Brave New Girl (14 page)

“She doesn't notice a thing,” I said.

“Liar,” Keith said. “And you have to talk to Sasha.”

“I know that!” I said. “You're supposed to be less I-told-you-so and more matey-supporty.”

“Yeah, but I was right, wasn't I?”

“Yes, Keith, yes, you were.”

“As I said before, I am your Director and I am always right.”

“Keith,” I said. “You are asking for it, you know that?”

We walked over to the estate where we were going to film the scene where Miranda comes down in the lift.

“I'll see how it looks. You might have to do the stairwell too, if it doesn't work out.”

“Thanks for that, Keith,” I said.

“It's great for your thighs,” Keith said, and got out of the way so I didn't hit him.

We were filming on the Arden estate. I know people have this idea of Hackney as being full of council estates and tower blocks overrun with gangster hoodies and teenage mothers. Believe it or not, that is so not true. Mum told me how they blew up most of the tower blocks years ago, and the newer estates, like ours, are all red and yellow brick.

But the Arden estate was a sort of throwback. It was what most people think of when they say
‘estate'. It had one white tower, and a lot of low-rise blocks on concrete legs that you could walk through or hide behind. It wasn't like a war zone or anything, but I'd probably have thought twice before I walked through it at night.

The tower was fifteen storeys high, and had a nasty metal box of a lift which smelt of disinfectant. After we'd been up and down ten times though, I stopped noticing. I had to go up on my own and Keith waited for me on the floor below, filming me as I stepped out.

Then we went up to the top floor, and looked west across the city and my heart almost stopped, we were so high up. The city was spread out all around for miles and miles. As if it never ended. To the west was a sort of tourist view of London, with a slice of St Paul's and the Gherkin, in between the pointy fingers of the city skyscrapers.

“Amazing!” I said. And I looked round to the north, where what was left of the marshes was criss-crossed with circles of tyre marks from scooters and motorbikes, like the biro lines you make with a Spirograph.

Then we walked round to the other side of the block and we could see all across to the east.

The Olympic Park looked like a giant plastic toy, a city made by Lego or Fisher Price, spread out on a carpet of bright green grass. I could just see the shine on the river Lea as it snaked through the park, like a gold ribbon.

Keith took out his camera and started filming.

I looked down into the courtyard far below. The people were tiny, not much bigger than ants. I saw a woman with a pushchair loaded up with shopping bags, two boys kicking a bright orange dot of a ball and a girl, with a sort of familiar walk, striding across the concrete...

I knew who that was. It was Sasha, it had to be.

I followed her with my eyes and strained to make out her brown hair piled up on top of her head. With every step the girl took I was more sure it was Sasha.

“Shall I go down there?” I said. “You could film me in the courtyard from up here. I could look sort of lost… It might work.”

“Great idea,” Keith said, not looking away from the flip-down screen.

The lift seemed to take forever and when I did make it down to the bottom the girl who I thought might have been Sasha had vanished. My phone went off but it was just Keith telling me to act disorientated. I
had to get him to explain what it meant and eventually he said, “What you just said, kind of lost.”

Down on the ground, in between the blocks, the wind was vicious, and I had to shut my eyes to stop the grit and dust that tried to blow into my eyes.

I wandered around looking like a well-meaning nutter, getting laughed at by the football boys, until Keith came down and showed me what he'd done on the little screen.

Then the football boys came over to look too. And suddenly they were all over Keith wanting to be in his film, and asking him how much his camera cost. I started to worry that the football boys might have older, bigger brothers who might be even more interested in the camera.

Keith was obviously thinking the same thing because he got up at the exact same time as me. “We better go,” he said. And we walked back towards the bus stop. But he couldn't help flicking the camera on and running through the stuff we'd just shot as we walked. I slowed and watched too. The colours seemed brighter in the dark under the flats. The little picture shone, it was almost magic.

“What about the people who make flames come out of their fingers?” I said. “How are you going to do that?”

“Oh, one of my cousins does classes at Circus Space. He's got a mate who does stuff with fire.”

I was about to ask what he meant when he stopped. There was the tinny roar of motorbikes coming fast behind us.

Keith bundled the camera into his bag and whispered, “Don't look round! Just walk on!”

He looked terrified. He moved the rucksack with the camera from his back round to his front, but fumbled and dropped it just as the bike boys sped past. A can of Coke, a bag of white-rabbit sweets and the camera, carefully wrapped in Keith's school jumper, tumbled out on to the street.

I gasped. “Is it all right?”

Keith was getting wound up. He was all fingers and thumbs until he was sure the camera worked.

“I thought they were going to jack us,” he said. “It happens, they come up behind you and take your bag. Miss Tunks would have killed me.”

“No, she would have killed
me
,” I said.

“Hang on,” Keith said, stopping. “Isn't that Sasha?”

“Where?”

Keith pointed to a couple standing up against one of the concrete pillars, practically glued together. No mistake, it was Sasha. She was wearing her favourite
blue top, and her brown hair was snaking down her back in springy brown curls. She had her head bent up at what looked like a very tricky angle because she was kissing a hugely tall boy.

“Oh my days!” I said.

“Jamie Kendrick!” Keith said out loud. “Looks like she's got herself a date for the Leavers' Prom after all.”

I yanked Keith back behind the nearest pillar.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“They might see us!”

“So?”

