You know anyt’ing ’bout gangs, alien boy?’

Tokes’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, his eyes suddenly unreadable again. ‘I know about gangs.’

‘Well, there gonna be gang war in Coronation Road real soon,’ Pea said with a manic grin. ‘You hear ’bout Shiv’s cousin Pats, yeah? He got seriously mashed yesterday, an’ now he in hospital with a cracked skull an’ punctured lung. Shiv say they gonna stick da villain what done it,’ Pea went on. ‘Or shoot his fool head off. An’ they not kiddin’ neither. Tad got him a shooter – I seen it.’

‘Right,’ said Tokes, his eyes faraway again like he was remembering something.

‘And I know who did it!’ Pea announced triumphantly.

‘So you did see it happen?’ I said.

Pea glanced around him, like he was playing spies or something, then he whispered loudly, ‘I tell you – Da Pea see everyt’ing!’

‘So why didn’t you tell Shiv?’ said Tokes. ‘He had a knife against your throat.’

‘I had it all unner control!’ said Pea. ‘Until you come along and nearly got me killed. I was gonna tell Shiv who hurt his cuz when the time was right, innit.’

Tokes shook his head in disbelief. ‘So did you?’ he asked. ‘After we left, did you tell him what you saw?’

‘I mighta dropped a few hints!’ Pea giggled. ‘Either way, it not gonna stay secret long. Not around here. Then it all gonna kick off like you would not believe. An’ then you gonna have a well good story for that film of yours, I’m a-tellin’ you.’

I glanced at Tokes who just rolled his eyes.

‘Why?’ I said.

Pea smirked and his eyes twinkled like he had the most delicious and dangerous secret in the world.

‘All I gonna say is this is so much bigger than anyt’ing what ever happen in Coronation Road.’

‘What’s that got to do with her film?’ Tokes asked.

I glanced at him. His eyes had the troubled look I’d seen in the park.

‘Cos it gonna be movie gold, man!’ said Pea. ‘You win an Oscar filmin’ this. It gonna be da war to end all wars.’

Tokes sighed. ‘I’m supposed to be staying out of trouble,’ he said.

‘Well, mebbe you shoulda thought of that before you take on Shiv in da park, man,’ said Pea with another giggle. ‘But since you was tryin’ to help out Da Pea – stop me from turnin’ into a mushy pea – I’m givin’ you a tip-off. An’ cos you new round here and I kinda like you, even though you a crazy fool.’

Tokes rolled his eyes. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go.’ He turned to me with a question in his eyes, like he was saying, ‘You coming or what?’

‘Mebbe I come wit’ youse,’ Pea cut in, his voice anxious suddenly, like a little kid who’s desperate to be friends. ‘Hangin’ out wit’ a pair of future corpses should be fun, innit.’

Tokes frowned again and I got the feeling that he didn’t like this, but then he hesitated and glanced at the ground, as if he’d remembered something again.

‘Sure,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Just don’t go expecting me to rescue you next time.’

‘You a funny man!’ said Little Pea with a pleased grin spreading over his face. ‘I can handle myself, innit. Don’t need no one to rescue Little Pea.’ He was defiantly hopping on one leg and flinging a few upper-cut punches into the air in front of him. ‘I look out for myself – always have. Ain’t no one gonna mess wit’ me!’

‘If you say so,’ said Tokes.

‘Come on then!’ said Pea. ‘Let’s make a movie.’ He grinned at me like we were best friends suddenly. ‘An’ mebbe, just mebbe, if you treat me nice, I tell you da biggest secret in Coronation Road.’

SCENE 5: CORONATION ROAD

So that’s how the three of us ended up walking up Coronation Road on a boiling-hot day in August. Tokes went striding ahead like he was already regretting saying Pea could come, while Little Pea skipped along at my side.

‘Nice hairdo,’ he said, smirking. ‘Same purple rinse as my granny!’

I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.

‘Like the boots too,’ he said. ‘You do dem yourself ?’

‘Did you do your trainers yourself too?’ I muttered, nodding down at his fake Nikes.

‘Ooh, the white film chick got attitude!’ he said, clicking his fingers excitedly.

I looked at him and he looked at me and he held my gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Then he giggled. ‘You know I got what it takes to be a film star, dontcha? Even if alien boy don’t recognise my star quality yet.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

Pea did a little hop like I’d just told him he’d won an Oscar. ‘You jus’ wait, gran’ma!’

