from the top of the ramp. The way he stood and looked back. The way he turned and walked on. It was Salim. I just know.’
‘You just know?’
‘It’s a body-language thing.’
The good feeling I had turned bad. ‘Body language’ is a form of communication, like speaking English or French or Chinese, but it has no words, only gestures. Humans and chimpanzees and meerkats and stingrays can read body language by instinct without having to learn it. But according to the doctors who diagnosed me, people with my kind of syndrome can’t. We have to learn it like a foreign language and this takes time.
‘You mean, you saw something about the boy who waved that I didn’t?’
‘Yes, Ted.’ Kat’s voice was soft. She put a hand on my shoulder, which made the hairs on my neck stick up. ‘Trust me. It was Salim we saw. It just was.’
I took the pencil back from Kat and crossed off what she’d written for theory nine. I crossed it out three times over. I’d thought it the best theory of all until then. Now it was dead, almost at birth. Dead as a dodo, you could say.
NINETEEN
The Boy on the Train
Mum came in and Kat sat on the desk, on top of the photos and the theory list.
‘Hi, guys,’ Mum said.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Kat. She swung her legs backwards and forwards and stared into space.
‘This isn’t much of a half term for you, is it?’
‘Don’t worry, Mum. We’re fine.’
Mum smiled. Then she said the police were visiting us again and we should go downstairs, in case they wanted to ask us anything. Then she went out and Kat got off the desk. She hid the theory list and the photographs in the little drawer under my desk. Then she picked up the souvenir picture and said that she’d hand it over to the police, just in case it was of some use. Then she went out of my room. I reopened the drawer. I found my favourite photo –
the one Salim had taken of Kat and me on the footbridge. It looked as if a corner of the London Eye was emerging from my shoulder. Then I put it in my book of weather systems, between cyclones and anticyclones, where it would be safe. Then I followed Kat downstairs.
Soon the police car drew up and Mum and Aunt Gloria took the same places on the sofa and Dad showed in Detective Inspector Pearce, who was on her own. She sat on the same chair as yesterday. Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Kat went up to her and offered her the souvenir photograph.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t give it to you sooner,’ Kat said.
‘I meant to yesterday, but we forgot, didn’t we, Ted?’
‘Hrumm,’ I said.
Detective Inspector Pearce took the photo and shook her head and smiled. ‘We already have that one, Kat,’ she said. ‘Along with sixty-four others. But thanks anyway.’
Aunt Gloria grabbed the photograph and peered at it. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a picture of the people in the pod, Aunt Gloria,’ I explained. ‘The pod that—’
‘Not a trace of Salim in any of them, I’m afraid,’
Detective Inspector Pearce said. ‘Nor in the CCTV footage. I’ve been checking much of it myself. In that particular pod, a rather large gentleman –’ she leaned over and pointed to the big white-haired man in the raincoat – ‘stood in the same spot for nearly the whole ride and blocked much of the camera’s view.’
Aunt Gloria tossed the picture down on the floor near my feet. I picked it up. ‘You know what I think?’
she said. ‘I think he never went up that damn Wheel in the first place!’
‘That’s an interesting theory, Aunt Gloria,’ I said,
‘and one that I considered too, but—’
‘Ted,’ Mum said. She put a finger to her lip. That is body language even I have learned to read. It means ‘Be quiet’.
There was another silence.
Then the inspector said she had a possible lead. A boy matching Salim’s description had been seen at four o’clock yesterday afternoon by a guard at Euston Station, dodging the ticket barrier and getting on a train just a
‘You just know?’
‘It’s a body-language thing.’
The good feeling I had turned bad. ‘Body language’ is a form of communication, like speaking English or French or Chinese, but it has no words, only gestures. Humans and chimpanzees and meerkats and stingrays can read body language by instinct without having to learn it. But according to the doctors who diagnosed me, people with my kind of syndrome can’t. We have to learn it like a foreign language and this takes time.
‘You mean, you saw something about the boy who waved that I didn’t?’
‘Yes, Ted.’ Kat’s voice was soft. She put a hand on my shoulder, which made the hairs on my neck stick up. ‘Trust me. It was Salim we saw. It just was.’
I took the pencil back from Kat and crossed off what she’d written for theory nine. I crossed it out three times over. I’d thought it the best theory of all until then. Now it was dead, almost at birth. Dead as a dodo, you could say.
NINETEEN
The Boy on the Train
Mum came in and Kat sat on the desk, on top of the photos and the theory list.
‘Hi, guys,’ Mum said.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Kat. She swung her legs backwards and forwards and stared into space.
‘This isn’t much of a half term for you, is it?’
‘Don’t worry, Mum. We’re fine.’
Mum smiled. Then she said the police were visiting us again and we should go downstairs, in case they wanted to ask us anything. Then she went out and Kat got off the desk. She hid the theory list and the photographs in the little drawer under my desk. Then she picked up the souvenir picture and said that she’d hand it over to the police, just in case it was of some use. Then she went out of my room. I reopened the drawer. I found my favourite photo –
the one Salim had taken of Kat and me on the footbridge. It looked as if a corner of the London Eye was emerging from my shoulder. Then I put it in my book of weather systems, between cyclones and anticyclones, where it would be safe. Then I followed Kat downstairs.
Soon the police car drew up and Mum and Aunt Gloria took the same places on the sofa and Dad showed in Detective Inspector Pearce, who was on her own. She sat on the same chair as yesterday. Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Kat went up to her and offered her the souvenir photograph.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t give it to you sooner,’ Kat said.
‘I meant to yesterday, but we forgot, didn’t we, Ted?’
‘Hrumm,’ I said.
Detective Inspector Pearce took the photo and shook her head and smiled. ‘We already have that one, Kat,’ she said. ‘Along with sixty-four others. But thanks anyway.’
Aunt Gloria grabbed the photograph and peered at it. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a picture of the people in the pod, Aunt Gloria,’ I explained. ‘The pod that—’
‘Not a trace of Salim in any of them, I’m afraid,’
Detective Inspector Pearce said. ‘Nor in the CCTV footage. I’ve been checking much of it myself. In that particular pod, a rather large gentleman –’ she leaned over and pointed to the big white-haired man in the raincoat – ‘stood in the same spot for nearly the whole ride and blocked much of the camera’s view.’
Aunt Gloria tossed the picture down on the floor near my feet. I picked it up. ‘You know what I think?’
she said. ‘I think he never went up that damn Wheel in the first place!’
‘That’s an interesting theory, Aunt Gloria,’ I said,
‘and one that I considered too, but—’
‘Ted,’ Mum said. She put a finger to her lip. That is body language even I have learned to read. It means ‘Be quiet’.
There was another silence.
Then the inspector said she had a possible lead. A boy matching Salim’s description had been seen at four o’clock yesterday afternoon by a guard at Euston Station, dodging the ticket barrier and getting on a train just a
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