January, 1984. Calcot, Reading.
I’m 8 years old walking home from school with my friend Jamie.
We’re walking along a pathway that cuts through our housing estate. The sort of path that passes by everyone’s back fence.
There is an open bit of scrubland along the path and I find a Tesco bag in the long grass.
I couldn’t tell you why I was looking, just the curious mind of a young boy idly walking home from school I guess – but inside the Tesco bag is something wrapped in a blood stained sheet.