I Know What I Saw

For a second, I fall asleep and I have the sensation of remembering something important. I am caught between sleep and wakefulness and in that twilight some memory has hardened but just as soon as I wake, it evaporates.

‘Xander.’

My eyes open and I see a face that I know. Long black hair hanging down over brown eyes. The smile is soft.

I take a moment to put the world the right way up.

‘Amit,’ I say.

‘Xander. Where have you been?’ he asks with concern. ‘I was, I don’t know, worried about you? Looked for you a bit on the streets.’

‘Worried why?’ I say, sitting up.

‘Just,’ he says and then after a pause, ‘you didn’t seem right. Like you’d forgotten – stuff. I asked some guys about you. They told me I should stay away from you.’

‘Oh,’ I say, touched. ‘Just had a bit of concussion. But you shouldn’t go looking for me, Amit. It’s not safe.’

‘You’re telling me,’ he says with a grin.

I think about why I am here. ‘You couldn’t help me out, could you?’ I say conspiratorially.

‘Of course, Xander. I’ll never forget, you know. What you did.’

I stare at him in confusion and then in a panic because of what that means for my head.

‘When I was being robbed. By those lads?’ he says.

And now, with that nudge, the memory comes back. It wasn’t far from here, just around the back of this library. I remember seeing two young men – early twenties, maybe a bit older – bothering a schoolkid I had seen earlier in the magazine section. When I got near it was obvious that they were mugging him.

‘Oi, you, piss off,’ I had said, walking up to them. They were skinny, more mouth than muscle.

They turned and one instantly shoved a knife in my direction. I took a quick look and saw that he was holding it like you would hold a wand, with the blade pointing down. I slapped his hand away and watched the knife fly into the road.

‘You’re fucking dead,’ he said and started to hit me in the face and body. The punches stung but I could feel the pain was soft. Even as I put my hands up, all I could think was they hurt, but not as much as the one I’m about to hit him with. And then I squeezed my fist tight, drew my arm back and punched him hard. His face burst like a plum and he went down. The other one looked at me for a second, took in my size, and then ran.

‘Oh, that? Anyone would have done the same,’ I say.

He pulls a wallet from his blazer pocket. ‘No way would they.’

‘No, not money,’ I say, waving it away. ‘I need to find someone.’

‘Okay,’ he says, stretching the word. He smooths his school uniform after returning his wallet to his blazer pocket. Everything is neat on him. The tie is tightly tied, the blazer looks as if it has been brushed. Only his hair is free, long, tousled.

‘How do I find a person? On that?’ I say, taking him to the computers off to the left.

He looks at me as if I have gone mad. I haven’t used a computer since I used to code. Of course, I’ve seen them, but I don’t know how to use them without drawing attention to myself. I don’t want a librarian fussing around me with passcodes or whatever I need to access the web.

‘I need to access the World Wide Web.’

‘You mean Google?’ he says.

Of course, Google. ‘Can you just show me the basics?’ I say.

‘I can get you to their homepage,’ he says and then sits at one of the screens and types quickly on the keys. Within a couple of seconds, the computer has shifted to a white page. Under the Google name is the search box.

‘Christ, that was quick,’ I say. ‘Is the modem always connected?’

‘The what?’

‘The modem,’ I say, to a continuing blank expression. ‘Never mind. Am I online?’

He nods. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘A missing person. Is there a way of getting to a missing persons list somewhere?’

‘I don’t really know,’ he says, pulling a chair over for me. ‘Who are you looking for? You could just type the name into the box here,’ he says, pointing the cursor to the search space.

‘I don’t know her name,’ I say.

‘Erm. Well, that’s going to make it hard to find her,’ he says. There is a smile on his lips as if this is some kind of playful diversion.

‘Girlfriend?’ he laughs.

‘No. Look, is there a missing persons page?’ I say seriously, wishing I could do this by myself.

He types missing persons list UK and hits return. Immediately a list of sites appears at the top of which is one that says ‘UK Missing Persons Unit’. He clicks it and we are taken to a page with a kind of form on it.

‘Gender female,’ he says to himself as he fills in the lines. ‘Age when last seen?’

‘I don’t know, late twenties,’ I say, watching him type.

‘I’ll put twenty-five to thirty,’ he says. ‘Ethnicity?’

‘White?’ I say, not sure what the form wants to know exactly.

‘White European,’ he says, and then presses a button that says search. I hold my breath without knowing why.

A moment later the results are displayed.

‘Only one,’ he says. ‘Do you want case details?’

I nod as he presses the button.

‘Oh. She’s been found. Found at the roadside. Eyes: blue. Clothes: waterproof jacket. Possessions: an Oyster card and some cash. And jewellery.’