“She'll think I'm spying on her or something!” I whispered. “She'll think we're stalking them. Ohmigod! Put the camera away! Now! She'll think we're filming!” I practically pulled the camera out of Keith's hands and stuffed it back into the bag.

“Careful!” Keith was losing patience. “Seren! Calm down! Why would I want to film your sister and Jamie Kendrick?”

I could picture her storming over, telling me all sorts, accusing me of ruining her life all over again.

“She hates me, OK? We just have to get out of here. Quickly, without them noticing,” I said. I could see the bus stop ahead, and coming round the curve of the road from the junction was a little red bus.

“Seren, I don't think either of them would notice if the sky fell in.”

He had a point. Given that Jamie and Sasha were glued together, if me and Keith made like Usain Bolt and got on the bus they wouldn't know we were here. But I wasn't taking any chances.

“The bus! Now!” I pulled Keith along after me and sprinted for the bus stop, one hand on Keith's arm, one arm stuck out in front of me hailing the bus like it was life or death. I was in luck, we made it and the bus doors squeaked open.

I was totally out of breath. Me and Keith swiped our cards and I looked round in case I could see Sasha, but she was in love-land and hadn't noticed a thing. I grinned at Keith and we flopped down on the back seats.

“What was that about?” Keith said.

“I said, I didn't want them to see us,” I wheezed.

“I got that. A bit extreme, no? I don't get what else she could do to you?”

I took some more deep breaths. “It's just easier like this.” I thought for a minute, then looked at Keith. “Jamie Kendrick!” I said.

“You are mad, you know that?” Keith said.

We were almost home, just passing the marshes.
The trees all had their new leaves and the colour was fresh, bright green, like school powder paint.

Keith must have thought so too. “That would look good,” he said, and took the camera out of his bag. He clicked it on.

I saw the colour drain from his face. He went from normal Keith to paper-white in seconds.

“What's up?” I said.

Keith patted his pocket. Then he patted his other pocket. He stood up and patted everywhere.

“What is it?” I said again. I was getting nervous just watching him. “The camera? Is it OK?”

Keith said nothing. He stood up again. He emptied his pockets out and now he took everything out of his rucksack. The camera was there, his notebook, and school jumper.

“What is it, Keith?”

Keith pressed the bell to stop the bus at the next stop and walked down to the door. I followed him.

“Keith, what's happened?”

The bus slowed and the doors opened, and Keith stepped off and began to walk back to the Arden estate. He didn't look back at me, but I followed him. I'd never seen him like this in ten years of friendship. Keith was always cool, always calm. I'd never seen
him angry, even back at that time when Christina wouldn't let him in the tent.

“Talk to me, Keith!”

He didn't slow down. His voice was sharp. “The memory stick. It's gone.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” Keith had stopped and was facing me. “I've lost the bloody memory stick.”

“But you had it outside the flats. It must be in your bag.” I tried to keep cool. “We were just watching....” “Well, it's not there now! You pulled me along, remember?” He pointed at me. “You made me run. It must have come out then. Everything is on it. The whole film. Everything.”

I felt sick. For a long second we stared at each other, Keith had never looked at me so viciously. Lots of other people had, plenty of times, but not Keith.

“It's gone,” he said. “I'm going back to the bus stop.”

“Are you sure?” I said, but Keith had already started jogging along the road back to the Arden estate. I caught up with him. “We'll find it, Keith, I know we will, don't worry.”

Keith pushed past me. I ran to catch up. Even though he was smaller than me he was moving very fast.

When we got to the low-rise block he retraced our steps between the tower block and the bus stop, head down, eyes glued to the pavement. I did too. I kept an eye out for Sasha, but her seeing me didn't seem to matter at all now. I saw the football boys and asked them if they'd seen anything, but I got the feeling they wouldn't have told me even if they had.

Keith wasn't speaking at all now, and it was starting to get dark.

“Can't we just do it again?” I said.

It was like the worst thing I could have ever said. Keith exploded. “You idiot! We'll never get the light like that again, never! If you hadn't made me run, if you hadn't been so stupid!”

“Keith,” I said. It came out very quiet.

“Like I said, this was your fault.”

“Hold on a minute!” I said. “You dropped the bag, remember? It could have happened then!”

“If you hadn't flustered me...”

“No. I was helping, you were flustered.”

“You pulled me!” he shouted.

“You dropped the bag!” I shouted back.

We looked at each other. He was half-way between anger and tears. He suddenly looked much younger.

“How could you say it was my fault?” I tried not to be so loud.

Keith just walked away. “Leave me alone!”

I watched his back disappear down towards the canal. After a while I started walking back the way we had come, hoping I'd find his stupid memory stick and then I'd be able to go round to his and tell him the good news. I walked all round the estate again until my feet hurt. I even looked in the gutter.

But the gutter smelt and I was cold in the grey dress and it was getting darker. I would have to go home.

I put my school jumper on over the top and went back to the bus stop. I saw my reflection in the plastic glass of the bus stop and realised I'd rubbed the mascara I'd put on for the shoot, all round my eyes. I looked like a glittery panda. I rubbed at my face some more with the sleeve of my jumper trying to get the worst of it off, but it just made my eyes red.

I had just tried to call Keith for the millionth time when the bus came swinging round the corner.

Keith wasn't answering. It wasn't like him at all.