It was a Saturday morning in 2001. I was doing a project at Uni on epitaphs, writing my own actually, and as part of that I went to do some rubbings of the headstones in Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral’s graveyard.

It was quiet, I thought it was safe to leave my rucksack whilst I went in to a corner to document a beautifully-engraved tomb that was tucked away. Whilst I was busy with my graphite stick, someone who looked very much like this guy stole my phone.

Strangely enough, I had seen him already, walking his dog. Didn’t think anything of it.

And, it wasn’t a good mobile. My uncle had given me it for the previous Christmas. It had a flip-down bit to speak into and the texts were in capitals, but I used it often and quite liked it for retro value.

I got home and rang the number a couple of times. He answered.

“Was that you drawing the gravestones?” he asked, without any embarrassment.

He said I could have it back for thirty quid. Thirty quid I couldn’t afford at the time, so he laughed and told me he was going to get stoned and watch the match… Liverpool were playing that afternoon, to secure a European place. they won 4-0. Plus ca change.

I managed to get a new, better phone. I forgot all about the mobile phone thief.

Meanwhile, his recreational drug habit got worse. Mine wasn’t the only phone he stole – and phones weren’t the only thing he stole. He also developed a habit of calling prostitutes whose notes to each other he found whilst walking his dog, which he then had to pay for… his life was a vicious and not very pleasant circle.

Somewhow, Gaz sorted himself out. He always tells people it was Istanbul that did it. This photo was one from the set he used with his agency application form, it got him the job in the call centre where he still works. I found it in a gutter a couple of years ago.

But even now he makes the occasional phonecall to a number he got somehow. Knows he shouldn’t. Sends the odd text too. Just wants someone to talk to.

I found this couple’s marriage licence certificate on a plane in 2001.

I know I should have handed it in. I felt a bit bad at the time, but was filled with youthful exuberance and anarchic play. I was, after all, about to embark upon the trip of a lifetime to Las Vegas, and it was their fault for leaving it in the seat-back magazine holder anyway. And, it almost made up for me losing that tracksuit top on a bus in 1989.

I feel especially bad explaining it to you now.

Ana and Greg had got married on June 18, 2001 at a small registry office in Eagle Pass, County Maverick,  Texas. They had rekindled their love working in a comfort shoe factory in nearby San Antonio: she was a stitcher, he a security guard.

They had first met at school, years previous,whilst both longing for a way out of Mexico. West Side Story wasn’t (both of ) their favourite film for nothing. Things got in the way, family things, and they lost touch. Time went on and they forgot about each other, not completely you understand, but enough to get on with their lives at least. Ana used to cry every time she heard any reference to the Sharks or the Jets.

Fate intervened that day on the factory floor, and soon enough they found themselves engaged to be married. Greg worked every extra hour he could to afford the honeymoon Ana had always dreamed of. After all the heartache and wasted years, he was taking her to see the Grand Canyon. A month after the wedding, but it didn’t matter.

They stayed at the San Remo, a smaller hotel just off the strip, near to the airport. They gambled a little, saw a show, walked around like they were sixteen again.

They also shared a bottle of champagne before getting on the plane home, the last little luxury of a never-to-be-forgotten four days, and that’s why they did forget something – where they’d put that precious certificate.

It didn’t matter to them of course, they started married life in bliss and began planning a family. Unfortunately this could not happen – they didn’t let it affect them though, they continued to work hard and use what money they earned to try to see the world.

To celebrate five years since Reverend Ruben Montemayor’s ceremony, they decided to tour England.

Ana’s love of internet forums, the Beatles and especially tragic Stuart Sutcliffe, had got her in touch with a young woman in England who apparently worked in a biscuit factory for her father. When Ana had explained during a late night online chat that she was coming to England, her cyberfriend recommended visiting Liverpool to see where Sutcliffe grew up and was buried.

Greg knew there were two football teams in the city and his love of football extended beyong Monterrey to the English football the local bar sometimes showed, so he took little persuading. A grave shouldn’t take too long to visit.

