2
AMONG THE STARS – PART 2
“Are you ever getting off that phone, my girl?” said Oupie.
“Why? This is the only thing stopping me from dying in this place.”
“Don’t say that. You have me and Ouma for company.”
“No offence, Oupie. But I can’t spend all my time watching KykNET.”
Just a small glimpse into my life. Boring, boring, boring. Nothing exciting ever happens to me.
Well, rewind on that last statement. I’ve just met the weirdest guy. Peter Cho. (Charlene Peters, meet Peter Cho.) Really cute, but very strange. Or rather, the reason he was here was strange.
You’re not going to believe this. But this is what he claimed. He came to see Ouma and Oupie with this story that he’d been out walking, on his own. He looks like a bit of a loner. A cat who walks alone (ha ha). Anyway, he says, while he was out on his late-night stroll, this chick came up to him, hair a mess, eyes wild. OK, so nothing majorly strange about that – yet. But get this: she said she was Melissa Peters. Ja, you heard me right the first time. Our Melissa Peters. As in my long-dead aunt who disappeared before I was even born. Beautiful Melissa who everyone says I look so much like.
Have to say, he did quite an impressive double-take when I came into the room. As if he’d seen a ghost. Which I suppose he had. Ag shame, twice in one night might be a bit much to take. So anyway, he says Melissa came running out of nowhere, begging him to help her and he took her off to some place near here where he was house-sitting, got her inside and calmed her down. But then, she got really upset and ran off.
So then he came to see us. Now this is where it gets really weird. And creepy. He says Melissa told him that Mr Cupido – that’s right, old Mr Cupido who lived next door – was the one who abducted Melissa and killed her. I couldn’t believe it. Sweet Mr Cupido who was always so kind to Oupie and Ouma? I can’t ever see him grabbing a young girl off the streets. But then again, ‘books and covers’. You know the expression, right?
This Peter Cho ou, he didn’t want to tell Ouma and Oupie everything she told him, but eventually he did. According to her, Mr Cupido caught her and tied her up … and raped her. I hate even thinking that, but that’s what he said. Shame, Oupie looked like he was going to cry. Ouma did. She sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks and when I gave her a tissue she looked surprised, like she didn’t even know she was crying.
I have to tell you, I really didn’t like Peter Cho then. How could he do that? Come into our life and bring back old memories, open old wounds and make them bleed again. Point a finger at a kind old man who’s dead and buried and can’t defend himself. I mean, why would Melissa come back now, when there’s nothing to be gained? It’s not like the police can do anything. And even if they could, would they spend time and manpower on an old dead guy, when there’s so much crime happening? Plenty to keep the police busy without going back into the past.
I went outside after Peter Cho had gone and there was Oupie sitting on the bench, next to Auntie’s shrine. I asked him if he was going to do anything, but he just shook his head.
“What is there to do, my girlie?” he said. “She’s gone. And, if we can believe this young man, at last we know what happened to her. Mr Cupido … ” He shook his head. “A pillar of the community. And Selvin. Another good man. Ward Councillor, just like his father. Why should we stir up trouble for him? Children should not have to pay for the sins of their fathers.”
“But we can’t just leave it like this, Oupie. We need to find out what exactly happened. For Melissa.”
“I said no, Charlene! It’s in the past, just leave it there.”
The pain on his face was too much for me. He just wanted to forget about everything that had happened and I don’t blame him. Old Mr Cupido was one of his best friends. And now the memory of his friend was being muddied by Peter Cho.
He’d lit candles for Melissa like he always does, and light flickered onto her photo. It was cold and misty and there was condensation on the glass of the frame. There was Melissa, looking out from the picture. For the first time I thought her smile looked sad, and the drops of water running down the glass … OK, OK, I know I’m the family drama queen – but it looked like she was crying.
Maybe she isn’t at peace? Maybe there’s a reason for all this? I just wish I knew what it was.
~•~
I can’t get Peter Cho out of my mind. It has nothing to do with his smooth olive skin and his dark, mysterious eyes. Nor with the way his hair shone midnight-black under the sitting-room light. And not because of his body – you know that coiled spring look, like someone’s ready to pounce? Or at least move really fast? Mainly, I can’t stop thinking about how sad he looked, like he wished he didn’t have to be here, breaking such bad news. I’ve been feeling sad too. We all have. It’s like Melissa has been dragged back to life, along with the pain Ouma and Oupie felt when she vanished. All the raw fear and the tears.