Tokes turned round, caught my eye and then frowned at Little Pea. He looked worried, but he didn’t say anything.

Coronation Road is the main artery running through that part of London and it’s where all the parallel universes collide. There are Ghanaian groceries selling plantains and mealiepap and tiny smelly fish; Caribbean meat stalls with goats’ heads on the wall and ox tongues on giant platters of ice, blood swilling out over the pavement. There are Asian silk shops and tiny Japanese booths selling every type of international calling card. There are pound shops and pawnbrokers; wig shops with windows full of rainbow-coloured hair extensions and skin-lightening creams; nail bars with jewel-encrusted talons – rows and rows of them, glimmering on display. And in among all these are the chain stores, struggling for air, not so high and mighty here. The only thing the shops have in common, my dad said, is that they all have the grumpiest, most unhelpful shop assistants you’ve ever come across in your life. We used to laugh about that all the time. My dad always used to be able to make me laugh – it’s the thing I miss most since he’s gone.

And anything can happen on Coronation Road. People deal drugs in broad daylight, sell knock-off videos, braid hair, cure toothache, piss, pray, break up, make up. I heard one couple got married there once, outside Fry-days Fish and Chip Bar, and that a baby was born on the floor of Beyoncé Hair and Beauty. I even heard that the Queen and her sister visited when they were little girls, and half the road got bombed to rubble in the Blitz. Basically, Coronation Road is like a film set with a million storylines and that’s why I love it more than any other place on earth.

‘So what you gonna call your film, huh?’ Pea squeaked excitedly. ‘I was thinkin’ mebbe Stars of the Starfish ? Whatcha think?’

‘I don’t really know yet,’ I muttered.

‘Me, I born an’ bred on da Starfish Estate, innit,’ Pea went on, nodding towards the square mile of tower blocks behind the library at the other end of Coronation Road. ‘Cut me in half, you find “Starfish” written down da middle of me like a stick of rock. Not like Mr T here,’ he chirped. ‘He got another hood tattooed on his blood, I reckon.’

Tokes didn’t turn round, but I could see the muscles in the back of his neck tensing.

‘Chill out, man,’ said Little Pea who seemed to be enjoying Tokes’s unease. ‘Jus’ makin’ small talk, innit.’ Then he turned to me and winked. ‘No need to tell me where you live, Hollywood, cos everyone know that.’

Tokes turned at that and walked backwards, like he felt he needed to keep an eye on Pea, like he didn’t trust him not to stab him in the back. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘How you know where she lives?’

Little Pea smirked and let out a loud laugh that was too big for his tiny body. ‘No way!’ I felt my cheeks hotter than ever as Pea’s face lit up with a delighted grin. ‘You tellin’ me he don’t even know ’bout your mamma?’

I glared at him, but I knew there was no point; he was bursting to tell and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

‘She dittn’t tell you her mamma is bessie mates with da Prime Minister?’ Pea squeaked on, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.

Tokes was still looking at me, but I just stared down at my boots, wishing I could disappear into the cherry-red faces.

‘She probably BFFs with Her Majesty da Queen too,’ said Pea. ‘Am I right?’

Tokes was still looking at me. ‘Is he serious?’

‘Sort of,’ I muttered. ‘She’s an MP.’

‘Dat mean Member of Par-lia-ment!’ Pea announced.

‘I know what it means,’ said Tokes, giving him a look. Then he turned back to me and said, ‘That’s pretty cool.’

‘It is so not cool!’ I muttered quickly.

‘She bit touchy ’bout it, I thinkin’,’ said Pea. ‘Mebbe dat why she makin’ a film ’bout how rubbish it is in her mamma’s hood. It a party political broadcast to make her mamma look bad!’

‘That’s not what I’m doing!’ I said, but I could feel my face flushing because he was right, in a way.

‘If you say so, girlfrien’!’ said Pea with a jerky hand gesture. ‘Don’t take a spy to figure out you an’ your mamma don’t exactly got da mother-daughter love t’ing nailed.’

Tokes was still walking backwards and he was staring at me in a confused sort of way. Pea had a massive grin on his face.

‘I hate my mum,’ I said quietly.

