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little metal Dogs of War lunch box, one of those airtight boxes which buckle when kids sit on them. Inside were the remnants of a sandwich and an ancient box of raisins. People would pay money for these things, if I could wipe the rot off. I remembered a boy at school who'd had a lunch box like this. Little Pauly, who liked me, wanted to be me. It was a simple kiss, but I didn't know what to call it. I sat on my Dad's lap and whispered in his ear. "Pauly touched me in a funny way."
      Dad squeezed me until I cried out. "Don't cry, baby. No one will ever hurt you."
      It was the school holidays and I thought nothing more of Pauly. A week into the holidays, though, his face began to appear on the TV between the cartoons and in the paper, which Dad didn't let us see, but we saw it everywhere anyway.
      "There's Pauly!" I said. I couldn't wait to get back to school to see my famous friend. My Dad had to work very hard for the next few days, because Pauly was missing. He had gone for a ride on his bike, all prepared with his Dogs of War lunch box and he was never seen again. I soon forgot Pauly and his kiss.

    I dug and I found a whistle, a small bell, a foam ball and a compass.

    My licence was taken from me. I had a difficult interview with my employer about keeping my job open.
      He said, "You may be popular with the customers, but we need clean drivers here. You can't run a courier company with dodgy drivers. Even if you work the phones till you get your licence back, it's on your record."
      "I'm not a dodgy driver." I was the most cheerful of all the drivers, a joke with every parcel delivered. I loved the job.
      It wasn't hard to be cheerful. People are desperate for a smile; they like you to be nice to them. Some of the regular clients gave me gifts. Books, perfume, stuff they probably got for nothing. They never asked me out or tried anything, though they pushed their kidding as far as it would go.
      So I lost my job and my mode of transport in one. And my mum, of course. I lost her too. My car was towed to my place rather than the tip. I couldn't stand the thought of it being discarded.

    About six months after Mum's funeral, Laurie, the young cop who'd interviewed me in hospital, came a-knocking.
      "Nothing came up, I take it?" He was in casual clothes, I had seen him for a few hours half a year ago, yet he expected me to recognise him. Well, I've got an eye for faces.
      "Hello, Laurie. Not much," I said.
      "I wondered if you'd like to go see a movie or something," he said. "Just if you weren't doing anything."
      I saw, in a sudden flash, the two of us having a drink after the movie. Him saying shit about it, me not being able to think of a word. And what movie would we see, anyway? I knew he wouldn't like my kind of movie. And what would I say if he wanted me back at his place? I wouldn't know where the toilet was, how the fridge worked, how warm the heater made the place.
      "Why don't you come in and we'll talk about it?"
      He smiled.
      "Are you off duty then? Do you want a beer?" I said.
      "Sure."
      It turned out he had a flatmate, so we always went to my place. I had things there just in case, so I could say, "I've got some brandy at my place, why don't we go there?" Or it was chocolate cake, or a DVD, something I could entice him with. I could say I'd left my contraception at home, but he used condoms anyway and wouldn't understand my caution. Knowing him, he might say, "Don't worry, we'll just hold each other," and that would be irritating. It was the usual trouble, though. Why do things have to change? He started wanting more of me, friendship, confession, emotion, and I didn't want a best friend. I didn't know how to tell him, so I just said he was a dud root. I didn't think I'd ever need him as a cop so I didn't care. He took it well, anyway.
      "I thought we had something," he said.
      "Maybe we could have," I said, to give him something to dream about, "but I