Deciding that he’d get the book, Seb took a final puff of his cigarette and ground it out. As he glanced over, he saw the speaker was a stocky guy a few years older than himself, holding up a girl’s light blue long-sleeved shirt. Seb frowned. The sense that he was meant to be doing something tickled over him again, more strongly than ever. A price was finally agreed; the stall owner put the shirt to one side.

For some reason, Seb couldn’t stop himself – he reached for the shirt. As his fingers touched the thin cloth, he gasped a quick, stunned breath.

Familiar. How could it feel so familiar?

Lucy came dancing up, her eyes alight. “Look, aren’t I pretty?” Squeezing his arm, she shook her head at him, showing off her new earrings. Then she glanced down at the shirt and her eyebrows rose knowingly. “Ooh, what’s that? Are you buying me a present?”

“I – uh, no,” Seb said faintly, hardly noticing she was there. He was still gripping the shirt; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let go of it. He watched as the stall owner examined a pair of girl’s jeans; the man pulled a small, framed photo out of the pocket and squinted at it.

“Pretty girl. I can sell the frame; the photo’s no good to me. Do you want it back?”

The stocky guy glanced at it. “Nah. How much for the frame?”

Seb’s throat went dry. Without taking his left hand off the shirt, he said, “Wait – can I see that?” and plucked the framed photo from the stall owner’s hand.

The picture was of a little girl with long blonde hair, peering up through the trailing fronds of a willow tree. For a moment, Seb almost couldn’t breathe as he looked at her smiling face; it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

Lucy stood staring at him; at the other end of the stall, Amanda had appeared, flipping through the CDs. “Hey, what’s wrong?” said Lucy. “I didn’t catch all of that.”

“I’ll take this,” Seb managed to get out to the stall owner. “And the shirt – how much do you want for them?”

The man gave a bemused shrug. “A hundred pesos for both? It’s a nice little frame.”

Seb dug the money out of his pocket, shoved it at him. He put the shirt and photo into his bag, zipping it tightly as if to protect them. “Where’d you get these?” he asked the stocky guy. His voice was shaking. “Who’s the girl, do you know?”

The man looked shifty suddenly. “No one in particular. Why are you so interested?”

“Because I need to find the girl,” gritted out Seb, each word low and distinct. “Did you steal this stuff? Where from – just tell me!”