‘Told you!’ said Pea. ‘An’ what I hear, your dad not around no more neither. I right?’

‘My dad’s cool,’ I muttered. ‘My mum drove him away.’

‘See! Da Pea know everyt’ing!’ said Pea excitedly.

Tokes looked like he was about to ask me something, but then Pea stopped suddenly. We were outside Choudhary’s Electrical Store. The sign said: TVs, stereos, PCs and electrical. Sales and upgrades.

The Choudharys who own the store lived down the road from us and were probably the only friendly shopkeepers in the whole of Coronation Road. They were also the only people I’d really got to know – until I met Tokes that is. There was a power cut on the street once and my mum wasn’t around so I knocked on loads of the neighbours’ doors to see if they had any candles and the Choudharys were the only ones who were home. When they found out I was on my own, they invited me in and Mrs Choudhary gave me sweet honey cake while Mr Choudhary talked to me about Islam and high-definition cameras. He showed me how to use his old Super 8 camera and admitted that he used to be a bit of an amateur film-maker himself.

‘In my younger days I fancied myself the next Hitchcock!’ he said, laughing through his big furry moustache and offering me more sticky cake.

I remember that their front room smelt of incense and paprika and happiness. There was an old grandma who sat in an armchair by the window and didn’t say much, just nodded and smiled, and an assortment of daughters and sisters and aunts who came and went while I was there – all smiling, all dressed in beautiful, glimmering silks.

And then, right at the end, their son – the one I can see behind the counter now – came in. His name was Ishmael and he looked a bit like a Bollywood heart-throb, even though his hair was going a bit thin on top. He wasn’t very old, early twenties maybe, and I remember he was wearing cricket whites with big grass stains on the knees. When he offered me his hand to shake, I blushed and all the words in my head disappeared. Then the lights came back on and I realised I was still holding his hand and staring up into his dark black Bollywood eyes. Later he walked me back to our house and my heart was beating so fast as I said thank you that the words came out all in the wrong order.

Mr Choudhary and I have sort of become friends since then. I pop into the shop most days when I’m at home and we discuss the latest cameras he’s got in stock. Once Mr Choudhary showed me a film of Ishmael playing cricket. I can still see him, arm raised, red ball in hand, running towards the camera, looking right at me. ‘Like a young Shoaib Akhtar,’ his father said. ‘Only with less hair.’

Ishmael always says hello to me very politely and occasionally he tries to chat to me, but I always go red and can’t look at him properly. Something about his eyes makes my knees go weak and my stomach all wobbly.

Anyway, Pea had stopped outside the shop and his face was pressed up against the grille. My stomach did a little flip when I saw Ishmael behind the counter and I could feel my ears going red and hoped the others hadn’t noticed. But Pea wasn’t even looking at me. He and Tokes were staring at the TV screens in the window. They were all showing images of hooded figures being herded into police vans. The headline beneath said, Rival gangs fight on Starfish Estate. Gang member rushed to hospital in a critical condition.

Pea’s eyes were glued to the screens and a slow grin had spread across his face. ‘See – Shiv’s cousin Pats made da news! He like totes famous now, innit!’

Then another headline ran across the bottom of the screen: Family of injured youth claims he was beaten up by police.

‘Seriously?’ said Tokes, turning to Pea, whose eyes were bright with excitement.

‘What did I tell you?’ Pea hissed under his breath. ‘World War Three!’

‘Did you know about this?’ said Tokes. ‘Is this what you told Shiv? That the police hurt Pats?’

Pea looked up and grinned, but I never got to hear his answer because just then a blast of music sounded from his pocket and he pulled out a vivid pink, jewel-encrusted phone from his grubby jeans and flicked it open.

‘Yeah?’ he said into the handset. ‘Yeah, I seen it . . . Good, innit? You what? Now? OK. OK – I said OK, all right, innit.’

Then he flicked the phone shut and I caught the look in his eyes – they reminded me of old Mrs Choudhary’s, clouded and almost unseeing. But he grinned at me and Tokes and said, ‘’S been a blast, but I gotta shoot. Guess I see ya around – if you still alive that is.’

Then he turned and legged it back up Coronation Road towards the station, nearly slipping on a bucket of icy water spilling out of the butcher’s, before crashing into an old lady with a shopping trolley.

