by Joe Layburn
I don’t know how to thank you, Fatima.
She squeezed my hand.
Actually, Hyun-mi, there is something I’d like you to do. . .
MELISSA
“It’s got to stop, girl!”
I clunked the fridge door shut so the kitchen was no longer lit by its little yellow bulb, but just by the moonlight from outside. When I turned, I saw his silhouette - a giant with a tangle of dreadlocks. For a big guy, he’d done a pretty good job of sneaking up on me.
“You stalking me or something?” I asked.
He switched on the overhead light and I laughed out loud. TJ was built like a weightlifter but he was wearing my mum’s pink dressing-gown. On him, it was like a miniskirt.
“Looking good, TJ.”
He tried to keep his serious face on, as if we were father and daughter.
“TJ, I’ll give you a million pounds if you go out the flat dressed like that.”
He couldn’t help it. He started laughing too.
“Melissa, it ain’t funny, really. It’s disrespectful to your mum, apart from anything else. She’s told you to stop taking stuff from behind her back and you keep doing it.”
I looked down at the floor. The carrier bag I’d scooped some pies and other things into dangled by my side.
“I was just hungry, TJ. I wake up sometimes and I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get something to eat.”
He moved over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for me. Then he walked round so he could sit opposite.
“You’re like the police now, TJ. You going to read me my rights, or something?”
He shook his big head. His dreadlocks looked like dusty pieces of rope.
“I want to help you, girl. Really. See, I take a lot of pride in how I look now - I’m always working out and everything. But when I was your age, I was a bit, you know, chubby. I loved my food. What I’m trying to say is, I understand what you’re going through.”
“No disrespect, Teej, but you’re not my dad, OK?”
He looked down at his big, meaty hands.
“That’s true, Melissa, but your mum and I have been talking. . .”
He glanced up at me as though he was trying to catch my thoughts. TJ was desperate for my mum to marry him.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. She’s had a billion boyfriends before you and not one of them made it down the aisle with her.”
The moment I said it, I wished I hadn’t. Remember, this was the new, improved Melissa, not the mean, old version.
“Could I just take these few bits of food? It’s probably best if I don’t cut down all at once.”
He nodded and his dreadlocks bounced up and down.
“OK, Melissa. Like I say, I care about you. I’m just trying to help.”
I don’t know why I did it. Probably I was just trying to get him off my case. But I leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks, Teej. Goodnight, yeah?”
Suddenly, the room was lit up by his hundred watt smile. It was like this was one of the all-time happiest moments in his life.
“Yeah, right. Goodnight, Melissa,” he said. “Sleep tight, OK?”
I stopped in the doorway.
“You know I’m going to be the bridesmaid at my learning support assistant Stacey’s wedding? Maybe I’ll get another chance to wear that dress.”
I left him rocking back on his chair and chuckling happily to himself.
***
I waited half an hour. By now I could hear TJ snoring through the wall - he sounded like a walrus or something dozing after ten buckets of fish. How my mum put up with that? Finally, I slipped out of our place and crept along the balconies and walkways to the burnt-out flat where Georgie had been staying before he went back home.
I tapped on the boarded-up window.
“Wake up, Jack. I brought you something to eat.”
GEORGE
When the train arrived at the station in Docklands, Fatima was standing on the platform with the last person in the world I wanted to see. She looked small and frail, holding the sleeve of his jacket and smiling up at him. It was as though everything he’d done to us, all the fear he’d caused us, was forgotten.
“What’s he doing here, Fatima?” I said, by way of a greeting.
Jack looked down at his shoes.
“I’d like you to meet our new Street Hero!” Fatima said.
I just laughed.
“How can he be one of us? He’s not been through what we’ve been through together.”
“He has the gift. That’s all that matters.”
“But he terrorised us, Fatima. I can’t forgive him for that.”
She rarely looked angry, but a flash of annoyance passed across her features.
“Jack is sorry for his past. He wants to make it up to us. It’s not that long ago, Georgie, that you were our enemy, remember?”
I shrugged.
“It just seems too soon. How do we know we can trust him?”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Oh, Fatima. Give it a rest.”
“Jack can be very useful to us, Georgie.”
With his big shoulders and boxer’s hands, I could see that Jack might add some grit and muscle to our crew.
“So you’ve restyled yourself as Fatima’s bodyguard, Jack? Who’d have thought it?”
He grunted. He still wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“I’m trying to make things right, Georgie. Don’t push it, hey?”
Fatima began to cluck like a mother hen.
“Come along, boys. It really is time you both looked to the future. Imagine what we can achieve if we all work together.”
