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My name is Carol Sanders.

I live in England now, but when I was younger, I lived in Hong Kong. My father was a businessman there and my mother worked as a secretary. We lived in Hong Kong for seven years.

I was happy at school, with lots of friends, and we had a good time. I liked pop music -- the Rolling Stones, David Bowie and Jake Rosso were my favourites.

Jake Rosso was my favourite singer. He died in a car accident the year I left school, but I listened to his pop records all the time. I had hundreds of pictures and photos of him on my bedroom wall.

Then one day in winter when I was seventeen, things began to go wrong for me.

My father went to Australia on business. I loved him very much and didn't like him going away.

"Come home quickly," I always said to him.

He was in Australia for two weeks. Then, on the day of his journey home, an aeroplane from Sydney crashed into the sea just south of Hong Kong. Everybody on the plane died.

I heard about the plane crash on television. At first, I did not think about my father. Then I remembered he was flying back from Sydney on that day.

"Oh, no!" I cried.

I telephoned the airport but they did not know the names of all the passengers then.

"Perhaps my father didn't get that plane," I thought. "Oh, please! Please!"

My mother was at work and I called her on the telephone. She came home quickly and we went to the airport and waited for news.

Later, we learned my father was on the plane.

"It's not true!" I shouted.

But it was true, and I began to cry.

I cried for weeks and weeks. I spent many days alone in my room. I was lonely and sad and I wanted to die, too.

I stopped going out with my friends. I didn't want to see other people. I stopped listening to Jake Rosso's records, and took his pictures off my bedroom wall. I didn't listen to music or watch television. Nothing mattered any more.

Then I stopped crying. I stopped feeling sad and began to feel angry.

"Why did it happen to him?" I asked my mother. "Why do the best people die? Jake Rosso. My father."

"I… I don't know, Carol," my mother said. She was unhappy, too.

At the time of the plane crash, I was a student at college. I enjoyed the college work and life very much, but after my father's death I stopped doing my work at the college. I began to go out with some new friends. They were different from my other friends, and my mother didn't like them.

"They're bad people, Carol," she told me. "They do dangerous things."

"They're exciting," I said. "And I like them."

I knew she was angry but I didn't care. But then I learned my new friends took drugs, and I began to take drugs, too. It was wrong and stupid, I know that now, but I was unhappy and angry.

The police came to the college to arrest some of the students. They didn't arrest me, but I had to leave the college. It was a bad time.

My mother was very unhappy with me. "What am I going to do with you, Carol?" she said.

"I'm sorry," I told her.

"We'll go back to England," she said. "You can find a college there. Perhaps you can be happier in England."

"All right," I said. "I want to forget what's happened. I want to forget what I've done and begin a new life, be a new person."

A month later, we came back to England. We lived in London, in a hotel. It was strange, at first, with all the red buses and everybody speaking English. It was the beginning of the summer, three months before college began in the autumn. London was full of tourists.

We looked at all the famous buildings -- Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London. And we went to restaurants and theatres in the evenings. It was interesting and exciting and I began to forget the bad times in Hong Kong.

"I'm pleased we came to London," I told my mother.

But after a few weeks, she said, "You need to find a college, Carol. You must go on studying. And I need a job."

That evening, we looked in the newspapers.

"What about this?" I said. I showed my mother a job in the newspaper.

SECRETARY for the summer months on a small private island in Scotland.

Live with the family in a big house.

Interesting work and good pay for the right person.

Phone Greta Poss. Telephone number 071…

"Well, that sounds interesting," said my mother. "I'd like to work as a secretary on an island in Scotland. It's a beautiful country, Carol, and you can go to a college there in the autumn."

"And it's a place to live for the summer," I said. "Hotels are expensive."

My mother telephoned Greta Ross.

Come and see me tomorrow, Greta Ross told her. "Come to Savoy Hotel at eleven o'clock."

I went to Savoy Hotel with my mother. It was big and ex pensive, bigger than our hotel, and in the center of London.

"Mum needs this job," I thought. "And a private island in Scotland is a nice place to live. Perhaps I can forget what's happened if I go there."

"Room twenty-two," said the woman at the hotel desk. "Go on up. Mrs Ross will see you now."

Greta Ross was waiting for us. She was about thirty years old and very beautiful. She wore an expensive red dress and her hair was very long and dark.

"This is my daughter, Carol," said my mother.

"Hallo, Carol," said Greta Ross.

"Hallo," I said.

"Carol is eighteen years old," said my mother. "Can she come with me, if I get the job? Perhaps she can help in the house or in the garden. She likes gardening. She's studying farming at college. "

"Perhaps," said Greta Ross. "There's a small farm on the island."

"I'd like to work on the farm," I said.

Greta Ross looked at my mother. "How long did you live in Hong Kong, Mrs Sanders?"

"Seven years," answered my mother. "My husband died in a plane crash last year, so we've come back to live in England."

"Where did you live before Hong Kong?"

"We lived in India for three years."

Then Greta Ross took my mother into a room and asked her more questions. I waited outside.

"Greta Ross is nice," I thought. "I hope my mother gets the job."

Soon after, the door opened and my mother came out. She was smiling.

Greta Ross said, "Please wait here for a minute, Mrs Sanders. I want to make a phone call." she went back into the room, and closed the door.

I was sitting on a chair near the door, and I could just hear Greta Ross's voice speaking on the phone.

"I think I've found someone," she was saying. "She has a daughter, but the girl can work in the garden or on the farm… Don't worry, they've been away from England for ten years… It'll be all right, I tell you… Don't worry."

After a few minutes, Greta Ross put down the phone and came out of the room.

"You've got the job," she told my mother.

My mother was pleased. "Thank you," she replied.

I was pleased, too, but now I was worried about that phone call. I didn't understand it.