chapter two

   The train’s momentum wound from one side to the other. The rhythmic, monotonous mantra of the train assimilates itself into your head completely. After a few hours of travel Lyndsey was lulled completely; slouched in her empty table seat, she was already drowsy and light headed. The worries of where and what to do on arrival weren’t a pressing concern right now. She stared at the blackness out of the window, seeing little other than the reflections of the harshly-lit, almost empty carriage. As the train bolted through a deserted station, she would momentarily see the empty platforms and some lonely sign bearing a place name. But these visions made no impression on Lyndsey – again she was cocooned inside herself. Safe in the knowledge that her journey was several hours short of its destination – still several hours of waiting to arrive. Contentedly she was away in her thoughts, busy in her mind and happy that she need not say or do anything until she reached Glasgow.

   The neon lights scarring the blackness are increasing. So many lights in regimented rows, evidence of so many streets, tower blocks and humanity. The city asserts itself around you very confidently and coolly. Even if you are as withdrawn as Lyndsey was, you cannot fail to be dragged up and pulled down into the mire as the knowledge suddenly grows on you that your space and peace will soon be jolted. Violently. She breathed out almost an audible sigh, she was sorry that her journey was drawing to an end. As she gazed out at the lines of consecutive tracks from her window she wondered inwardly as the reflections played and rippled across her face.

    "Why do we need to arrive? To finish, complete and terminate the journey? Why not simply prolong the travel – put off indefinitely the shattering of the calm of your state of mind that you are prepared to wait patiently for something."

 As the train drew slowly to its stop she made her way to her rucksack in the luggage compartment. It was already quite a bit lighter than it had been when she had left the flat. After her time for recollections and thoughts she had jettisoned some of the clothes that she thought she could manage without in one of the toilets. The train finally reached its shuddering stop and she pushed the panel on the wall to open the doors and release her from the carriage.

   She stepped onto the platform and careered through Central Station in search of an exit – any would be fine. Making her way to the streets outside she was initially struck by the comparative warmth of the air at this time of evening; but then while she had meditated in her chair she had transferred form one big city to another. And here in the ever constant supply of chimney smoke and exhaust fumes, no clean air ever effectively intrudes, violates and unsullies.

   She walked through onto Union Street and turned, on a whim, to the left to walk towards Renfield Street. The buildings reared all around her – the faded opulence of the Central Hotel high above her, the many shops and tenements around her. All the streetlights, the window lights, the traffic and car lights, and the bright and winking neon signs made a mockery of the night’s natural lack of ambient light. And the noise…And all the people. So this is where she had travelled so far for.

   Turning right down George Street she spotted the tilting and waving sign advertising the presence of a hostel. And even though she felt wide awake and far from sleep, she knew she should be ready for making herself ready for slumber – she had a lot of hours she wanted to use tomorrow. Lyndsey paid the Australian youth in reception and made her way to the dormitory containing the sleeping bodies of the travellers, back-packers, budget stay-overs and those with few or maybe unfathomable reasons for being there. She could hear a few raucous shouts from the men’s dormitory next door and inwardly again passed thanks for having the luck and fortune to have been born with dignity of being female. And after accustoming herself to the surroundings, the sounds and the snores, the smells and movements of those sleeping – or trying to, around her, she drifted off into sleep herself.

   She awoke early – about eight-ish, and after the briefest of morning preparations she left the hostel. For October in Glasgow, the sun was very warm – more like a spring day in May, but with the views of the trees with their golden leaves. She had walked aimlessly around George Square and had now made her way through Townhead towards the outskirts of the Glasgow Green. Sitting on one of the benches near the High Street entrance to the park she laid her rucksack down on the floor and relaxed her aching shoulders. Damned heavy pack.

   She had not cleaned her teeth that morning so her mouth felt sticky – the saliva clinging to her tongue and gums, and other fluids in need of expulsion. She did so with rather large volume on to the vacant floor space before her. Then feeling rather embarrassed by the copious evidence she had expelled, she got up and dragged her backpack further down the path for about ten yards and onto the opposite bank of the walkway. Now with no bench nearby she made do with the grass and allowed the dew to dampen her black jeans.

   Having now reached the initial stages of an idea she had thought of just hours ago, she was still searching for a point at which she could feel some progress. What was the point? To move on to somewhere else to feel some empathy, some motivation, some feeling? And sat here now in a pleasant spot in a strange town full of opportunity and menace, dreams and pitholes, she did the best thing she could think of to help her debate and decide literally, her next step: she unzipped her jacket pocket, emptied its contents and lit a cigarette.