Nor can I stop thinking about Mr Cupido. He always used to come around to see Ouma and Oupie, bring them baskets of home-grown veggies, pass the Sunday Times on when he’d finished with it so that Ouma could do the crossword. He made a special point of coming here on every anniversary of Melissa’s disappearance with flowers for Ouma and beers for Oupie and him. They’d sit outside on Melissa’s bench and look at her picture and talk about all the wonderful things she used to do and what a happy girl she was.
Later, after I was born, and after my mom ran away and left me here, I’d sit on Oupie’s lap and listen to them, and Mr Cupido used to say things like, “She may be gone, my dear friends, but there is still hope that she is out there.” Was he gloating as he spoke? Would anyone be so cruel?
So Oupie and Ouma didn’t want to do anything, but I felt I had to do something. I couldn’t let it go.
Talk about things working on your mind. It got so I’d jump every time I saw a shadow. The wind in the trees sounded scary and threatening and I felt like I was being watched, that there were eyes everywhere. Maybe that’s the sort of thing that happens when ghosts come visiting. They shake up the air, make everything smell and sound and look and feel different. Was it Melissa? Was she waiting to see what would happen, what we would do?
Well, after a few days I could have told her. Nothing. Nada. Niks. Zilch. Life settled back into the same-old same-old. School, homework, TV, Facebook, eat, sleep. I’ll probably look back on these days and wonder why I didn’t enjoy them more. Take advantage of all the time I had to sleep and do nothing. But not now. Now all I want are answers.
I’ve started watching the house next door, where Selvin lives. The other Cupido – the son of the killer. I never really bothered to notice him much before this. He’s just a tubby, chubby, little, middle-aged man.
But actually – maybe it’s because I’m hyper-sensitive, so aware of what Peter Cho said about his father – but there is something off about him. It’s not my imagination, I know it. When I’m in my room I can clearly see his comings and goings. He goes to work. He goes out occasionally in the evenings – council business, probably. But once he goes inside that’s it. The windows and heavy curtains are always closed too. And no one ever comes to see him. The one time a woman came around to the house, he spoke to her outside on the stoep. Took some papers from her and waved her goodbye. Not very sociable. OK, OK, so those aren’t grounds for suspicion; people who live alone can get a bit set in their ways. But what about this? I’m a morning person – five, five-thirty, and I’m awake. Up, out of bed and ready for my shower. One morning I heard his car going into his garage. Next thing I saw him putting a spade into his shed. Who goes gardening in the middle of the night I ask you?
Who is Selvin Cupido? Is he our good neighbour and kind Ward Councillor? I’m doing the maths here. He must be in his forties. Which means that he’d have been twenty-something when Melissa vanished. Old enough to know if his father was up to something. Old enough for anything in fact. I’m sorry. I don’t care what Oupie says about letting the past stay buried, I want to do some investigating. And you know what? I’m not going to do this all on my own. Peter Cho started this whole thing off. The least he can do is see it through with me. I’m calling him tomorrow, and he’d better say yes.
So I phoned Peter Cho. I have to say he could have sounded happier to speak to me. I mean my heart did a funny little squiggle when I heard his voice again. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? He’s got one of those low, old-before-their-time voices, gravelly. It’s probably because he’s a smoker. I smelled it on his clothes the other night. Definitely a habit he’ll have to break, if –
OK, back to our conversation. It wasn’t like I could jump right in and ask him to help me spy on Selvin Cupido and the house next door. He’d have laughed and cut me off. So instead, sorry to say this, but I did a bit of emotional blackmailing. All about how I never knew Melissa, the shadow who has haunted our lives, and how much I look like her, and maybe there was stuff about her that he’d remembered. And how I felt she wasn’t at rest. Could we meet, just to talk about it all again? I babbled on and on; it happens when I’m nervous. There’s no pause button.
When he finally got a chance to speak, his voice was softer. “I can’t get her out of my mind either,” he said. “Let’s meet.”
“Cool,” I said. My heart was racing.
I liked the idea of seeing Peter Cho again. I wasn’t too sure how he’d feel about me tricking him into meeting me, though. I’d deal with that when I saw him.
