It is Nicky who opens the door when Simone rings the bell. He looks at her in surprise.

“Hi, Nicky,” she says.

“I’ve got some new cards,” he tells her eagerly.

“That’s great,” she says.

“They’re girl cards, but lots of them are really strong.”

“Is your sister in?” Simone asks, patting Nicky on the arm.

“Aida! Aida!” Nicky runs off down the dark hall and disappears inside the apartment.

Simone waits in the entry-way. Then she hears a strange pumping noise, something rattles faintly, and after a while she sees an emaciated, stooping woman coming toward her. She is pulling a small trolley behind her with an oxygen tank mounted on it. A hose runs from the tank to the woman, pumping oxygen into her nostrils through thin, transparent plastic tubes.

The woman taps her chest with a tiny clenched fist. “Em . . . physema,” she wheezes. Her wrinkled face contracts in a painful, debilitating bout of coughing.

When she eventually stops, she gestures to Simone to come in. They walk together through the long, dark hallway until they reach a living room full of heavy furniture. On the floor, between a stereo system with glass doors and a low television unit, Nicky is playing with his Pokémon cards. Aida is sitting on the brown sofa, which has been squeezed in between two large indoor palms.

Simone barely recognizes her. She isn’t wearing a scrap of make-up. Her face is sweet and very young. Her hair has been brushed until it shines and is caught up in a neat ponytail. If not for the cigarette she holds in a trembling hand, she would look like a child.

“Hello, Aida,” says Simone. “How are you doing?”

Aida shrugs her shoulders. She looks as if she’s been crying. She takes a drag on her cigarette and lifts a green saucer up toward the glowing tip, as if she’s afraid of dropping ash on the furniture.

“Sit . . . down,” her mother wheezes to Simone, who perches on one of two wide armchairs crammed in beside the sofa, the table, and the palms.

Aida taps the ash onto the green saucer.

“I’ve just come from the hospital,” Simone says. “My father was hit by a car. He was on his way to the sea, to Wailord.”

Nicky suddenly lurches to his feet. His face is bright red. “Wailord is angry, very angry, very angry.”

Simone turns to Aida, who swallows hard and then closes her eyes.

“What’s all this about?” Simone asks. “Who’s Wailord? What’s going on?”

Aida stubs out her cigarette, then says unsteadily, “They’ve disappeared.”

“Who?”

“A gang who used to be horrible to us. Nicky and me. They were terrible, they were going to mark me, they were going to make— ” She falls silent and looks at her mother, who makes a snorting sound. “They were going to make a bonfire . . . of Mum,” Aida says slowly.

“Shit . . . fuck,” wheezes her mother from the other armchair.

“They use Pokémon names; they’re called Azelf, Magmortar, or Lucario. Sometimes they change the names. You never know what they’re doing.”

“How many of them are there?”

“I don’t know, maybe only five,” she replies. “They’re just kids; the oldest is about my age, the youngest is only about six. But they decided that everybody who lives here had to give them something,” says Aida, looking Simone in the eye for the first time. Her eyes are the colour of amber, beautiful, clear, but full of fear. “The little ones had to give them sweets or pens,” she goes on in her thin voice. “They gave them all their money so they wouldn’t get beaten up. Others gave them their stuff: cell phones, Nintendo games. They took my jacket, they took cigarettes. And Nicky— they just used to beat Nicky up; they took everything he had, they were so horrible to him.”

Her voice dies away and tears spring to her eyes.

“Did they take Benjamin?”

Aida’s mother waves her hand. “That . . . boy . . . is . . . no . . . good.”

“Answer me, Aida,” Simone says sharply. “You’re going to give me an answer!”

“Don’t . . . shout . . . at . . . my . . . daughter,” her mother hisses.

Simone ignores the shrunken woman and says, even more firmly this time, “You’re going to tell me what you know, do you hear me?”

Aida swallows hard. “I don’t know much,” she says eventually. “Benjamin stepped in, told us we shouldn’t give those kids anything. Wailord went crazy; he said it was a declaration of war and demanded loads of money from us.”

She lights a fresh cigarette, takes a drag, carefully taps the ash onto the green saucer, then goes on.

“When Wailord found out about Benjamin’s disease, he gave the others needles to scratch him with.” The girl stops and shrugs her shoulders.

“What happened?” Simone asks harshly.

Aida bites her lips and removes a flake of tobacco from her tongue.

“What happened?”

“Wailord just stopped,” she whispers. “Suddenly he was gone. I’ve seen the other kids around; they went after Nicky just the other day. Now they’re following someone who calls himself Ariados, but it’s not the same. They’re confused and desperate since Wailord disappeared.”

“When was this? When did Wailord disappear?”

Aida considers the question. “I think . . . I think it was last Wednesday. Three days before Benjamin disappeared.” Her mouth begins to tremble. “Wailord’s taken him,” she whispers. “Wailord’s done something terrible to him. And now he’s hiding out.”

She begins to sob, loudly and convulsively. Her mother gets to her feet with difficulty, takes the cigarette out of her hand, and slowly stubs it out on the green saucer.

“Fucking . . . monstrosity,” wheezes her mother.

Simone has no idea who she’s talking about. “Who is he?” she asks again. “What’s Wailord’s real name? You have to tell me who he is.”

“I don’t know,” yells Aida. “I don’t know!”

Simone takes out the photograph of the patch of grass and the bushes in front of a brown fence.

“I found this on Benjamin’s computer,” she says firmly.

Aida looks at the print-out, her face blank.

“Where is this?” Simone asks.

Aida shrugs her shoulders and glances briefly at her mother. “Haven’t a clue,” she says tonelessly, handing it back.

“But you sent it to him,” Simone says angrily. “It came from you, Aida.”

The girl’s eyes slide away, seeking out her mother once again, sitting with the hissing oxygen tank at her feet.

Simone waves the sheet of paper in front of her face. “Look at it, Aida. Look again. Why did you send this to my son?”

“It was just a joke,” she whispers.

“A joke?”

Aida nods. “Would you like to live here, Benjamin? Something like that,” she says feebly.

“I don’t believe you,” Simone says doggedly. “Tell me the truth!”

Aida’s mother struggles to her feet again and waves at Simone. “Get out of my house. You people think you can come in here and say whatever the hell you want to whoever the hell you want.”

“Why are you lying?” Simone asks, as Aida finally meets her gaze.

The girl looks deeply unhappy. “Sorry,” she says in a small voice. “Sorry.”

On her way out, Simone meets Nicky. He’s standing in the darkness in the hallway, rubbing his eyes.

“I have no power. I’m a worthless Pokémon.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Simone responds. “I’m sure you do have power.”