   Such power has this little white wand. One minute you’re alone, self-conscious, fingers and hands gesticulating wildly. Your mind racing, jumping, flailing. Then… The nicotine doesn’t take hold yet – the cigarette does. You’re occupied, calmed, lulled and looking and feeling relaxed, at ease and part of the scenery.

   Lyndsey tossed her used butt away and took up another one from an almost full packet. So early in the morning, but a lot of thinking was needed. She had enough money – real physical money on her to last, well maybe a month or so, if she was being sensible and frugal – more than she was at present. On the still morning air, the sound of a church clock chimed from across the Clyde – louder momentarily than the incessant traffic noise. Nine peals of the bell. The noise broke through her reverie and reminded her of home. Her father at work, her mother preparing for her part-time job, putting away the breakfast items, knowing their daughter’s closed bedroom door and its silence were a usual feature of Lyndsey’s morning. Not yet realising anything was different or was about to upset their routine, mood and lives.

   Lyndsey leaned back and placed both her palms flat behind her. Down here, in this oasis in the city centre, the relative calm was good and conducive to thinking and deciding. What to do now, today – tomorrow? Well first thing – eat. Remedy the empty, cramped sensation in her belly. Then maybe a little exploration of her new surroundings en-route to finding herself more permanent accommodation and maybe… a job? What kind of job? She almost laughed out loud; all these months spent avoiding the drudgery and normality of employment. All that time spent listening vacantly and faintly to those telling her to find and be interested in work. To those pontificating and lecturing at her of why she should do this and think that. So much time spent not listening or heeding what they were saying. But now was different – now was certainly different, she told herself. She had to maintain herself – sure. But foremost was the purpose of moving on. Changing and becoming that which she meant to be. That which she wasn’t at present. And to become that person, even she who was happiest inside and only with herself, knew she would have to involve, drape around and maybe become really involved and actually interested in others. Enter their world, and maybe – just maybe let them enter and violate hers. Allow them to enter and irrevocably change hers.

   She was on the move again. Walking along Ballater Street and past the Gorbals Cross, she was away from the thronged, loud streets of the shopper. Walking past the high residential flats, she looked across the river toward the dusty run-down office blocks – considerably more down at heel that the palatial palaces just a few hundred metres further along the riverbank. Nearing Bridge Street she turned, joining the voluminous traffic frantically rushing from the south side of the city as she walked towards and over the George IV Bridge. Now she was a tiny speck scuttling under the high glass windows of the office buildings of the Atlantic Quay. Behind the smoked windows she couldn’t see the ongoing, ceaseless rush and motion of the working day. Office workers hunched over screens of green, chattering inaudibly into mouthpieces; cleaners vacantly pushing their devices over surfaces; security guards absently and silently passing along empty corridors. Lyndsey passed these high artificially lit slabs of glass and concrete, the traffic passed her rushing in both directions.

 Passing a street vendor selling hot quick breakfasts, she staved off her worst hunger pangs with a bacon roll. Uneasy now of the increasing dilapidation and unsettling side streets, she halted her forward progress and began to retrace her steps along the Broomielaw all the way back to the Green. The mists of the early morning had burned off by now and a real warmth was settling as she wandered back into the greenery of the park. Passing the tidy, quiet gardens near the Peoples Palace, she had little difficulty in persuading herself that she had walked far enough and that she needed a rest to rest her aching shoulders.

   As she lay on the grass the pressing questions regarding accommodation and employment momentarily seemed too much trouble. Or rather, a problem and question that could wait. With little self-persuasion she extricated a pullover from her pack and laid it behind her head. She was away from the walkways, behind some low shrubbery in a private garden of her own. She felt secure and confident enough to close her eyes and try to catch up on last night’s lack of sleep and the tiredness she felt at her change of routine. Surprisingly it took her little time to slip away into a light slumber.

   The dog ran on ahead of its owner. She ran, jumped into the air to snap at a passing fly, than lollopped off the path into the shrubbery to investigate an exciting smell. Here in the park she revelled in her freedom and the knowledge that her walker ten yards or so behind her would not scold her or hail her back as she behaved like a puppy again. After lowering her hindquarters to add her scent to the one she had found, she broke through to the other side of the bushes and ran forward to the strange sight of a reclining form next to a large pack, maybe some fifteen yards away. Racing forwards, the dog realised suddenly the form was human and her natural friendliness prompted her to bark loudly as she rounded the sleeping body. Lyndsey woke quickly, jolted awake, then she urgently recoiled and sprang to her feet in reaction to the scruffy, barking dog close by her head.

