chapter three

 
   Lyndsey awoke alone in a bare dusty room. Her night had not been a late one, and on checking her watch she saw it was still an early hour. She considered her surroundings from her position in her sleeping bag: the floor was bare, save for the small rug she had taken from the room that she had first been introduced to yesterday afternoon.

   This room was somewhat cleaner, but was in a much more dilapidated state; the walls showed plaster much more than wallpaper, and the ceiling too was almost devoid of any covering save for a few dirty strips of paper hanging down. Yet she felt a kind of security here. The others had continued their activities – or lack of, the previous day, and after she had made her way out for something to eat, then rather awkwardly back in, she had politely asked Tom about her sleeping arrangements. Now would have been a prime moment for anything untoward to happen or be suggested. And she had been ready and almost expectant of this, but true to his word he showed her into the ‘other room’ and helped her to make her repose more comfortable by providing the rug she had under her sleeping bag thus softening the surface beneath her.

   This had been reasonably early – about 9pm, but there had been no interruptions and precious few disturbances from the main room next door. The occasional voice raised higher momentarily and later the sound of some mellow music, but she had been tired and she had slept pretty much straight through ‘till now. And now whilst musing on the room around her and the circumstances that had got her there, she drifted back to sleep lulled by the slowly increasing noises of the traffic outside.

   She was woken a couple of hours later by the banging shut of the front door and its bolting as somebody entered or left the flat. She lay quietly for a while and listened, but the absence of any footstep sounds in the hallway told her it was most likely somebody leaving.

   She felt more confident in rising now that she knew she was not the first one about. Also the stiffness in her back from resting on the hard surface made getting up out of her bag a much better idea than that of lazily lolling waiting for another disturbance.

   She checked the time – 9.45am. The roar of the traffic outside was now quite intrusive and quite jarring to the atmosphere of the noiseless room and flat. As she rolled away her sleeping bag she felt a desire to speak and interact with the others she had been introduced to and had spent a short time in the company of yesterday. And she smiled wryly as she made her way across the room to the door; in days past she had made do – no, actively looked forward to interacting and communicating with herself. She had placed herself into places and positions where only this act was possible, and so the conversations in her and within her were deeper and louder. But now she was walking toward and attempting to invite a situation in which she would be in full contact with others.

   As she entered the hallway she deliberately closed the door behind her loudly, in the hope that she sent out an audible message that she was up and about; she certainly didn’t want to creep around and surprise someone. She made her way to the kitchen – a good neutral place to hang out at until she was discovered. Maybe casually sat beside the sink, coolly drinking out of a cup of water. But as she entered the room she jumped violently on suddenly discovering that someone else was quietly occupying the position that she thought was vacant and hers.

   "Oh sorry," she blurted out her words, then quickly re-gathered herself. "I thought I was the only one up."

   The seated figure looked toward her as he shifted his position in what looked an uncomfortable perch – his backside hanging in the sink as he straddled the edge of the basin. He was engaged in spooning the contents of a yoghurt carton into his hungry mouth and didn’t speak at first.

   "You must be Lyndsey – yeah? The one who Tom found?" He ventured this sentence both as a question and a greeting towards her.

   "Yeah" she returned. "And you were the one in the room who slept all the time I was in there last night. You must have been a bit tired – yeah?" She hitched herself onto a surface opposite him suddenly aware that she couldn’t get a drink without asking him to move.

   He finished swallowing his mouthful and gave a small, dry laugh. "Aye – that and all." he returned elusively.

   He finished scraping the carton and rolled it onto the work surface beside him. He reached around to a collection of cups beside the sink, filled one and began to slake his thirst. Their eyes met again and he noticed her watching him drink. He laughed again, filled another cup and offered it to her. "Sorry – I should’ae guessed that’s maybe why you were in here. A wee bit dehydrated too are you?"

   "Err – no, I didn’t have a drink last night." She gratefully accepted the cup and swilled her mouth out.

   "No, I didn’t mean a drink…but I suppose you’re right." He spoke again enigmatically.

   She blinked and looked at him trying to understand what he was saying but she passed on it. "You’re… err, Santa aren’t you?" She pronounced his name with inverted commas round it and the man smiled and drank the last from his cup.