To commemorate their two days in the city they had a passport booth photo taken together for the first ever time. Unfortunately, their absent-mindedness struck again and it was left in the machine, so eager were they to find the famed tequila bar nearby.

That night, whether it was the Tequila, the Mersey air or their escape from the daily grind of footwear production, they felt like they were like Tony and Maria again.

On their return to Texas, they discovered Ana was pregnant. They still have Stuart’s birth certificate.

Ten weeks after the incident, today Police announced ‘the case will be filed as undetected pending any further information becoming available’ because ‘there are no further solvability factors’.

She was in a rush, granted. And she didn’t mean it, I’m sure.

And although it could have been much more serious I know, I find it difficult to forgive the woman who drove in to the back of my girlfriend’s car that day. I have though, forgotten her face – this is the nearest I can get before thoughts of the day blur my vision.

And anyway, she’s still having nightmares.

But Nicki had had such dreams once. Growing up inthe Seventies as she did, she always felt an attraction to living in London, it seemed so glamorous. She wanted to run her own fashion store off Carnaby Street. Celebrities would come in to say hello and buy their next outfit. She might even get a mention in that new celebrity magazine Heat.

She saved up and made the big move, saying goodbye to Liverpool. She’d miss her family, her friends, her nights out at Cream, but this was her chance and she was going to take it.

She had the photos taken at Green Park tube station and was visiting temp agencies that day. She’d brought some scissors with her and was cutting them up whilst eating her salad on the grass. A sudden gust of wind blew one away. The ones she still had, brought her luck though. She was taken on as a secretary at the reception of a well-known home shopping catalogue’s headquarters. She impressed, was made permanent, learned a bit about the business, and it was there she met Kev.

He was a plasterer, working on the renovation work upstairs and they clocked each other’s accents straight away. What a surprise to meet someone from Broad Green down in London! They even remembered the same teachers from school! A few drinks later, Nicky felt the dream was coming true. The man of her dreams, another piece of the London jigsaw, and a Scouser to boot! 

But he was back and forward a lot and London became a pretty lonely place. With the baby coming she had to make a decision – stay and tough it out on her own or go back home to be nearer her mum. She felt she’d had some success, certainly the move to London wasn’t a failure, but she did feel a pang of regret that she’d never got that shop off Carnaby Street. But now she had Kev and the baby to focus on.

The day of the crash, Kev was due home at two and she wanted it to be just right for him. Work was tough for him, he was away a lot more, and he’d even had to miss Valentine’s Day the day before to finish off a job in Scotland. In her rush to get Lily-Ella – now two would you believe! and yes, named after Stevie G’s daughter, he’s Kev’s hero but Alex was so gorgeous Nicki thought – ready, she’d forgotten the pudding, so had to rush out to the Asda. It’d be ok they’d not been able to afford the car tax for her this year, she never went far, only to her mum’s with the baby. Nothing would happen.

As the two cars approached the roundabout, Nicki was thinking of what to wear for tea. She lit a ciggie, her last of the day as Kev didn’t like her smoking, and she’d never do it in front of Lily-Ella. The next thing, bang. She got out. S…t, the tax. It’s ok, the bloke looks alright – and the driver’s talking to him. Thank God there were no babies in the back. The bumper though, Kev’s gonna kill me. One of his mates can fix it though, if I just pick it up. I’ve got to go. Get out of here. They’ll be ok.

“Alright love, I’ll just pull in infront of you where it’s safer.” They believe me. I can do this.

She sped round the roundabout and went off towards her mum’s, leaving the couple stuck in the road, motionless, waiting for her to come back. But she had to get the baby and the tea ready for Kev.

The story really ends there. Her and Kev are having a few problems,  he went berserk at her after the crash, the romantic tea was ruined. She wonders what happened to that couple, late at night when she’s had a drink and starts making her childish collages. They make her think about London, and she gets sad.

If you think you can help solve the crime, as always it’s theartist@jonathangreenbank.com