‘Keep filmin’, Hollywood,’ he called as me and Tokes stood watching him skedaddle. ‘Things gonna kick off big time in this hood, I tellin’ you!’

Then he dodged into an alleyway and was gone.

‘He’s mental that kid,’ said Tokes. ‘And he’s gonna get himself killed one day if he keeps hanging out with the Starfish Gang,’ he added, a worried look in his eyes.

‘Maybe he’ll get us killed too,’ I said, self-conscious again suddenly now it was just the two of us.

‘He’s gonna try his best, that’s for sure,’ said Tokes. His face broke into another sunny grin. ‘In the meantime, do you want to, you know, hang out with me for a bit?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we could, um, do some stuff for your film. If you want to.’

It was funny how he said that. Funny in the way things are when you look back on them after other stuff has happened. If I’d known how things were going to turn out, would I have walked away? Anyway, I didn’t. I just shrugged and said, ‘OK. If you want.’

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Where do you want to go?’

SCENE 6: BEHIND THE FISH FACTORY

Next to Coronation Road Station, between the fish factory and a derelict house that looks like a squat, is an abandoned patch of yard. I found it the summer before last when my mum and dad were arguing all the time and I needed somewhere to escape to. But I’d never taken anyone else there before.

We clambered through the hole in the corrugated-iron fence and into the overgrown backyard. It was right behind the station platform and we could hear the announcer going on about some delayed train in a tinny, bored voice. There were so many pigeons roosting up in the netting under the arches that the brickwork was almost completely painted in white pigeon poo, and the stench of fish from the factory was mixed with the smell of old wee and diesel and oil.

But there was an old sofa there, and I’d dragged some other stuff in too: a couple of pots which I’d planted pansies and daisies in, a camping table with only three legs and some faded bunting left over from the Olympics. Tokes looked around him and grinned like I’d just brought him into some kind of palace or something. ‘Cool!’ he said.

‘You like it?’ I asked shyly.

He looked at me and smiled his big smile – all white teeth and twinkly eyes. A proper hero’s smile. ‘I love it!’

‘You’ll be able to stay out of trouble here,’ I said. ‘And they’ll never find us.’

He looked up, alarmed, and his voice was sharp, like I’d pressed on a place that hurt. ‘Who won’t find us?’

‘Um . . . Shiv and his gang – the Starfish,’ I stammered. ‘That’s all I meant. I . . .’

‘Oh.’ Tokes seemed to relax. ‘Them.’ And the way he said it, I wondered who he thought I was talking about. ‘I reckon they always track you down in the end,’ he said, flopping down on the sofa and looking upwards towards the platform. ‘How’d you find this place anyway?’

‘I have a lot of spare time,’ I said with a shrug. ‘And I need somewhere no one else knows about.’

‘Because of your mum and dad?’

I could feel the weird clicky feeling in my throat that I get when I have to think about what happened, but luckily there was no time to answer because I could hear the sound of a train overhead. ‘Duck!’ I yelled, grabbing an old umbrella from behind the sofa. ‘It sounds like a through train.’

‘What?’ said Tokes as I slid on the sofa next to him and pulled the umbrella over both our heads.

‘You’ll see!’

I was pressed up so tight against Tokes I could smell a faint tang of sweat and toothpaste. As the train went thundering through the station above us, suddenly all the pigeons up in the arches started flying about and making a load of noise, and splats of poo fell all around us.

‘The trains make the pigeons poop,’ I yelled.

‘Like poo rain!’ he shouted over the clamour of the train and we both laughed.

‘Does that happen often?’ asked Tokes, grinning from ear to ear once the train had passed.

‘About every ten minutes,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘This is one weird place to hang out, film girl!’

I shoved the umbrella down the back of the sofa.

‘So you want to tell me about your mum?’ he asked.

I wasn’t expecting that.

‘I mean, it must be kind of weird having a mum who’s in the government or whatever,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of cool though.’

‘It’s not cool at all.’

‘Why? I mean, she gets to make the law. She can change stuff – make things better. That’s good, right?’

I bit my lip and tried to explain. ‘I think she cares more about “society” than her own family.’

Tokes didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes watching me.

‘And she only pretends to care about that stuff anyway. All that really matters to her is her career.’ I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this, and my voice came out a bit funny as I spoke. ‘That’s why they split up. My mum and dad.’