   "Aye, that’s me… “Santa”." He mimicked her pronouncement of his name making her blush, but she ignored his gentle dig and her minor error. A brief silence ensued as she slowly drank her water and he took out a cigarette and lit it. He exhaled a good length of smoke then addressed her again.

   "Are you staying for any length of time – or moving on somewhere?" The tone of his voice was clearly that of someone who was making conversation rather than that of the interested, but she ignored this with little consideration. She was glad of the excuse for conversation to fill the silence she wasn’t enjoying with this stranger.

   "I'm not sure, Tom invited me just to stay the one night only I think. I told him I just wanted somewhere for the night when I bumped into him yesterday in the park."

   "Oh – if you’ve no plans you can stay for… well – a wee while yet anyway. People often do – and with less of an excuse than you."

   She raised her eyebrows non-committedly towards him as she drank from her cup. As the ice had been broken and also the silence had dissipated, she felt somewhat bolder, and so she ventured a question that she had been pondering but had not so far asked. "I presume you’re called Santa ‘cause of your beard?"

   "D’ya reckon?"

   "Yeah." She blushed at his shortness and lapsed into silence again. The quiet in the room made her anxious for conversation. "So whose is this place?"

   This time her question was met with total silence. She stammered on unwilling to leave her question and words lying dead and embarrassed on the floor. "Does it belong to anyone here? Tom said he had been here a few years."

   "Tom’s…?" Santa was amused and smiling. "Why? Do you think it looks like Tom’s flat?"

   "Suppose not – I dunno though…" She shrugged wanting to close the subject. "Maybe it’s yours then." She tossed in her wryly-cheeky remark in a small attempt at self-deprecation.

   Santa laughed. "Mine? I wouldn’t let Tom hear you say so if I were you…" He continued laughing as he left the room and almost collided with the subject of their conversation as he entered through the doorway.

   "What shouldn’t I know?" enquired Tom of Santa’s back, as he marched away down the hall towards the front door.

   "Oh your wee friend was just showing an interest in you and your flat, Tom." And Santa laughed again breezily as he exited the flat.

   Tom looked quizzically at Lyndsey as she cradled her cup whilst perching on the work surface beside the dirty rings of the cooker. "Is Santa having a laugh at you?"

   Lyndsey tried to look non-plussed. "I was just asking him whose place this was. I thought it might have been his – he said I shouldn’t suggest it to you."

   He laughed and shuddered comically. "I should hope not, the place is fucked up enough as it is." He turned towards her as he crossed the floor to the sink. "So – did you sleep fine?"

   "Aye – very well thanks. I was in need of a quiet night."

   "So you’ve drank your cup," he observed, "you’re not in a hurry to go now are you?"

   "No –I've no plans." She replied quickly in answer but then regretted her statement, sounding as it did so vacant and empty – so devoid of thought and intent. Hastily she tried to trawl something back. "I mean I've things to do, but nothing – nowhere I need to go to straightaway."

   He regarded her for a moment, and then turned gathering together a couple of cups. "Tell me to mind my own business Lyndsey, but are you actually en-route to anywhere? I mean you had nowhere to sleep last night, have you anywhere tonight or tomorrow?"

   She began to splutter a reply but had no real answer to offer. Or not an answer she felt confident in offering. All of her pose so far, all her act had been intended to be that of the care-free and self assured, self confident and purposeful. And of her purpose? Well for now she was a happy wanderer, quietly giving off an impression of knowing how, when and where she was aiming towards. This had been her desperate and rather sad routine yesterday with the others, but no one had really asked or shown any more personal interest in her beyond her name and where she was from. The rest of the time, the range of the conversation had meant that she hadn’t needed to engage in any of the methods of her act.

   But now that she was held in the blue-eyed stare of an apparently concerned and interested Tom, her previously decided answers to these kind of questions just melted away. She had a sense right away that he could read her mind and face as he stood there scrutinizing her, and if she was to offer any of her half-baked and obviously rehearsed answers, then he would probably be able to see through them. She breathed out, paused, then leaning her head back slightly she stared back at Tom.