~•~
When I walked down from the bus stop Peter was standing on the corner where we’d arranged to meet.
“Hi.” He looked down on me. (Did I mention that he’s also tall? Hovering somewhere around six foot.)
“Hi,” I said, my voice lower than a stage whisper. He looked even better in broad daylight. The afternoon sun was weak but it still struck a blue-black glow off his hair. The shadows under his eyes made them look even darker. I don’t know what gene pool this boy swam out of, but it must have been a deep one.
“OK,” he said, after we’d walked a block in silence. “Melissa. What did you want to ask me about her?”
I swallowed. “Have you thought of anything else? We need all the details, even the small ones. Something that might just solve the mystery.”
“We need?” he repeated. “Mystery? What mystery? We know what happened. Mr Cupido, your next-door neighbour. Remember? He’s the one who –”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But there must be something more. Why would she come back now? Why not years ago, when he was still alive?”
“She was scared, remember?” Peter said. “For your grandparents. If they’d confronted him …”
“Oh.” Suddenly all the things I’d been so sure of melted into a sorry little puddle. “I’d forgotten that,” I said.
“She came to let your grandparents know what happened,” Peter said. “That’s all.”
More silence. Another block. And then it came to me. “Hang on,” I said. “If she only came to set my grandparents’ minds at rest, she’d also be able to rest, right? Job done and all that.”
“I suppose so,” Peter said.
“So why do I feel as if she still wants us to do something?” I said.
“What’s with all this ‘us’ and ‘we’?” Peter Cho sounded a bit pissed off. “Look, Charlene, I agreed to meet you to talk more about your aunt. What happened to her, your family, all that shit, I’m sorry about that. But it’s not my problem. Sorry.”
I looked down at my shoes. Baby-girl school shoes. How stupid was I, to think I could take on something like this.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry. I’m probably imagining things.”
“Imagining?”
“In the last few days I feel like someone’s been watching me. You know when you almost catch sight of something, and then it’s gone? I thought it was maybe Melissa. If not, it’s just my imagination.” I laughed shakily. “I guess I’m a bit freaked out by the whole Peter-Cho-saw-my-aunt thing.”
“OK,” he said and stopped walking. “This is it. Where I saw her.”
“Oh,” I said.
I looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. No abandoned warehouses, no graveyards with crumbling headstones and Romeo-and-Juliet type crypts. Just an ordinary street with ordinary houses, a small, rundown playground with a slide and a few swings, a vacant plot, fenced and with someone’s veggies planted in neat green rows. Just your average Mitchells Plain road. Not the sort of place you’d expect to meet a ghost.
“You know, Charlene,” Peter said, “I did take what you said seriously. I just can’t think of anything else about your aunt. Nothing that would help you.”
“OK,” I said, my voice small. “Thanks anyway.”
“See you.”
And then he stopped, his face sickly sallow. “Do you feel that?” he said.
~•~
“Feel what?” I asked.
“How cold it suddenly is.”
“It’s winter,” I retorted. “What did you expect?” I wanted him to leave. Much as I liked looking upon the extreme coolness that was Peter Cho, if he wasn’t going to help me, he could just go.
“I’m serious, Charlene,” he said. “It’s not cold. It’s freezing.”
Then I felt it too. Cold winding around my ankles, slipping like an icy scarf around my neck.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Peter said.
My eyes stretched wider than my face. “I think so,” I whispered.
Peter sighed. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I think Mr Cupido’s son, Selvin, is up to something. He lives like a vampire. Sometimes he’s out all night.”
“He could just work late. You know, night shift or whatever.”
“Peter, he’s a councillor. As far as I know that’s pretty much a day-time job. Do me a favour, just come with me.”
Maybe it was because we were moving again, but the moment we started walking it felt as if the cold loosened its grip on us.
~•~
So there we were, a couple of minutes later, sitting on Melissa’s bench in our yard. In silence. Again.
“Look,” I said, staring at the Cupido’s house, “you don’t have to do this.”
Peter laughed. “I don’t think I have a choice,” he said. “It’s this, or live in deep-freeze forever.”
“Ja, but I don’t want you to feel forced into it,” I said.