‘Because of her job?’

‘Because she puts her career ahead of everything else,’ I said. I remember hearing Dad say that, saying he’d had enough of coming in second place to Downing Street. That was the day he walked out. My funny, brilliant, kind dad who left because of her.

‘So it was your dad who left?’ Tokes said.

‘Last year.’

‘And you figure that’s your mum’s fault?’

I nodded.

Tokes glanced up. He had the questioning look in his eyes again. ‘You ever talk to her about it?’ he asked.

I shrugged. ‘No point.’

Tokes nodded, then after a second he said, ‘You should put it in your film then – maybe.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, although I couldn’t imagine what my mum would do if I said stuff about her in my film and then it won the competition and got shown on TV – which was part of the prize.

‘You miss your dad?’ Tokes asked.

‘Lots.’ I looked up. ‘He’s funny. And he doesn’t nag. He gets me. She doesn’t.’

‘You see him much?’

‘No. He’s in New York now. He sends me stuff all the time and we Skype sometimes.’ I pushed to the back of my mind the thought that we hadn’t spoken for over two weeks. ‘I’m going to go over there soon, he says. We don’t have a date yet, but . . .’

‘But it’s not the same?’

I nodded. Nothing was the same since my dad left.

Tokes’s forehead wrinkled. ‘That’s something we got in common then.’

‘What? Your dad is abroad too?’

‘Sort of.’ He didn’t look up when he said that, just changed the subject. ‘So we gonna make this film or what?’

I tugged my camera out of my pocket, nervous suddenly. ‘I should probably interview you,’ I muttered.

‘Me?’

‘It’s just you’re sort of the main character now,’ I murmured shyly. ‘You know, like the hero. Because of what happened in the park.’

‘Don’t be dumb,’ he laughed, then his face was serious suddenly. ‘I’m the opposite of a hero – trust me.’

‘The way I see it, you’re the hero, Shiv is the villain and Little Pea is the funny man,’ I said. ‘It all kind of fits.’

‘And what does that make you?’ he asked, squinting at me in the sunlight.

I shrugged. ‘The geeky weirdo, I suppose.’

‘She usually turns out to be the star in the end,’ he said with a smile. ‘Doesn’t she?’

‘Not in my case.’

Tokes gave me another of his funny looks then he shook his head and scuffed his feet against the rubbly ground, sending up clouds of dust. ‘And you’re really gonna let Pea be in the film?’

‘He’s good to watch,’ I said.

‘Yeah, but why does he want to be in it?’ said Tokes. ‘A kid like that doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him.’

‘Maybe he just likes performing.’

‘Maybe,’ said Tokes, unconvinced. He glanced up at the pigeons in the netting. ‘Anyway, we’ve got no choice now, because if we don’t let him be in it he’ll try to mess it up for us.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. And if he is in it he’ll probably try to sabotage it anyway! So either way he’s bad news.’

I glanced at Tokes again when he said ‘sabotage’. I liked the way he used words.

‘I know kids like him,’ he said. ‘Magnets for trouble. Can’t help it. They ruin all the good stuff that happens to them.’

‘Maybe he wants a fresh start,’ I said.

‘Maybe,’ said Tokes, but his eyes were clouded with doubt.

‘Well, maybe he just wants to be friends. It doesn’t seem like he has any. Except Shiv and the Starfish Gang.’

‘And they’re not the kind of friends a kid like that needs,’ said Tokes. ‘Believe me, I know.’

I wanted to ask him how he knew, but he had the faraway look in his eyes again.

‘So can I interview you?’ I said instead.

His eyes came back to me and he gave me a look, then said, ‘OK. Fine. I’ll try to be heroic!’

So I pressed a button and the camera beeped into record mode. It looked good: the skinny kid with the sunshine face, sitting on the ripped-up old sofa, with the graffiti and the corrugated iron and the pansies in pots behind him. There was a shaft of dusty sunlight spilling down from the platform above, drawing lines of light through his fuzzy Afro hair.

I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

‘So, um, tell me about yourself,’ I said, putting on a voice like one of those chat-show hosts. ‘Er, what are your hobbies?’