   "I've practically only just arrived in Glasgow and as you saw yesterday I don’t know my way around, so I'm just getting my bearings at the moment. And in a way that’s why I'm here, away from home in a strange city – to find my bearings on a few things. Things in here." She tapped the side of her head.

   She was now holding his gaze unblinkingly as she, much to her surprise, began to confide in a complete stranger. She opened her mouth again to add more details, but then her own highly developed self-protection and preservation system kicked in. She closed her mouth and looked away embarrassed and a little flustered by her sharing of her thoughts. But if Tom was surprised or moved by her short speech he didn’t show it. Instead he turned to switch off the boiling kettle and started to fill two cups of coffee.

   "I didn’t mean to pry, everyone’s got their own reasons for anything they do and we should all go to where we want to go." He turned and handed her the cup of coffee. "Maybe I'm just too inquisitive or talkative but I'm just…sorry there’s no milk…" He noticed her disdainfully regarding the black liquid. "Or sugar either," he hastefully added as she took a small bitter sip.

   "It’s fine thanks." She smiled at him, and rather more warmly than she knew why. He smiled back and allowed the silence to rest for a while as they sipped from their cups.

   Tom was an intelligent open guy with an interest in many subjects, including other people. For the past few years of his twenty-four years, he had lived in this squat with friends. Friends moving in, friends moving out and on – he had introduced many to this residence. And now viewing the dark-eyed girl with the coffee at her mouth, he was interested in learning more about her, especially as her few speeches so far had been of such personal content. He rested his cup on his lap as he broke the brief silence to address her again.

   "I'm probably making you suspicious of me, but, well your room last night can be your room tonight and for the next few days or weeks if you want to find your bearings here. I know the other’s won’t mind."

   She looked back at him surprised even though somehow she had suspected that this suggestion was at some stage going to be offered. "Why – why me? And why be so trusting in someone you don’t know?"

   He gave a small laugh. "As I said yesterday, we’ve got a space free that you seem like you need. And you’ve already said, in a way that you need it. There’s no ulterior motive."

   Lyndsey gave a small laugh. "I'm not suggesting that there is, but why me? There must be thousands of people out there, sleeping in boxes and prostituting themselves, who must be in far greater need than me. And…" She looked slyly at him, "you’re not some dumb Good Samaritan are you? Or some desperate do-gooder looking out for people to help, you’re not…" She trailed off, struggling and unable to express the rush of thoughts in her head.

   He smiled knowingly back at her. "No, I'm none of those things. And you’re not just another runaway girl – you don’t sound like most of the people who live on the streets, you talk like you’ve got a lot of things going on in your head. And when you express even a small part of them – like you did just now, and last night and yesterday in the park… well they make me interested to hear more. I don’t know why." He added the last epithet in anticipation of what seemed to be the next question coursing through her eyes.

   He drank from his coffee, and then spoke again. "You seem on initial looks, someone like Santa, Jon or Jill. The kind of people who help me to find and be myself."

   Lyndsey sat speechless at his words, then she looked into his intent eyes. "So I can leave my things where they are for now an I?"
He nodded and again smiled warmly at her. Then he emptied the remainder of his coffee down his throat.

   They walked easily along the street. Down Argyle Street, underneath the ornamental edifice of the bridge carrying the railway lines out of Central Station, Lyndsey walked with Tom amongst and through the crowds of pedestrians. Then down Jamaica Street and away towards the Clyde. Here they stood together watching the traffic surge past journeying to the south side of Glasgow.

   "This is the Broomielaw – the road which runs alongside the Clyde." He said to her. She nodded; she, of course had partially been along this road yesterday as she had staggered under the weight of her pack, taking in her new surroundings. Except today in the clearer colder air it seemed a different place to the humid carriageway of the day before.

   They walked together with Jock the dog again running on ahead. They only talked in fits as mostly she tried to take in her new surroundings. As she drank in the air she breathed a more confident being. She walked with someone else and allowed herself to be led, so she needed not to construct any air of defiance or purpose. Those who passed her would see two people – not one, and so any possible interruption from any passer-by could either be dealt by both of them acting with mutually felt confidence fed by the other’s company, or more likely by Tom – the male and the local.