    “Fuck off!”
 
    The dog paid her no heed and continued her frantic barking and circling. Lyndsey picked up her pullover in case she would need a soft, floppy, inadequate weapon. Sensing her aggravator wasn’t quite the mad hound that she had originally taken the dog for, she flapped her pullover at her.

   “Oh, leave me alone.” She spoke wearily to the animal, but the dog looking for a game, continued to bark as she rounded her. The commotion on the grass caused the owner of the dog to come crashing through the undergrowth to see what trouble she had now got him into.

    “Jock! Jock – come here.”

   The dog obediently called off her game and quietly retreated to sniff around her master’s ankles. Lyndsey looked up surprised at this guy’s sudden appearance. She also felt self-conscious and awkward at having been ‘caught’ in this quiet, secluded spot.

    “Sorry, she was…Sorry.” Lyndsey stammered and murmured as she pulled her pack towards herself, ready to move on.

   “Wha’ ya apologisin’ for?” The dog’s owner was laughing. “She was annoying you – spoiling your peace. I’m the one who should be apologising.”

   “Oh, sorr…” Lyndsey trailed off into mute embarrassment and turned her back on the young, long-haired guy as she exaggeratedly busied herself with her pack. The guy stood quietly watching her as she tied her pullover around her waist and turned again to see him observing her. She felt she needed to say something, so she furiously sought a conversation piece. “Jock? She’s a bitch isn’t she?”

   “Aye, but that was her name before she was mine. You’d need to ask someone else that question.” The guy was squatting down to wrestle his dog’s head as he spoke to her.

   “Well, she’s as daft as a Jock isn’t she?” Lyndsey immediately felt foolish at her dull-witted attempt at humour. The banal attempt at a joke wasn’t lost on the guy.

   “Aye?” He arched an eyebrow watching the embarrassment rush over her face. Lyndsey suddenly felt naked and exposed in his gaze; she was also feeling very much an alien as she heard her broad Lancashire tones clashing with his Glaswegian accent. She decided to hasten the end of the confrontation and began to load the pack cumbersomely onto her back. He watched her struggle with the over-large pack. “You look like you’ve quite a journey. Where’re you headed?”

   “Oh – just this way.” She spoke with an obvious vagueness, but also in an attempt to be elusive. She began to walk away and hearing no more questions she began to quicken her pace as she began to think again about her plans and objectives for today. But since she had laid down her head the day had advanced a little, and realising that she only had four-five hours of daylight left, she decided to use the guy’s local knowledge. She stopped and turned around to see the man still watching her, but standing upright now.

   “Can you tell me of any hostels near here, please.” She decided to address the most important issue first. If she had one objective in mind, in leaving home to find a home somewhere else, it was to sleep undercover – not rough on the streets. As a pedestrian around the streets of Manchester, she had of course seen many times the ever-present cold, huddled bodies of those who sleep rough. She could at least partially understand and appreciate the downward spiral and the difficulties that these people had to extricate themselves from, and their sorry situation of poverty and homelessness. Add to this the ever present coldness and hunger, with little hope of earning money, and she didn’t even want to think about the terrible risks of rape, violence and robbery she would certainly face. She had left her parent’s warm, secure home to improve her lot – not to plumb the depths.

   “Sorry?” The man began to walk towards her, hearing her speak, but not the question.

   “I’m looking for a nearby hostel.” She could of course, have returned to her sleeping place of last night, but for some reason she wanted to question this young man again,

   “Err – you’re not really near any traveller’s hostels around here. More like students, flats and expensive hotels.” He turned back to check on his dog then turned back to face her. “If you go over toward the West End, round near Hillhead there’s a few backpackers places there. But you’ll struggle with a pack like that…”

   “Oh…” She didn’t really have an answer. The sudden limbo of her situation suddenly hit her. This wandering… Already, only her first full day and she was feeling drained from the feeling of having nowhere to run to – no safe, comfortable haven. And looking up now at the gathering clouds making ready a thunderstorm to end the too-warm day, she realised she would have to bolt back to Buchanan Street to her previous night’s shelter. A day wasted - straight back to the beginning as soon as she had started. She wondered wearily as she turned again to walk back, of what and how she would fill or endure the days of bad weather, especially now as winter was not far away. No parents’ place to hole up at and retire into herself as she had always previously done.

