"In the future, The Human League will be considered gods," says Julie.

"They already are as far as I'm concerned," says the other Julie.

"Apparently," Debbie sticks a Hula Hoop on her little finger and holds it up, admiring it. "Apparently, in certain tribes of South American Indians, Phil Oakey's used in mating rituals as a fertility symbol."

"He's a very handsome bloke," says Julie. She pops a pink marshmallow into her mouth. "I saw him once."

The others look up.

"You never," says Debbie. "Honestly, Julie, reality has no meaning for you, does it?"

They're sprawled on Debbie's bed, listening to the new Human League album that they've got out of the library.

"It's true. I was shopping in Sheffield. Somebody told me they had a good Oxfam. But it was rubbish. All slacks and bootees and that. Nasty. I got some good sunglasses though. Well, not from Oxfam. Off this little kid that was stood outside. They didn't suit her, anyway."

"This one's brilliant," says the other Julie, reaching over to turn the stereo up. It's `One Man In My Heart'. "Is this the next single? It's a modern classic."

"So where's Phil Oakey come in?" says Debbie.

"He's not on this one. This is Suzanne Sulky singing on this one. Hasn't she got a lovely voice? Like a young Hylda Baker."

"I'm not on about that," says Julie. "I'm talking about our Julie's boring so-called story. When she supposedly met the god of synth pop. Were you working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, Julie?"

"I was not. I was eating a Chorley cake on a bench. And he comes running down the street with this woman chasing after him, throwing his big old stilettos at his head. I think it was then I first fell in love with him. He was quite a fast runner."

"You'd need to be. With that haircut. OMD were always better, anyway. More intellectual."

"No way. OMD were just some sad accountants from Birkenhead who found a Stylophone in a bin. The Human League actually invented the synthesiser. I'm not sure if it wasn't that ginger haired one that even discovered electricity."

Julie pops another marshmallow in her mouth, then spits it out onto the duvet.

"Aagh! It's a white one! God! Yeuch! Quick. Get me a pink one to take the taste away."

"You're thinking of John Foxx," says Debbie. "And photocopiers. He invented photocopiers."

"He sings about Underpants," says Julie.

"Nowt wrong with that," says the other Julie. "There's things about underpants that you can only say in song."

"What's that noise?" says Debbie.

"It's Suzanne out of The Human League. I told you."

"Not that. That - sort of - screaming noise..?" Debbie gets up off the bed and moves round the room in a metaphysical trance.

"It's coming through this wall," she says, pressing her ear against the woodchip. "What's through here?"

"That's the bog," says Julie.

"Oh," says the other Julie, "That'll be Frances, then. I put superglue on the toilet seat before."

"Nice one," says Debbie. "Let's raid her room while she's still stuck."

After picking the lock with Julie's hammer, the girls start a systematic search of Frances's room.

"Hobnobs," says Debbie, holding up her trophy, "Chocolate ones."

Julie disappears into the wardrobe. "Hey," she shouts, muffled by clothing, "there's a forest back here. And like, a witch, and stuff..." Her voice gets smaller and she doesn't reappear.

"Stop messing, Julie," says the other Julie. "It's only a matter of time before Frances leaves a layer of skin on the toilet seat and catches us. We've got to work fast." She tugs out a drawer and it drops on her feet. "My Docs!" she yells. "I've only recently painted them." She starts to rummage.

"There's just fluff and her collection of 'My Guy's under here," says Debbie, hanging her head off the edge of Frances's bed. "What've you got, Julie?" She looks up, her face red.

"Er...I'm not sure..." says Julie, holding up a contraption of rubber bits and pieces, tubes and suction cups.

"Home abortion kit," says Debbie. "Put it back. She might not have washed it properly."

Julie drops it back in the drawer and wipes her hands on one of Frances's Ozric Tentacles T-shirts.

Debbie empties the pillow out of its case. Some money bounces out onto the duvet. "Four pound seventy-five!" she says. "Bingo!"

"Nice one," says Julie. "Come on. Let's go." She holds up a can of hairspray proudly.

"You haven't got any hair, Julie," says Debbie.

"There's a spider on my bedroom curtains, though. This stuff makes a great blowtorch. Got any matches?"

"Come on Julie!" yells Debbie into the wardrobe. "You know the drill. We go in, we do the job, we get out. Three minutes."

Julie bursts out of the rack of coats and dresses.

"Did you miss me?" she says. "I've been gone for five years. And I've had such adventures!"

"Oh yeah?" says the other Julie. "In Narnia, was this?"

"No. I think it was Miles Platting. But still - I got these." She pulls out a pair of gold stack heeled boots from behind her back.

"Smart," says Debbie. "Come on. She'll never know we were here." They look at the rubble that was once Frances's bedroom.

The shouting from the bathroom turns to sobbing as Julie, Julie and Debbie bound down the stairs and out the door with their stash.

*

On a planet at the outer reaches of the Solar System, a family settle down to their elevenses. This is a translation.

<Not as cold today.>

<No.>

<Colder than the other day, though.>

<Yeah. Dark, too.>

<Well, it's always dark, in't it? Can't remember a day when it's not been dark.>

<Or cold.>

<No. Put the radio on, Doreen. Let's see what's going on in the world.>

<OK. Have you got the torch? It's a bit dark. Oh, that's it.>

The radio crackles. It's just static.