I felt miserable. As if someone had reached into my belly and was squeezing tight. I knew something was up. I knew I had to figure out a way of learning more. But the last thing I wanted was a reluctant partner. Someone who felt he had to be there.
This time it was me who sighed. The Cupidos had something to do with Melissa’s disappearance. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones, in that part of you that instinctively feels the truth. And now that I had taken to watching him more closely, there was definitely something strange about Selvin Cupido. But was it fair to pull Peter into all of this?
And then I saw it. Over at the Cupido house. A curtain in the back room moving. A fist flashing above the window sill. It opened like a starfish then vanished.
“Did you see that?” I jabbed Peter in the ribs and he winced. He looked at me as if I was insane.
“The curtain, Peter, next door. Back window. Look!”
He stared in the same direction. “There’s nothing there, Charlene. You’ve got ghosts on the brain.”
“Peter Cho, as God is my witness, cross my heart and hope to die, I swear I saw something there.”
Just then Selvin Cupido pulled in. He opened the car door and heaved himself out.
“That’s your suspect?” Peter looked amazed. “That chubby little bra? He couldn’t hurt a fly.”
Mr Cupido waddled up the driveway and glanced over at us.
“Hello, Charlene,” he called.
“Hi, Selvin,” I called back. Was it my imagination, or did his eyes crawl over my body?
I turned to Peter. “Do something,” I hissed.
“What?” He looked confused.
“He can’t suspect us.” I was getting tired of the hissing thing but I had to keep my voice at a whisper.
“But he’s a good ou, your grandfather said so.”
“Peter. I swear to God –” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips and then leaned a bit closer. “He can’t suspect us at all. As far as he’s concerned, you’re my new boyfriend. OK?” I lifted my face to his and Peter Cho bent his head.
“Really?”
“Best I can think of,” I murmured.
“OK.” A small smile lurked on his mouth. “I take it we’ll discuss plans soon?” His breath was warm on my face.
“In a while.” My lips parted and I pulled his head closer. “But first let’s make this look convincing.”
So … Peter Cho. Tall, good looking, geeky-bright – and an amazing kisser.
~•~
He stayed for supper. Ouma was surprised to see him again, but I told her he’d come to see if we were OK after the shock of his news. Peter did well, swallowed, looked politely concerned and patted Ouma gently on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been a real shock.”
Supper wasn’t so easy though. When I tried to bring up Melissa and what had happened again, how we should go to the police, or at least try to find out more, Ouma’s eyes filled with tears and Oupie’s voice went quiet, the way it does when he’s seriously angry.
“That’s enough, Charlene,” he said.
My cheeks burned and I lowered my eyes. I hated it when he treated me like a little kid.
Oupie looked at his watch. “It was very kind of you to come Peter, but I’m afraid Mrs Peters and I have to leave. There’s a meeting at the civic centre to discuss the increased rates.”
I shot a glance at Peter, wished I could kick him under the table. Selvin Cupido would have to go to that, I was sure of it. I couldn’t ask Oupie though. I knew better than to make him really angry. Being grounded for weeks wouldn’t suit my agenda at all. Not when there was snooping to be done next door.
“Charlene,” Ouma called as she opened the front door, “see Peter out and do the dishes please. Then straight to bed.”
As the door closed behind her I turned to Peter with a huge grin on my face. “Fab,” I said. “No time like the present.”
“To do the dishes?” he said. “You want me to help you?”
Flip. Sometimes these bright guys can be incredibly slow.
“Didn’t you hear my grandfather? Civic centre, meeting, rates. Selvin Cupido’s a councillor. He’s bound to be there.”
I grabbed him by the hand. “But just to be sure …”
We sat on the bench again, shivering in the early evening air.
“I must be mad,” Peter said.
I giggled. “It’s catching,” I said.
He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Freezing out here,” he said.
I snuggled in under his arm, then stiffened. “Shh. Peter. There he is.”
Selvin was locking his front door. Hurrying to his car. I don’t know if he spotted us sitting there in the dark, but if he had he’d have seen two kids glued to each other. Pretty convincing. What he wouldn’t have seen though was that while Peter Cho was doing a very good job of kissing me, I had my eyes wide open.
“He’s getting into his car,” I breathed. Selvin Cupido’s Audi growled to life. “OK. Just a few seconds more and we can make our move.”
Peter Cho stroked a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear.
