taking for ever. The streets start to get nicer, the cars more expensive and the shops are actually selling stuff, rather than closing down. Finally, I recognise a street name and know that the compound isn’t far away. I push the stop button repeatedly.
‘I’ve got the bloody message,’ the driver yells at me, before grudgingly opening the doors.
The sol-lights come on as I step off the bus, glowing slowly into life like miniature sunrises. I quickly check my bearings: Zizi’s favourite café, where they make flat whites precisely how she likes them, is on my left and the old library, now a hairdresser’s, is on my right. I head for home.
I’m a street away from the compound when I walk past my old nanny’s house and look up at the windows to see if she might still be there. I used to come here after school sometimes. Mostly when I’d been pushed around by Alexa and her gang and wanted to clean up before going home. Maria, my nanny, never lectured me about it. She never told me I should tell anyone or that I should stand up to them. She would clean up my cuts and brush my hair and sing an old Swahili song. She translated it for me once but I only remember one line: ‘this too shall pass’.
I haven’t seen her in four years, not since Zizi decided I was old enough to wait till she got back from work on my own. She fired the nanny and replaced her with a new security system, with cameras all over the house so she could log on and watch me from the office.
The windows in the house are lit and I see people moving around in the living room and hear the sound of children laughing. It can’t be Maria. She didn’t have children of her own. I turn away and kick at a stone, angry at Maria for moving. Angry at me for not coming to see her. Angry at the world for moving on and leaving me alone.
It’s then that I remember. I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out the scrap of paper.
51 Alice Street
Ethan’s address.
I check the house numbers of the buildings next to me, 32 and 34. I start running up the street, crossing over between the parked cars till I’m on the odd side of the street. Forty-five, 47, 49.
I stop outside number 51. All the lights are off and there’s no car parked in the driveway. Judging by the weeds creeping up between the cracks in the tarmac, no car has parked here for a while.
Broken tiles crunch under my feet as I step onto the path leading to the door. A light comes on as I trigger the sensor. A dog barks, but it sounds like it’s coming from the house next door. I look for the entry phone, but there doesn’t seem to be one, only an old-fashioned brass doorbell. The chime rings out loud and long, more like a woman singing ‘ bing bong’ than the usual electronic sound.
A light flickers on in the hall and I hear a coughing from behind the door.
‘What?’ the man who opens the doors says. He’s wearing a tatty dressing gown and slippers. He continues to cough; wet and worrying.
‘Mr Fisher?’
He gazes at me through rheumy eyes. A distant look that I recognise. If this is Ethan’s dad, then how come he’s allowed on Glaze and his son isn’t?
‘Mr Fisher?’ I say again.
The man finally snaps out of his feed and gives me his attention. ‘No, I’m not Mr-sodding-Fisher. He’s the sorry git I rented this house to. Left it in a shocking state, too.’ He spits on the path next to my feet.
‘Do you know where he moved?’ I say, looking down at the glistening phlegm.
‘Sure.’
I wait for him to finish. Only he doesn’t. ‘Can you tell me where?’
The man makes an ugly sucking noise and his stained dentures clunk back in place. ‘He moved from here... straight to there.’ He points over my head at an alleyway between two of the houses. ‘You’ll be able to find him easily enough.’ He shuts the door. I hear him shuffle away and the hall light flicks off.
I cross back over the road and enter the alley. Any
‘I’ve got the bloody message,’ the driver yells at me, before grudgingly opening the doors.
The sol-lights come on as I step off the bus, glowing slowly into life like miniature sunrises. I quickly check my bearings: Zizi’s favourite café, where they make flat whites precisely how she likes them, is on my left and the old library, now a hairdresser’s, is on my right. I head for home.
I’m a street away from the compound when I walk past my old nanny’s house and look up at the windows to see if she might still be there. I used to come here after school sometimes. Mostly when I’d been pushed around by Alexa and her gang and wanted to clean up before going home. Maria, my nanny, never lectured me about it. She never told me I should tell anyone or that I should stand up to them. She would clean up my cuts and brush my hair and sing an old Swahili song. She translated it for me once but I only remember one line: ‘this too shall pass’.
I haven’t seen her in four years, not since Zizi decided I was old enough to wait till she got back from work on my own. She fired the nanny and replaced her with a new security system, with cameras all over the house so she could log on and watch me from the office.
The windows in the house are lit and I see people moving around in the living room and hear the sound of children laughing. It can’t be Maria. She didn’t have children of her own. I turn away and kick at a stone, angry at Maria for moving. Angry at me for not coming to see her. Angry at the world for moving on and leaving me alone.
It’s then that I remember. I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out the scrap of paper.
51 Alice Street
Ethan’s address.
I check the house numbers of the buildings next to me, 32 and 34. I start running up the street, crossing over between the parked cars till I’m on the odd side of the street. Forty-five, 47, 49.
I stop outside number 51. All the lights are off and there’s no car parked in the driveway. Judging by the weeds creeping up between the cracks in the tarmac, no car has parked here for a while.
Broken tiles crunch under my feet as I step onto the path leading to the door. A light comes on as I trigger the sensor. A dog barks, but it sounds like it’s coming from the house next door. I look for the entry phone, but there doesn’t seem to be one, only an old-fashioned brass doorbell. The chime rings out loud and long, more like a woman singing ‘ bing bong’ than the usual electronic sound.
A light flickers on in the hall and I hear a coughing from behind the door.
‘What?’ the man who opens the doors says. He’s wearing a tatty dressing gown and slippers. He continues to cough; wet and worrying.
‘Mr Fisher?’
He gazes at me through rheumy eyes. A distant look that I recognise. If this is Ethan’s dad, then how come he’s allowed on Glaze and his son isn’t?
‘Mr Fisher?’ I say again.
The man finally snaps out of his feed and gives me his attention. ‘No, I’m not Mr-sodding-Fisher. He’s the sorry git I rented this house to. Left it in a shocking state, too.’ He spits on the path next to my feet.
‘Do you know where he moved?’ I say, looking down at the glistening phlegm.
‘Sure.’
I wait for him to finish. Only he doesn’t. ‘Can you tell me where?’
The man makes an ugly sucking noise and his stained dentures clunk back in place. ‘He moved from here... straight to there.’ He points over my head at an alleyway between two of the houses. ‘You’ll be able to find him easily enough.’ He shuts the door. I hear him shuffle away and the hall light flicks off.
I cross back over the road and enter the alley. Any
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