   This is how she felt even as he led her down roads she had already walked. But now he took her to new roads – up the wide, loud pedestrianised walkway of Buchanan Street they steered their way through the multitudes of people shopping, loitering, sitting, selling and standing in her way, all the way up to the Underground Station. And from here he led her through the warm warren of tunnels and onto the train platform.

   "Where to now?" She asked. "Will we still be in Glasgow?"

   "Of course," he assured her. "It’s quite a big city y’know; we’re just going to the West End."

   "Fine." She uttered the word with no great emphasis, yet she felt so good. So warm and suddenly… interested. She could feel a rising wave of enthusiasm for what was happening around her and also, even though she was for some reason fighting it, she could feel a kind of enthusiasm for her guide. A kind of enthusiasm that was bleeding interest and trust into the world around him, and to where he was taking her.

   She was enjoying his company and also being seen in his company, but she was almost embarrassedly aware that twenty-four hours ago she wouldn’t have known him from Adam. Suddenly the dog broke into barking, but was restrained from running away by Tom’s firm hand. The warm oppressive wind rushed against them as the approaching train roared down out of the inky blackness of the tunnel and came to a noisy rest on their platform.

   And so again she found herself in a narrow, cramped train carriage as it tumbled through the black tunnels along its rails towards its never finding destination – the Underground system in Glasgow running as it does in two circles, one within the other. On approaching the station at Hillhead, Tom began to move toward the door followed closely by Lyndsey. They mutely disembarked the small train and made their way to street level.

   "Wow!" Lyndsey was genuinely surprised. Ten minutes from the tumult of Buchanan Street and here was another busy, noisy parade. She hadn’t thought of Glasgow as being as large as this – her scant knowledge of the city didn’t go far. And here on Byres Road she could quickly feel the cosmopolitan and young ambience, being as they were only a few streets away from Glasgow University. She could feel the bustle and confidence of the ‘getting on with things’ side of Glasgow – real life taking place; she could feel this seeping into her and it felt good to be here and to be alive.

   Tom still hadn’t uttered a word since leaving Buchanan Street, but looking at her face eagerly taking in the sights and activity of this through-fare through the West End he smiled. "Come on, I've got a wee appointment to see a man about a dog, then I'll take you for a coffee."

   Until now Lyndsey had been quietly following her guide, unthinking and almost disinterested in any point to their travels. This sudden mention however of his elusive appointment stopped her thoughts for a moment and she looked back at him, but he had carried striding purposefully on with Jock the dog closely at his heels. She shrugged, but she didn’t mind – she was just enjoying being with Tom, and this trip of probably nefarious intent just added extra interest.

   They crossed the busy main road and entered one of the many car-lined side streets. Quickly they were in amongst narrow streets of tenement flats – masses of inhabited dwellings, many with student-authored window decorations, but Tom knowledgably surfed a route through them.
 
   "Where are we? Where are we going to?" She breathed out a question, feeling for the first time rather edgy, partly at his quickened pace and also at the quietness of the streets after the crowds and noise of Byres Road.

   "Not too far." He replied shortly as they surged on. The dog also was sure of the way and was leading about three or four yards ahead and her jauntiness and confident pace showed that she shared none of Lyndsey’s anxieties. Sensing the futility of any more questions, she willed herself to relax and follow. After all so far, by trusting to rely on her wits and allowing a little caution to be thrown to the wind, she was doing fine. But as they arrived at a rather derelict looking tenement she began to wonder if maybe she had edged out too far on a limb – this was not what she knew, she was relying totally on trust. She took a deep breath and stopped with Tom at the gate.

   "Can you stay here with Jock, I won’t be long."

   She stared back at him, half surprised and partly relieved; she had been expecting an invitation to follow him into what looked like a hellhole. She had also glimpsed a figure behind a small window on the door – a figure who had gone away again. She hoped that they, or Tom were authorised with the right to stand at the gate.

   As he walked down the short path she wondered at his reticence in explaining even scant details about their visit here, and also at the suspicion and wariness that their presence at the gate had caused. She thought of this for a moment, then she turned to check on the dog that was busy sniffing at a near wall, examining the markings of the last dog to have passed. Lyndsey sighed, then leaned back against the low fence separating the apology for a garden from the pavement and dug out a cigarette.