‘I like football,’ he said, uncomfortable suddenly now that the gaze of the lens was turned on him. So I turned the camera down to focus on his feet. His wrecked Vans fitted in with the broken rubble and rubbish scattered all around the den. In the scorching heat the bits of broken glass glowed and looked like they were ready to combust. I moved round in an arc then brought the camera back to focus on his face again.

‘Anything else?’

‘Books,’ he said, still self-conscious. ‘I like reading.’

‘What sort of books?’

‘All sorts,’ he said. ‘Whatever I can get my hands on. My English teacher, Miss Kayacan, she –’ He hesitated like he’d said something he shouldn’t, but then he went on. ‘Anyway, she reckoned I should read some of the classics. Said I should go to the library over the holidays. Only . . .’ He stopped again. ‘Only you saw what happened there because you were following me.’ He shrugged and looked right at the camera.

‘What else?’ I asked.

‘I like school. I want to get a good education.’ He was more serious now, looking down at the rubble, not at the camera. ‘For my mum, you know? She reckons education gives you choices in life. That’s why we moved –’ He broke off again. It was like he was monitoring everything he said.

So I took a deep breath before I asked, ‘So, um, are you going to tell me where you were before then?’

He didn’t jump down my throat this time. ‘Are you gonna put this in the film?’

‘I don’t have to,’ I said.

He looked up at the arches then back at the camera. ‘It’s nowhere really. Just some place in North London, like Pea said.’

‘So why did you move to Coronation Road?’

He sighed then stared hard at me, his face screwed up. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘I don’t have anyone to tell secrets to.’

He grinned but still looked uncertain. ‘OK, well, if I tell you this, you have to swear to keep it between me and you.’ He looked dead serious as he said, ‘Promise?’

I nodded quickly.

‘And you can’t film it either,’ he said.

‘OK.’ I switched off my camera and waited for him to go on.

‘So, my dad,’ he said quietly, looking down at his Vans, his face seemed younger suddenly. ‘The thing is that he was in with the wrong crowd. My mum was worried I’d get dragged in too.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s hard to explain,’ he said, a concentrated expression on his face. ‘But basically stuff happened and one day my mum packed up and we left.’

‘What did your dad say?’

‘He didn’t know,’ said Tokes quickly. ‘We went in the middle of the night so he wouldn’t be able to follow us.’

I didn’t know what to say so I just kept quiet, let him keep talking.

‘My dad’s not a bad man,’ he said, looking up at me now like it was important to him that I believed this. ‘When I was a kid, he taught me how to do keepie-uppies, and how to do wheelies on my bike and all that stuff – he even helped me with my homework when he could, even though he wasn’t too hot on school himself. And he treated my mum good too.’

‘Why did she leave him then?’

I thought of my dad saying, ‘When you’re older, you’ll understand why I’m going, Maggie.’ I wondered if it was the same for Tokes.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ I said.

‘I kind of do,’ he admitted. ‘It’s sort of a relief to tell someone about it, you know?’

I nodded because I knew exactly how it felt to have secrets eating away at your insides. And maybe that’s why he told me, because he could tell I got it – sort of.

‘OK, so it’s hard to explain. My dad was in this gang. A bit like the Starfish, I suppose.’ He hesitated. ‘He wanted to get out, make a new start. But once you’re into all that it’s hard to break free.’

‘Right,’ I said quietly.

‘My mum didn’t want that for me.’ He looked like there was a kind of weight on him as he spoke, pressing on his shoulders. ‘She gave up everything so I could make something of my life. Which is why I can’t let her down.’

I wished I’d still been filming then, so I could have zoomed in on his eyes, focused on the bitter black colour in them as he spoke.

‘Do you miss him?’ I said eventually. ‘Your dad?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. He was cool. Funny. Kind.’

I thought of my own dad then: how he could always make me laugh; how he got me in a way my mum never did.

‘Every time I hear some black man’s been shot or in hospital I always think it could be him.’ Tokes’s brow was furrowed and he had that ‘Do you understand?’ look in his eyes, so I nodded even though I didn’t understand. Not that bit. Not really.

‘You know what the average life expectancy is for a black man involved in gang culture?’ he said suddenly.

I shook my head.

‘Twenty-eight,’ he said. Then he looked down again. ‘My dad’s thirty-two already. He’s been running with the gang since he was fifteen, so he’s already pushed his luck, right?’