“I could get used to this, Charlene,” he said.
“So could I,” I smiled. “But later. Come on,” I tugged his hand. “Let’s have a look.”
~•~
The Cupidos’ house was just like ours. Built in the sixties, a square block with a small recessed stoep. “We can’t get in there,” I said as we flitted up the short drive. “Someone might see us. Come, let’s go round the back.”
The Cupidos had the same back door as us and of course it was well and truly locked.
“It’s a Yale,” Peter said. “We could break the window and slip the catch from the outside. But, Charlene, if we get caught, that’s breaking and entering.”
“So what? We can say we thought we saw someone inside and this was the only way we could find out. And that would be true. I did see someone. A small hand, Peter. Not a man’s one. I bet it’s a girl.”
I stopped. Once again I was forcing him into this. And we weren’t his problem. “Look, Peter, you don’t have to do this. Thanks for all your help.”
“Are you totally insane?” Peter was indignant. “Do you think I’d leave you all alone here? Besides,” he smiled, “what would I say to Melissa?”
I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Peter Cho.” I looked over my shoulder. “We’d better move quickly though. These meetings never go on very late.”
Peter wrapped his sweat shirt around his hand and smashed his fist into the pane. The glass broke and tinkled onto the kitchen floor. I snaked my hand through the hole and slipped open the catch.
“OK?” I clutched his hand.
He gave my hand an answering squeeze. “OK, Melissa Peters, let’s do this.”
We crept through the kitchen and into the musty, dimly lit passage. All the doors were closed. I stopped outside the one closest to the kitchen. “This is where I saw the hand,” I whispered. I pressed my ear to the door. “I can’t hear anything.”
Peter scratched on the door lightly. “Hello,” he called softly. “Anyone there?”
And then I heard it: a faint scrabbling sound as if someone was scratching the floor. And then, another noise, louder this time. Thudding.
“Charlene, look.” Peter pointed down.
There staring us in the face was a key.
“Locked,” he said.
“Ja …” I giggled (a little hysterically, I have to say), “from the outside.”
“He’s certainly making it easy for us,” Peter grinned.
He turned the key and tried the handle. The door was stiff.
“Here,” Peter handed me his sweat shirt, then put his shoulder to the door and shoved.
The smell hit us before we saw what was inside.
A thick smell of unwashed bodies and urine. And rising sharply above that, the rancid, acrid, animal smell of fear.
And then, the wild muffled sound of someone struggling to speak.
The room was dark. Very dark.
“We can’t switch on the light,” Peter said. “Close one eye for a few seconds.”
“Whaaat? We don’t have time for this,” I hissed (again).
“Just do it.”
Amazing. Suddenly I could make out shapes. A large table in one corner. And in another, two huddled shapes, writhing frantically. Peter and I crept towards the source of the smell. Two young girls, thin as shadows.
“Shh,” I soothed, trying to sound reassuring even though my heart was racing faster than a humming bird’s. “Just keep very quiet.” I fumbled to untie one gag, trying not to retch at the smell of very bad breath. The gag was slimy in my hands as I eased it away gently.
Peter was busy untying the other. “We’re going to get you out of here.” His voice was deep and very calm.
“Oh, I don’t think you are,” said a quiet voice from the doorway.
Councillor Selvin Cupido. Home early from the ratepayers’ meeting – or did he get suspicious? He’s reaching into his pocket. And – you guessed it – pulling out a small, but very ugly little pistol.
~•~
They say your life flashes by your eyes when you know you’re going to die. Well, I don’t know about that. What I do know is that your brain slows to a standstill for a fraction of a second and then it leaps into action. In my case very loud, very manic, totally unplanned action.
“Selvin!” I yelled at the top of my voice. “Selvin Cupido!” I waved my hands in the dark.
His head jerked in my direction and in that flash of a moment Peter Cho exploded into action. Kapow! A straight-legged kick and the gun flew out of Selvin’s hand and clattered onto the floor.
Kaboom! A kick to the leg and Selvin sank to his knees.
Kersquish! A jab to the flab of his belly and Selvin fell back, winded. He scrabbled around on the floor for his gun.
“Ow!” One of his prisoners bit his ankle. “Ow! Ow!” The second one wriggled forward and sank her teeth into his calf.
