It’s been four years since my friend’s disappearance. Some would say it’s been four years since his death. Neither of these statements is exactly true.
Julia, at twelve, thirteen years old, bore the reputation with teachers and parents of friends, parents of her brother and sister’s friends, as being responsible. A sturdy girl. No gossip.
It’s eleven o’clock at night in Rome, which means it’s ten o’clock back home in London. I open my hotel room window and look across the rooftops, towards the station.