   The young man could see her doubtful and unsure expression as she uncertainly and resignedly turned away and began to walk toward the park entrance. “Hey…hey there is a place near here.”

   She halted her walk and turned her head knocking her forehead against the upper part of her pack. He went on.

   “I live with a few friends in a…well a place not far from here. If you need a bed or some space for a night or so you’d be welcome – and left alone.” He quickly added and stressed the last epithet aware of how suspicious he expected this girl would be at his offer. Lyndsey was very surprised and taken unawares at his words, she also could feel herself reeling with nervousness and with trepidation from how to now extricate herself from an offer that she felt she must dismiss straightaway.

   “Oh – I don’t think so, I’m just looking for a hostel.” She spoke as if speaking to someone offering her a hotel bed so concerned was she at not wanting to sound ungrateful. “Thanks, but I’ll be…”

   “Look – I’m aware of how I might sound, and of course you don’t know me - so in your head I could be anyone. But the place I’m talking about is less than a mile away and along busy streets out of the Green. If you want to change your mind or suddenly go some place else, there’ll be people all around so I couldn’t take you anywhere you didn’t want to go.”

   He paused for breath watching her wanting to believe him. He looked toward his dog, now lying under the shrubbery, gnawing at a stick. “ Not even Jock could force you.” He looked back towards her openly.

   Lyndsey stared back at him thinking furiously. Every common sense feeling, thought and knowledge in her told her what she ought to do, but she was unsure. Sure of what she should do but… Without thinking more she heaved her pack down and aggressively eyed him.

   “Why? You don’t know me at all – I’m just a passer-by in a park.”

   “And one who needs somewhere to stay and looks more than a little unsure of where she is at.”

   He decided to halt the pleading which was in danger of becoming sinister. “Look – if you want an easy, dry, secure place, me and my friends have got one. If you want a hike Hillhead’s that way.” He roughly pointed in the vague, general direction and he began to walk by alerting his dog as he went.

   Speaking quickly, thinking rapidly, Lyndsey addressed his back now. “See your place…can you show me where it…I can decide then if…”
 
   She trailed off, not at all sure what she was really thinking or where her mouth would now lead her to, or what trouble she could get into.
 “Like I said, you’re quite safe. Follow us if you want – you can certainly do a lot worse or be at more risk in other places than at our place.” He began to walk away and hailed the dog to his feet. He heard her wrestling her pack onto her shoulders and her stumbling gait as she followed hesitantly behind.

   In rapid bursts the thoughts came as she followed. What on earth was she doing? What harm could she be inviting on herself? If this was a preamble to somebody else’s tale she would already be grimacing and expecting the worst to happen to the brainless, gullible victim. Yet still she followed.

   She could feel the doubt swelling up inside her like an incoming tide. But it was a kind of doubt that would maybe lead to her abandoning her ‘mission’ and purpose and lead to her boarding another train. One that would take her back in the direction of Manchester, Crumpsall and the home that she had just left. Her wanders’ so far had made her feel more alone and marginalized; too much thought time she was spending, she decided. Looking at the guy’s back – his shoulder-length, dark hair, his casual black leather jacket over his broad strong shoulders; she thought of the kind of person – the sort of people she wanted to be a part of. The sort of people a thousand miles away, spiritually from her parents and the vacant ‘ordinaries’ of her school years and contempories now.

   Maybe this was the kind of person she wanted – needed to meet. Maybe this was good luck and fortune. Whatever… What she would have to do many times before she got to wherever it was that she was trying to get to, was to take a few risks – a few foolhardy chances. And trust in herself to look after herself.



   She hitched her slowly slipping rucksack higher onto her shoulder as she walked with attempted confidence following the stranger through the traffic of people on the pavement.

   Lyndsey walked mostly a few feet behind her guide; the dog ran on, sure of their route a few metres in front of them both. She used her pack as an excuse as to why she was lagging behind; she wanted time – more time to decide on the wisdom of what she was doing; but she was aware that every step they took was making her more and more determined to take a few risks. Also this was the first time in a long time that she was allowing someone else to make decisions for her, allowing someone else to plot a route for her more than just the one she was following along the London Road.