I imagined myself landing a beautiful punch on that ugly, squashed hooter of his. He glared at me. Clearly he’d read my mind. I decided to ignore him for now.
“Are we meeting the others near the compound?” I asked
“They’re in position already.”
“Then let’s go.”
They were waiting in a dingy alley, looking very suspicious. Melissa had this beanie hat pulled down low over her face. She was wearing a black puffa jacket and Ugg-type boots. She looked like a commando. Omar was also wearing dark clothes. The Korean girl with them looked bemused.
“Don’t worry about Hyun-mi,” Fatima said. “She’s done much braver things than this.”
We compared cover stories - the lies we’d told to get out of our houses for the night. Fatima hated deceit, but she said our noble mission meant we were justified.
“Who’s got the step ladder?” I asked.
Jack swung the pack he was carrying off his shoulder.
“It’s a rope ladder and I’ve got it.”
Melissa giggled.
“Am I going to be all right on a rope ladder?”
Jack gave her a ragged smile.
“It’s a heavy-duty one. You should be fine.”
***
We waited around for ages. Fatima said we should give the inhabitants of the Celebrity Skin house time to go to bed. She wanted the security guards to be half asleep too. So, at three o’clock in the morning, I finally started to climb the perimeter wall of the compound where the show was filmed. It must have been frightening for Fatima to climb over that wall but she didn’t complain. Melissa got stuck and just hung there squealing. How no one heard us coming I’ll never know.
The way Fatima had described it, her plan sounded simple: break in to the Celebrity Skin house, grab a microphone and broadcast to the nation. OK, it sounded certain to fail, but it was Fatima’s plan and she’d convinced us it would work.
“Was I right about Cable Street?” she kept asking.
Finally, all six of us were standing on the damp grass inside the compound. We could see lights on in the house where the celebrities lived, but no one stirred. Fatima wanted us to find a place to hide for a while. She had it in her mind that we’d try and take over the airwaves at 8 p.m., peak viewing time, when Celebrity
Skin got its biggest audience of the day.
I was just thinking how hard it would be to stay hidden in a place with so many cameras when I heard a cough from behind some potted plants. The tip of a cigarette glowed red, then a figure stepped out of the darkness.
“Evening all,” he said.
MELISSA
I screamed when I saw him. Not because he’s famous but because he just appeared out of nowhere. He was wearing this big coat that must have belonged to one of the security guards. On his feet he had flip flops even though it was minus fifty degrees or something. He had these skintight trousers made from shiny gold material. His hair was really long and wavy, like a girl’s, and he had these fleshy lips that kept moving and twitching.
The smoke from his cigarette was blowing into his eyes. He screwed them up but carried on looking at us. Finally, he stepped forward with his hand stretched out. We all took turns to shake it, even Jack, who kept glaring at him, daring him to try something.
“I’m Justin,” he said, though we all knew that, of course. “Pleased to meet you. I hope you’re a bit more interesting than those muppets in the house. To be honest, they’re boring me to tears.”
He pointed with a thumb to where the other celebrities were sleeping.
“There are smoke detectors everywhere indoors. I have to come out here for a fag, even though it’s freezing.”
Apart from the borrowed coat, his gold trousers seemed to be the only clothes he was wearing.
“Are you fans of the show or something?”
I started to say that I was, but Fatima shook her head.
“I’ll be honest with you, Justin, we need to ask you a favour. We plan to hijack Celebrity Skin later today and broadcast a message to the nation. We think people should be ashamed of themselves for tuning in to this ridiculous strip show - no offence, but you’re all just attention-seekers. We’ll tell the audience they should use their brains more and find out what’s going on in the real world.”
Justin took another long drag on his cigarette. I felt a bit sorry for him because Fatima was basically saying that he was part of the problem she wanted to solve. Finally, he tossed his hair back out of his eyes and flicked his cigarette butt into some bushes.
“It sounds like a brilliant idea. Count me in.”
GEORGE
A whole day in a cleaner’s cupboard with Hyun-mi and Fatima might just have been bearable. But having Melissa, Omar and Jack in there too was a total wind-up. It was cramped and stuffy. Fortunately, there was a camera-free toilet right next door.
At least we didn’t make much noise. Talking out loud could have given us a way, so we only used our thought-voices.
Finally Justin leant through the door and pointed to his watch.
“It’s show-time, darlings!” he said.
He pressed the radio microphone he’d been wearing into Fatima’s hands.
“Speak into this. They’ll hear you better.”
Now there was no need to sneak around. We just followed him along the corridors to the main living area where most of the cameras were.
When we entered, several people screamed. Someone in the kitchen dropped a saucepan.
