‘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.