Kerswoosh! I threw Peter Cho’s sweat shirt over Selvin’s head. He lay still.
Four angry teenagers versus one chubby, balding, almost-forty-year-old man. He didn’t stand a chance. Peter picked up the pistol and trained it at his head.
“Keep him there, Peter,” I whispered. And then I realised: no need for silence any more. I flipped on the switch. Light glared into the room. Peter and I looked at each other, horrified. Councillor Selvin Cupido wasn’t going to be winning any health and safety awards any time soon. Not to mention that the large stain spreading around his crotch was adding to the strong smell of pee.
“Monster,” I said quietly. “Sadistic pig.” I wanted to kick him, pound his head to a pulp. Make him beg for mercy the way Melissa must have done all those years before. Instead I turned on my heel, walked down the passage and called the police.
~•~
There was so much DNA evidence in the house that Selvin couldn’t worm his way out of a conviction. He crumbled. Told the police everything.
Get this. Selvin Cupido has been perving over me for the last year. Because I look so much Melissa, apparently. She was his first kill. And I was the one who was going to bring things full circle. He had to get me before he could start on his next cycle. Creepy? That doesn’t begin to describe it. No wonder Melissa came back. She had to warn me. Reach out from the grave and make us listen to her. All I can say is, I’m glad they have solid evidence and a solid confession. They want me to testify and I’ll be there, telling my story loud and strong. I want that man behind bars for a long, long time.
Mr Cupido knew what his son was doing. Tried to stop him, but he couldn’t. And nor would he hand him over to the police. Instead he shared my family’s misery. Looked on in horror when his son came back from yet another trip to the vacant plot on the road where Peter met Melissa. The plot belonged to old man Cupido, and he knew how it was being used. For deep graves, dug in the dead of night. Melissa’s body was there, and so many others.
Now this bit’s beyond creepy: Mr Cupido also used the plot to plant vegetables. Tomatoes, butternut, potatoes … I know, you’re thinking baskets of fresh veggies, right? I don’t want to go there. Really. Let’s just say I’m into protein and carbs at the moment. Anyway that gave them an excuse to fence the plot off – to keep people from stealing their crops. Looks like Selvin planted young girls as well as leeks and lettuce. There were nine bodies in total. Some of them were too decomposed to identify, but Melissa’s body was wrapped like a mummy. Selvin was a sick bastard.
So the father was guilty, just as guilty as the son. Oupie and Ouma are having a hard time coming to terms with that.
They’re angry with me too. “You could have got yourself killed,” Oupie keeps saying. But then his face cracks in a smile and he pulls me close for a hug. “My brave girl.”
Peter Cho and I often sit on Melissa’s bench. But we don’t spend too much time going over the details of what happened that night. We’re too busy talking, getting to know each other properly, like adding a purple belt in ju-jitsu to the list of things I’ve discovered about my boyfriend. He knows all about Mom and how I haven’t seen her since I was tiny. I’m slowly getting him used to the idea that we’ll be studying together at UCT next year. Drama for me. Something to do with physics and outer space for him.
I lean my head on his shoulder and look up at the stars, clear in the cold winter sky. There’s one that shines brighter than all the rest. Some people call it Sirius. We call it Melissa’s Star.
Discussion questions
• Would you like this kind of adventure? Why or why not?
• Do you think Peter and Charlene’s relationship is likely to last? Why do you think so?
About the author
Maire Fisher lives and works in Fish Hoek. She is an editor and writer and runs creative writing workshops for children and adults. Maire has been an avid reader all her life. She takes a book with her wherever she goes; when she sailed around the world many years ago, the most important thing about getting to land for her wasn’t stocking up with fresh fruit and veggies, it was finding a boat with good books to swap!
Being a mentor …
I can’t imagine a world without good stories to read. So when FunDza asked me to be part of this project I was delighted to get the chance to work with a young writer. From meeting Jean-Paul, to sitting and working out a story (Who knew we’d come up with a ghost story? But once Jean-Paul said, “I like stories that happen in the dark,” there it was!), to sending versions of our stories back and forth to each other, to getting the final word that our story was great and ready to go up on the site – working collaboratively with a talented young writer has been a brilliant experience from beginning to end. I loved meeting a dedicated writer at the beginning of his writing career, knowing that someday I’d be able to say that I worked with him!