I imagined filming figures. A two and an eight. Maybe cut out of newspaper or on somebody’s front door: 28.

‘He’s not a bad person, my dad,’ Tokes said again, like he really wanted to make sure I got it. ‘He just got in with the wrong crowd. Like Pea, I suppose.’

‘So do you think he’ll come looking for you?’

Tokes nodded his head. ‘Probably. It’s not really such a big city. He’s gonna find us sooner or later, isn’t he?’

I looked at him through the viewfinder. His pebble eyes were dark and thoughtful.

‘What’ll happen then?’

Tokes face puckered, like he was holding something inside. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And that’s why you want to stay away from Shiv and the Starfish Gang,’ I said.

He looked up and caught my eye, his face clearing as he said, ‘I’ve got to stay out of trouble. Otherwise my mum’s done all this for nothing.’

I remember him saying that, as clear as if I had it on camera.

Just as if he knew what would happen all along.

SCENE 7: MAGGIE’S HOUSE

Tokes said we needed to film at my house. ‘Contrasts,’ he said. ‘Miss Kayacan reckons you need contrasts in stories because it makes people really notice stuff. I reckon it must be the same in films too.’

So I took him back to my house, but as soon as we got there I wished I hadn’t because I could see right away what he was thinking. We live in this massive, white, double-fronted Georgian mansion with electric gates and a Range Rover parked on a perfect gravel drive out front. Tokes’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he took it all in.

‘Do you want to come in?’ I asked, pausing by the front door, my face flame-red.

‘Um, yeah – sure,’ he said.

I let us in. ‘Hi. It’s only me,’ I called as we stepped into the hallway.

‘Is someone home?’ he asked, looking around nervously like we were in some kind of museum.

‘Only the au pair.’

‘Au pair?’

‘She sort of looks after me,’ I said awkwardly. ‘We get a different one practically every holiday. This one’s called Petra.’

‘Will she mind me being here?’ he asked, talking in a whisper.

‘Petra doesn’t care much what I do,’ I said. ‘She spends most of her time on Skype to the Czech Republic.’

‘Oh,’ he said again. He was acting totally different in our house; even his voice had changed. He was still standing motionless on the doormat. ‘Should I take my shoes off ?’ he asked, glancing at the polished wood flooring.

No shoes in the house – that’s one of my mum’s favourite rules.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Keep them on.’

I led the way into the kitchen which is a huge room at the back of the house with a glass roof and chrome surfaces and a big island in the middle, covered with gleaming appliances.

Tokes let out a little laugh when we stepped into it.

‘What’s funny?’ I asked.

‘It’s just . . . this is twice as big as our whole bedsit.’

‘Oh, right,’ I said, wishing again that I hadn’t brought him. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ I asked. ‘I can get Petra to make a sandwich if you like.’

He was staring at the shiny red fridge with an expression on his face like he was really hungry, but he just said, ‘Nah, I’m good.’

‘You sure?’

‘I said I’m good.’ He looked odd when he said that, like he was suddenly mad at me or something.

‘You’ve got to have a Krispy Kreme doughnut then.’ I grabbed a box out of the fridge and put it down on the kitchen island. ‘My dad sends me a dozen every week.’

Tokes had been gazing up at the glass roof of the kitchen, and out at the garden, but he turned round and stared at the tray of multicoloured glazed doughnuts – pink ones and white ones and one with sprinkles and toffee cubes. ‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘A whole box?’

I shrugged and tried to explain. ‘It’s because I loved them when I was little. Once I ate so many, I was sick.’ I paused, remembering the smell of vomit and doughnuts and shame. Then I said, ‘I think they’re to make up for him not being around, you know?’

‘So do you eat them all?’

I shook my head. ‘I usually end up throwing half of them away.’

‘In that case . . .’ Tokes took a doughnut and bit into it like he hadn’t eaten properly for days. ‘Seems silly to waste them!’ he said, his mouth full of chewy dough. He was looking round the kitchen again, taking in all the framed photos on the walls.

‘It feels like we’re a million miles from Coronation Road in here,’ he said. ‘Shiv and the Starfish Gang and Little Pea – it’s like none of that other stuff even exists. Like it can’t touch you.’

‘I suppose,’ I said.