   Jock, the dog, suddenly left the pavement and jogged across the road. Her owner didn’t falter or worry for a moment of his dog’s safety in crossing and negotiating the busy road, she was far too street and traffic wise. The guy turned to face his follower and smiled at her serious, tired face.

   "We cross here, then it’s a short walk down that side street there.” He pointed to a rundown tenement street, untidy with litter and graffiti strewn over the walls of the flats. Away, she could see further down the road, big grey sheets of metal covering some of the windows of the tenements – one notable window scorched black around its brickwork. Hardly inviting and appetising, yet now she walked down this quieter street side by her leader. Only the very worst could stop her now from seeing the residence to which he was leading her.

   She stepped through and sometimes around, the piles of litter strewn and blowing along the pavement. The dog suddenly ducked underneath the fencing to one side of the pavement and ran across a patch of spare wasteland to the side of one of the unboarded tenement blocks. They rounded the fence themselves, then instead of leading along the path to the front entrances of the flats, her leader led her over the wasteland, around the back of the tenement and on to a makeshift entrance to the hallway, between which there where obviously squats. Lyndsey’s thoughts were jumping through hoops as she pondered on her recklessness and also the paradox of travelling hundreds of miles as she had done, to find herself in a squat and neighbourhood that could be anywhere in Moss Side or even Cheetham Hill, Manchester.

   The door opened only halfway, but she managed to squeeze herself and her pack through. As her guide led the way through the dim lit, dank corridor he turned back towards her.

   "There may be two or three others in, but you’ll be fine." They reached a door, again he turned to face her. "It ma’ be a wee bit stuffy, so…"

   He trailed off as he reached through the postal slot and pulled back a bolt. He opened the door and led Lyndsey into the dark hallway.
Now was her last safe chance, her final few moments before she was under his roof and he under her trust. But her hesitation was imperceptible and she followed the young man into the squat. Her curiosity as to where this man of few words was leading her, was too much and she allowed her inquisitiveness to over-rule her good sense.

   The air in the hallway was indeed stuffy, and as he pushed open a door further along the corridor, strong odours of smoke and incense filtered out – clearly there were no other outlets in the room. Lyndsey entered the room behind her guide - a room with little wallpaper on the walls; instead off the bare patches of still remaining plaster hung large hand-drawn and painted murals. Above an old and disused fireplace were many small etchings and sketches – some quite brutal and graphic, others placid and calm. The window had heavy, dark muslin in front of it; presumably the intention was to obscure the room whilst letting air out and light in. However, from the pungent air and the dimness of the light, it was clear it was only partially successful at its task.

   Around the room, scattered was a table with ashtrays, congealed wax and various candles of differing lengths, girths and colours; there was one armchair and over the soiled wood of the floorboards, a disparate collection of different sized blankets and rugs. Also in attendance were three bodies reclining against the far wall between the fireplace and the window, and another smaller dog busily sniffing at Jock the dog, but ignoring Lyndsey. Clearly this other dog was used to strangers and intrusions.

   Lyndsey looked towards the other people a little nervously waiting for an introduction of sorts from her guide; she could feel their eyes on her, but it struck her for the first time that neither she nor him knew the other’s name.

   Her guide wandered over to one of the reclining figures, he first handed over some paper money, then digging into an inside pocket, he handed over some of the articles into the outstretched palm. Lyndsey stood self-consciously and feeling rather intrusive, but now under no ones gaze. Evidently all were either very laid back and aloof, or they were all used to intrusions too. Eventually after he had exchanged a few murmured words with his companion, her guide turned back to face her.

   "This is someone I disturbed, or rather Jock did, on the Green this afternoon. She needs a room to lie her head and I’ve offered her the other room – this okay?"

   He offered the question to the air between himself and Lyndsey – he didn’t look towards the other figures, he just smiled warmly at her.

   “Aye – fine.” The first body spoke.

   “Nae bother," The only other female in the room stood up and walked toward Lyndsey. "I'm Jill. Sit down, throw your pack over there."

   Lyndsey’s guide laughed. "Maybe you’re not used to our kind of seats – take Jill’s, I think she’s vacated it for you…" He trailed off, unable to add her name to his sentence.

   Jill stared towards him, then looked towards Lyndsey’s pale face. "Sit down. What’s your name?"

   "Lyndsey." She smiled at Jill as she passed her to claim her rug. "Cheers!"
 