<Oh well. Same old same old. Still. At least you know where you are with boredom.>

<What's that noise?>

<It's the radio. You just switched it on.>

<Not that. That - sort of - screaming noise...>

They listen. It's music, but not as they know it.

<You must be picking it up with that plate in your head, Doreen. Twist your head round. Try and get better reception.>

The singing comes through clearer. "Calling occupants," it goes, "Calling occupants, of interplanetary craft..."

*

In Alexandra Park, Julie, Julie and Debbie settle down in the middle of the football pitch. A boy of about eleven comes up to them. His Manchester United top hangs down to his knees.

"We're playing football," he says.

Julie looks up at him. "Do you want to be playing it in hospital?" she says, in her menacing voice.

"You're in the way," says the boy.

"We're having a meeting," says Debbie. "Go away." She starts to divide up the Hobnobs.

"We've got to take penalties," says the boy, plaintive. "Please?"

The other Julie sighs, holds up her can of hairspray. "Thirty seconds to comply," she says. "Twenty-nine, thirty. You lose."

She sprays a cloud of toxins into the boy's face. He screams and starts rubbing at his eyes. They've gone very red and sort of puffy. He runs off in the general direction of his less brave mates, crying, "I'm blind! I'm blind! I can't get my contact lenses out!"

Julie blows at the nozzle of her spraycan like a smoking pistol. "Annie Oakley," she says.

"Go and get us lollies," says Debbie.

"How much we got?"

Debbie does a recount. "Four pound seventy-five," she says. "We'll keep the seventy-five pence in case of emergencies. Just get us four pounds worth of lollies. Mini Milks, if they've got them."

"I'll have a Lollygobblechocbomb," says Julie. "If they still make them."

The other Julie walks off with the money towards the battered ice cream van parked at the gates.

"Did you bring the radio?" asks Debbie.

"No. Didn't you?"

"Oh no. What are we going to do without the radio?" says Debbie. "What's the point of going on a picnic in the countryside if you've not got Nicky Campbell?"

"Never mind," says Julie, "I'll sing." She starts singing Blur's `ParkLife', but there's no tune, so it sounds like she's just shouting. Debbie puts her fingers in her ears.

The other Julie comes back, empty handed.

"Where's the lollies?" yells Debbie, not realising how loud her voice is, with her fingers in her ears. She takes them out.

Julie looks perturbed. "They don't sell ice cream," she says. "It's just a front for a drugs ring."

"Oh," says Debbie. "So what could you get for four quid?"

"Nothing. Well, he gave me a go of his joint. I did quite well, actually. I don't think he expected me to have such big lungs." She coughs. "Are them biscuits divvied up yet? I've got the munchies now."

They lie on their backs with their heads touching, and eat the biscuits.

"If we had the radio," says Debbie, "we could send messages out to the aliens."

"It's still happening," says Julie. "Right now, Dave Pearce's sending out his drive-time transmissions into the vast nothingness of space. I hope they appreciate it."

"How long's it take, though?" says the other Julie. "I mean. Are the aliens getting, like, Peter Powell now? Or have they got all that to look forward to and they're only just getting that John Yogi Bear bloke in his dinner jacket and tie talking posh?"

"I'm not sure I like the idea of David `Kid' Jenson being an intergalactic ambassador of Pop," says Julie.

They all go solemn for a bit.

The other Julie sits up.

"Anyway," she says, "aliens have dreadful taste. Look at Space 199-" Her words get cut off as a football slams into her head at high speed. She crumples to the ground and a cheer goes up from the group of boys hovering on the sidelines.

*

<What is that strange sound? It must be a message of peace from beyond the reaches of our Galaxy.>

<What you talking like that for, Doreen? What's wrong with you?>

<Eh? Oh, sorry. I came over all intergalactic. It's this noise in my head. Do you think there's anybody out there? Really?>

<Well, they're making a flaming racket, if there is. Can't you switch it off? It's doing my head in. We're not used to such excitement.>

The noise continues from Doreen's head. "Please Interstellar Policeman," it goes, "Oh won't you give us a sign, give us a sign, that we've reached you? Oh-woh-oh-woh!"

<Do you think it's a cry for help?> says Doreen.

<Could be. Pass us another biscuit.>

*

"Give us another biscuit, Debbie," says Julie. "Julie'll think she's eaten them herself when she comes round."

"Do you think she'll be alright like that?" says Debbie, taking the last two Hobnobs and giving Julie one.

They've dragged Julie's comatose body off the football pitch, and over to the swings. She's hanging half on the roundabout, turning round slowly. Her head's dangling down and it keeps catching the lump in the ground where a tree root's broken up the tarmac.

"Well I'm not moving her again. She weighs more than Saturn," says Julie. "Besides. She looks so peaceful."

An ambulance screams past the edge of the Park, lights and sirens blaring.

"Cool," says Julie. "Wonder where it's going?"

They look at each other.

 
They get back home just in time to see Frances hobbling into the ambulance, her shorts round her ankles, and her bare bottom peeping through the centre of the toilet seat.

Debbie and Julie hide behind a lamppost, but Frances spots them.

"You!" she yells. "You-!"

Debbie smiles at the Paramedic. "She's delirious," she says. "Glue. You know..." She makes a sniffing action with her nose. The Paramedic sighs like he doesn't understand what's become of the younger generation.