‘Is this your mum?’ he asked, pointing at a picture of a tall, dark-haired woman in a striking red suit, shaking hands with Tony Blair.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘And that one.’ I pointed at a picture of my mum talking to the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. She loves that photo.

‘It is pretty cool, you’ve got to admit,’ said Tokes, looking impressed.

‘I told you. There is nothing cool about my mum,’ I said quietly. The sad face on my right boot seemed to glower up at me as I said it. Like it was accusing me of lying.

Just then the kitchen door opened and a young woman with dark black eye make-up and blonde hair with black roots stuck her head round the door.

‘Hi, Petra,’ I muttered.

She didn’t seem that interested. She just nodded, taking in the sight of Tokes and me and the box of doughnuts without comment. ‘Your mother call,’ she said in heavily accented English.

‘What did she want?’

‘She not home till late tonight. She say eat without her.’

I shot Tokes a look as Petra made her way over to the fridge and started pulling stuff out. I’ve filmed her quite a bit without her knowing it, but she’s one of those people who don’t give much away. She looked up with lazy eyes and said, ‘Your friend want to stay for dinner?’

‘No,’ said Tokes quickly.

I glanced at him. He was looking uncomfortable again. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s find somewhere else to film.’

I filmed Tokes as he checked out our house. I’ve got footage of him pushing open doors and peeking into other rooms. The toilet made him laugh. ‘It’s the size of a footie pitch,’ he said, taking in the golden taps and the black-and-white pictures all over the crimson red walls. ‘Who needs a loo this big?’

He reckoned my mum’s office looked like something from a stately home. Then he opened the door to the sitting room, which is all leather sofas and glass tables and two walls covered from floor to ceiling in books. ‘Whoa!’ He stood staring at the bookshelves. I caught his face on camera – eyes lit up like the words were pouring out of the books and making his skin tingle. ‘It’s like having a library in your own house.’

‘My mum gets mad because I never read them,’ I said as he ran his hands up and down the leather spines.

‘You don’t like reading?’ He pulled his eyes away from the books for a second to look at me.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t get on so well with books.’

‘My dad is like that,’ he said. ‘Me, I love them. Better even than doughnuts, you know!’ He grinned.

‘You want to borrow one?’ I asked quickly.

He glanced at the books again, a look of longing in his eyes. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’m OK.’

‘But nobody reads them – it seems a shame.’

He stared at the shelf. Some of the books looked so old they must have been printed a hundred years ago. They were sort of beautiful – all the shades of fading leather and gold embossed lettering. My dad ordered them alphabetically and I remember my mum calling him obsessive-compulsive. I think they had a big row about that too.

Tokes pulled out a copy of a leather-bound book which said Great Expectations in gold lettering along the spine. ‘Miss Kayacan said I should read this,’ he said. ‘I tried to take it out of the library.’ He looked up, his eyes distant, underwater, like he was already thinking about somewhere else. ‘Are you sure your mum won’t mind?’

‘You can keep it for all she’ll notice.’

‘No, I’ll bring it back,’ said Tokes firmly. ‘As soon as I’ve read it.’

Just then my phone beeped and I looked down at it.

‘It’s a text. From Pea,’ I said.

‘How did he get your number?’

‘I have no idea.’ I remembered Pea saying he knew everything that went down on Coronation Road, but no one around here even knows my name, let alone my number.

‘What does he say?’ Tokes looked worried again.

‘He says he’s set up some stuff for us to film.’

Tokes rolled his eyes. ‘Should have known.’

‘He wants us to meet him tomorrow,’ I added. ‘Apparently, he’s got some well good news to tell us.’

‘So much for keeping out of trouble,’ said Tokes.

‘Do you think we should go?’

‘We’ve got to, haven’t we?’ said Tokes with a shrug. ‘He’ll tell Shiv about your film otherwise.’

‘You don’t have to come though.’ I looked at him nervously, remembering what he’d said about keeping out of trouble.

‘I can’t let you go on your own,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how it works with kids like Pea and Shiv.’

‘I don’t need you to look after me,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said Tokes. ‘But neither of us wants any trouble. And we’re mates, aren’t we?’

My stomach contracted oddly and I looked at him hard to see if he was kidding. ‘I guess,’ I said.

‘Well, mates look out for each other,’ he said with a smile. ‘So we’re in this together, OK?’

I nodded. And I think I felt happier in that moment than I had for months.

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