“Oh my god, what’s going on?” cried a pop star I sort of recognised, who was standing by the window in a leopard-skin bikini.
Apart from Justin, all the celebrities were calling for help. At any moment, I expected security guards to charge in and wrestle us to the ground.
Our minds were all buzzing. Kids like us with the gift were sending out thought-waves saying they could see us on their television screens. What was happening? What were we playing at?
A deeply tanned soap actor was shrieking at Justin.
“I can’t believe you knew about this. I feel betrayed, Justin. You’ve put us all in danger.”
“Leave Justin alone,” Jack hissed, “or I’ll punch your lights out.”
The soap actor retreated with his hands up by his face.
Outside the windows of the Celebrity Skin house, I could see uniformed security guards moving like sharks in an unlit tank. Some pressed their noses right up against the glass. They were glaring at us, and one was shouting into a walkie-talkie, but they made no move to come into the living area.
That’s when I realised that nobody was going to stop us. For the programme makers watching in the control room, this was just more publicity for their show. They didn’t want the security guards to drag us away - not yet anyway. It would be all over the newspapers tomorrow - a bunch of kids had broken in to the Celebrity Skin house. Imagine that!
At last, everyone quietened down. They were all looking at Fatima. Wasn’t she familiar? Hadn’t they seen this skinny blind girl before somewhere?
“So, kids,” Justin announced. “It’s ten past eight. Would you like to broadcast your message to the world now?”
I could hear Melissa whispering urgently.
“Fatima, yeah, please don’t tell people they can never watch this sort of show. Say it should be educational stuff as well as Celebrity Skin. A bit of both, yeah?”
Fatima smiled then called my name softly. I took her arm and pointed her towards one of the cameras that was fixed to a wall. It moved slightly and I watched its robot eye zoom in on her.
She coughed, then began to address the millions who were watching in a strong, clear voice.
“You know who we are, or you should do. We’re the Street Heroes. A while ago, we had a message for the British Fascist Party when they tried to march down Cable Street. Now we’ve got something to say to all of you.
“These game shows, soap operas, talent contests. . . I suppose there’s a place for them.”
Melissa was nodding.
“But there’s so much more to life. Maybe because I can’t actually see television, I don’t get it. It seems to me, though, that it’s only doing half its job. Yes, it entertains you, if you don’t mind having your brain turned to mush. But shouldn’t it be telling you what’s really going on in the world, inspiring you to change things for the better? Please think about what I’m saying. Please open your minds.”
She spoke like a real star. Justin started to clap theatrically, but the other celebrities simply gawped at her.
I nudged Hyun-mi. She stepped closer to Fatima and they linked arms like sisters who’d known each other a lifetime.
“Anyway, enough of me. There’s someone else I want to introduce to you this evening. She comes from a very strange and frightening country called North Korea. Her name’s Hyun-mi and she’s got this amazing story. . .”
About the story
I made a lot of programmes when I was a TV reporter, but the one I’m most proud of was about a strange and frightening country called North Korea. Journalists are not allowed to visit, so to go there I had to pretend to be one of the very few tourists they let in each year. I felt uncomfortable all the time I was in North Korea, but, as a Westerner, I think they’d just have thrown me out if they’d known what I was up to. Another journalist who worked on the programme put himself in much greater danger. He secretly filmed the many street children in North Korea left to starve by its ruler Kim Jong-il. The so-called ‘Dear Leader’ claims to love all the children in his country, but he has allowed many thousands of them to die while he spends his country’s resources on nuclear weapons and North Korea’s massive army.
The brave journalist who worked with our Channel Four team was a young North Korean who I knew as Ahn Chol. That wasn’t his real name – to protect himself and others, he kept his identity secret. His parents had died in one of North Korea’s many famines but he’d managed to escape over the border into China.
Ahn Chol decided to go back into North Korea undercover to film the street children who were suffering so badly. If he’d been caught by the police, he would have been arrested and killed.
The programme we made was called Children of the Secret State. This book is dedicated to Ahn Chol, who risked his life to bring their story to the world.
Joe Layburn has spent most of his life in East London. His dad thought it would be fantastic for Joe and his three brothers to grow up surrounded by the fresh air and green fields of the country but Joe missed London and moved back as soon as he could.
Joe was a TV reporter and journalist for 15 years before becoming a teacher. He has always loved writing stories and the modern and historical East End is a big inspiration for him.
Joe lives in East London with his wife Marianne and three sons, Richie, Charlie and Hal. Joe and his sons are season-ticket holders at West Ham football club. His other books for Frances Lincoln are Street Heroes and Ghostscape.