   Lyndsey sat herself as comfortably as she could onto the rug covering the bare floorboard. She was nearest the window. Of the other two bodies, the one in the centre to whom her guide from the Green had bequeathed the money, was observing her as she made an effort at comfort. The other was sat leant against the wall, but his bearded chin was down on his chest. The sudden silence after their stilted conversations made apparent his snores.

   Her neighbour quit his staring and gave an attempted smile. "I'm Jon – I live here too."

   "Hi Jon…" There didn’t seem more to say. She looked towards the other figure again, then smiled to see his sleeping face – eyes tightly shut, mouth open dripping saliva down onto his heavily grey streaked beard.

   "That’s Santa." Her original guide introduced himself by way of an introduction back into the conversation. "And I'm Tom, Lyndsey. Pleased to meet you."

   "Thanks Tom." She trailed off again. She had returned a smile to him, but felt embarrassed faced with his smile and his confident lean against the doorframe. She looked towards Jill who was making her way towards a set of blankets on the other side of the empty fire.
 
   Jill knelt down and pulled out a roll-up from a small tin that she re-sealed and secreted away amongst the rugs. She groped various pockets – evidently from her face this was in vain and so she turned to Tom. "Get us a light will you, Tom."

   "Aye." He groped also in his pockets and the vain-ness of his search was soon apparent too as he began to examine pockets that weren’t even a first choice deposit for a lighter. Lyndsey reached down and tossed hers’ in he direction of Jill.

   "Oh cheers." Jill lit her collection of papers and substances and filled her immediate air with thick, deep smoke as she inhaled to light and ignite her substances.

   "Mmmm…" She nestled back and again took the roll-up into her mouth. She inhaled deeply this time and exhaled little; several times she repeated this until she breathed her approval then passed it along to Tom. Knelt beside her, he took a few drags but exhaled more smoke than the now mellower Jill. Then he looked towards Lyndsey and passed her the collection of half burnt papers containing the tobacco and weed. She took it and inhaled deeply and then again. After her exertions and mental exercises today, she felt in need of a little relaxation and she was happy to take something that would help her. She was beginning to feel more safe and secure all the time and was almost beginning to enjoy the situation. She made to lean back gently, but she had maybe revelled a little too deeply with the pleasures of her smoke, and she banged her head hard against the plasterwork behind her, dropping the lighted bundle onto her rug.

   "Oh shit shit! Sorry – sorry…” She fumbled desperately for the bundle of burning papers in her embarrassment, and quickly passed it on to her neighbour as if dropping it clumsily was merely part of the act.

   "Thanks – I don’t.” Jon replied without taking his eyes from the book he was reading, propped open on his sleeping neighbours back.

   "Sorry…" Lyndsey felt acutely embarrassed of her fumblings and her lack of élan in intaking the smoke she had wanted. She leant over towards Jill and passed it back.

   "Thanks..." Jill was sprawled out, her head comfortably resting on a makeshift pillow of her blankets, her legs over Tom’s knees. She took the roll-up back and confidently inhaled on her baby.

   Lyndsey again gingerly leaned back and relaxed against the wall. Her minor faux pas apparently unnoticed, she felt rising surges of confidence and a sudden strange feeling of being here in a room she felt she should be in. A sensation of finding a place that she felt comfortable at, and these feelings were just on entry too. She surveyed the decaying walls, the peeling, smoke stained ceiling, and the motley collection of preoccupied bodies around her. And she felt fine. Here she was in a strange tenement away on a lonely road in a big city, hundreds of miles away from the home she had known, but already this felt like – well, a kind of home.

   She looked over towards Tom who was staring back at her, he suddenly broke into a smile and she realised she was already smiling herself and so she leaned back and looked back toward the ceiling. So – an easy sleep tonight, then… Well no longer was she in total limbo. This was just, on face value a simple invitation to bed down in a glorified hovel. But it was also company – and of a sort different to any she had ever consorted with before – on appearances anyway.

   She breathed out again, her mind was turning over her thoughts. Here she was, not one hour inside someone’s (who’s?) door. A guy called Tom, two people high on some substances, sprawled across the floor, and in the midst of them someone else quietly reading a book. But they were others and companions all the same, and the absence of questions – she preferred to think it was not an absence of interest – the absence of questions and her own freedom amongst these others made her immediate impression one of positivity. And thankfulness that she had trusted in herself and her wits to follow Tom to where he had led her.

   She smiled again as Tom rolled away from Jill, and smiled for the gratitude that she was not in some anonymous hostel somewhere, not at home, and not walking around her home-town wishing she was someplace else.