When I was twelve, I saw Tally die.

We both had an evening paper round. She did one side of Ditchling Road and I did the other. I had the odd numbers, she had the evens.

Ditchling Road is a steep hill road in a coastal town. It stretches upwards from the seafront to the farthest end of town. It’s about three miles long. We liked to start at the top of the hill and work our way down towards the sea..

We’d collect our bags of newspapers at about four, then cycle up Ditchling Road, sometimes racing each other, most often not. Then we’d sit on one of the golf course benches, eating chocolates and talking. We could see the sea from where we sat. Sometimes, if I’d brought my radio, we’d listen to music. At five we’d start our deliveries, Tally on the left, me on the right. The first one back at the shop bought the other one something, sweets, stickers, cards, bubble gum, whatever. It wasn’t so much what it was, more that it was. It was one of our deals.

Tally was pretty. Her full name was Natalia Brown, but she preferred Tally. She was tall and had long, dark hair she tied up in a ponytail. She was also very adventurous, more than anyone else I knew. She would do the most incredibly dangerous things, just so that she could say she had done them. Most of the time, Tally was the only person to have done a certain thing. She was a natural trailblazer. For example, when the pond in Hollingbury Park froze over, Tally was the only one who dared to walk across it at its widest point. I watched her breathlessly, hearing the pinging and cracking of ice beneath her as she fearlessly stepped from one bank to the other. Nothing fazed her.

So, when she mentioned climbing the pylon, I knew she meant it, and I knew she’d do it, no matter what I said.

It was a hot summer’s day. We were on the golf course bench, prior to delivering the papers. We’d eaten chocolate, talked, listened to some radio music and gazed at the sea, watching the tankers, ferries and yachts sail from one side of the horizon to the other. Our bikes were nearby, the newspaper bags slung over the handlebars.

Tally pointed to a nearby pylon.

“I’m going to climb that,” she said matter-of-factly.