iBoy

there was always something in the back of my mind that some­how knew that there was a connection.

And this kind of stuff didn't just happen when I was thinking about Lucy either, it happened all the time. Whatever I was thinking about, my brain would start tingling, and I'd sense things inside me connecting, searching, reaching out ...

It was unbelievable.

Incredible.

Bewildering.

Terrifying.

And what's more, whatever it was, it was changing all the time — becoming clearer, but at the same time more complex, as if it was somehow evolving ... and that was pretty scary too.

But the odd thing was, as the days and nights passed by, I kind of got used to it, and by the time Mr Kirby decided that it was OK for me to go home, it felt as if it had always been there. It was still pretty scary, and I still didn't understand it — although the first faint flutterings of an impossible explanation were beginning to grow in my mind but at least it didn't terrify me any more.

It was just there.

And it was still there when I walked out of the hospi­tal with Gram, on a dull and rainy Tuesday morning, and we got into the back of a waiting taxi and began the short drive home.

Of course, I knew that I should have mentioned all this weirdness to someone. I mean, Mr Kirby had told me how important it was to let someone know immedi­ately if I started experiencing anything unusual, and this was definitely something unusual. But ... well, I just wanted to go home, I suppose. I'd had enough of hospi­tals, doctors, nurses ... examinations, questions ... sick people. And I knew that if I'd told Mr Kirby about all this crazy stuff going on in my head, he would have wanted to keep me in hospital for more tests, more examinations, more questions. And I didn't want that. I just wanted to get away from it all and get back to the place I knew.

Not that Crow Town was a particularly nice place to get back to ... in fact, as the taxi trundled along the familiar South London streets, and the eight high-rise tower blocks came into view, I began to wonder why I was so pleased to be coming back here. What was there to be pleased about? The shitty tower blocks, the cramped little flats, the ever-present and overriding sense of empti­ness and violence?

Ah, home sweet home ...

The gang kids were going to be there too, I realized, and I was pretty sure that whatever had happened to Lucy and Ben — and me — it was bound to have something to do with the local gangs, and that meant that there were going to be repercussions. Because gang stuff always has repercussions. It never goes away — it always just hangs around, staining the air, like the stink of a vast and ever-present fart.

I thought about that for a while, wondering which of the gangs was more likely to have been involved in Lucy's assault — the Crows or the FGH — but, in a way, it didn't really make any difference. They were all just Crow Town kids. The Crows were generally from the north-side towers, while the FGH were mainly from the three towers to the south (Fitzroy House, Gladstone House, Heath House — hence the name, FGH), and although the two gangs were supposed to hate each other's guts, it didn't always work that way. Sometimes they hated each other, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they tried to kill each other, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they got together and tried to kill kids from other gangs ...

Sometimes this, sometimes that...

It didn't make any difference at all.

Lucy had been raped. Whoever had done it, they'd done it. Everything else was irrelevant.

I stopped thinking about it then and looked at Gram. She was sitting beside me, tapping away at the open laptop resting on her knees.

'How's it going?' I asked her, glancing at the screen.

She shrugged. 'Same as ever.'

Gram writes romance novels, love stories ... Mills & Boon kind of stuff. Books with titles like The Lord and the Mistress, or Angels in Blue. She hates them. Hates what they are, hates writing them. She'd much rather write poetry. But poetry doesn't pay the rent, and love stories do ... just about.

'Is this a new one?' I asked her, looking at the screen again.

She smiled. 'It's supposed to be.'

'What's it about?'

'You don't want to know.'

'Yeah, I do.'

'Well...' she said, hitting the save button. 'It's about a woman who falls in love with two brothers. They're twins, these brothers, so they look exactly the same, but their characters are totally different. One of them's a soldier, an all-action kind of guy. The other one's a musi­cian. He's the really sensitive one ... you know, he writes love songs and beautiful poems for her, that sort of thing.'

'And the other one beats up the bad guys?'

Gram smiled. 'Yeah ... which, of course, she finds irresistible.'

'Which one does she end up with?'

'I don't know yet.'

'I bet it's the wimp.'

'You think so?'

I nodded. 'She'll think she's in love with the tough guy, but eventually she'll realize that her only true love is the wimp. That's always how it happens in books, isn't it?'

Gram smiled. 'But not in real life?'

'No,' I said. 'In real life, the girl always ends up with the tough guy, and the wimp stays at home and writes wimpy poems about how bad he feels.'

The eight tower blocks of Crow Town are spread out in an uneven line along Crow Lane over a distance of about a mile. There are five towers on the north side (Addington, Baldwin, Compton, Disraeli, and Eden), and three towers to the south (Fitzroy, Gladstone, and Heath). In between, about two-thirds of the way along Crow Lane, there's a mini-roundabout, a scattering of low-rise flats, and the kids' playground. An industrial estate takes up most of the west side — warehouses, car-repair places, railway tracks and tunnels — and the High Street is about half a mile to the east.

The taxi driver pulled up at the side of the road, near the far end of the High Street.

'Uh, yeah ...' he said, fiddling with his meter. That'll be ?9.50, thanks.'

'Sorry,' said Gram, thinking he'd got the address wrong. 'We wanted Crow Town, please. Compton House.'

'This is as far as I go.'

'What?'

'This is as far I go ... it's ?9.50.'

'No, you don't understand —'

'I'm not going into Crow Town, OK?'

'Oh, don't be ridiculous,' Gram sighed. 'It's perfectly safe, for Christ's sake.'

'Yeah, well... whatever. You can either get out here, or I'll take you back to the hospital. It's up to you.'

'But it's raining,' Gram pleaded. 'And my grandson's just got out of hospital ...'

The taxi driver shrugged. 'Sorry, love.'

Gram sighed again, but she knew there was no point arguing. She paid the taxi driver, closed her laptop and put it in her bag, and we got out and started walking.

It didn't take long to walk back, but I hadn't done a lot of walking in the last few weeks — I hadn't done a lot of anything in the last few weeks — and by the time we reached Compton House, I was starting to feel really tired.

'Do you want to stop for a minute?' Gram asked me as we crossed the square towards the entrance. 'You look a bit pale.'