   The noise of the ceaseless traffic and the general urban din was curiously muffled by the narrow tenemented streets. The afternoon was cool, but inside her pullover and denim jacket she was fine. She exhaled a long stream of smoke and wondered again at their present situation, and then her mind wandered instead. And literally too, to Manchester, home and her mother and father. Obviously by now she would have been missed and the mechanics of the ‘find Lyndsey’ machine would be working. She was here though to search for and to find a path and do whatever it was that she wanted.

   The internal reasons, thoughts and arguments that had been in her head, the ones that had led her to the platform at Victoria Station, and by twists and turns to where she stood now, were largely that – internal thoughts and pains. Her parents, those well-meaning people, were mostly innocent of knowing Lyndsey mentally. They knew her quirks and habits and certainly knew her moods and silences; but their policy of trying to understand more – of attempting to penetrate the surface, had long been one of toleration. Of allowing her space and not questioning her silence and sometimes strange activities.

   When Lyndsey had left school and then had promptly shown no interest at all in using her glowing academic record to chase what her parents could only see as rewarding jobs, their complaints and reasoning’s had been few. Her father had initially sought to try to convince Lyndsey to take a more conventional, ‘normal’ route. But she had merely clammed up and refused to be drawn into any argument or discussion, even under provocation, and this had led to turbulent and harrowing encounters. And so faced with disinterest at his words and the fruitlessness of his efforts in trying to get Lyndsey to see his viewpoint, her father had largely ceased to discuss or argue with her anymore. Maybe she would one day see the worth of his words, or grow out of whatever malaise or anxieties that were apparently in her head. But to barrack her into a corner, and one that she steadfastly refused to defend or justify, was both cruel and pointless. And very painful he knew to himself, her mother and to Lyndsey. They reasoned through the love that they felt, for her to deal with her own intelligent and troubled mind.

   So was demonstrated to Lyndsey that her parents couldn’t and would probably never understand her, so she would have to be the one to carry herself. And in spite of the love she knew they had for her and the many material gifts, she had felt alone for so long. But now she could feel this icy dullness within her beginning to defrost and she was beginning to feel a desire too, to communicate and be interested in others. So now as she contemplated her parents probable anxieties and worries at finding her missing, she felt sad – yes, and even a little guilt. But not sorry – just glad for her decisions. The road and journey to where she was now stood, was always going to have been a difficult and potentially troubling one, but the present situation was as trouble-free as she could imagine it could have been. And although she was fighting not to acknowledge or recognise it, she also had a kind of gift. A kind of gift giving her an inner contentment, so that she was not contemplating the kind of guilt she maybe should be feeling. A gift filling up her thoughts, so she was not thinking of her parent’s anxieties, a gift giving her a curious warmth and tightness low in her stomach. It was the gift of feeling how she was beginning to sense she was feeling about Tom. As she contemplated this last thought, whilst inhaling deeply on her cigarette, she suddenly realised that the dog wasn’t there.

   "Shit!"
 
   She began to march in the direction that she had last seen her and she looked over several gardens in the hope that she was near, but this was in vain. Walking further down the road she began calling the dog’s name, but was worried about Tom hearing her and realising her mistake – her negligence. She walked down the path of one alleyway having spied a back-yard at the rear of the tenements, she had little concern if she trespassed or invaded someone else’s space.

   "Jock…JOCK!"

   She was raising her voice by the second, as she was getting more frantic. After achieving so much, so soon – getting a safe roof over her head,  enjoying the company of someone like Tom; someone who…

   "JOCK…JOCK!"

   Someone who wouldn’t be at all happy in discovering his dog missing, maybe forever. Maybe discovering his dog dead. Dead on the main road… And his wrath, his feelings then towards her… She ran back onto the narrow street aware now of a few faces in the inhabited tenements looking down at this loud worried girl. But she was now dropping through the levels of happiness from worry to frightened and now to misery.

   "Oh Jock, God – where are you? Where…"

   She stopped. Marching down the path of the tenement he had entered was Tom, his face full of interest as he observed her anxiety and by his ankles was Jock who was completely ignoring this mad female screaming her name.

   "Oh thank God, thank… Where was he – she?"

   Tom didn’t answer, he merely watched her as she hastened towards them. Her hair tousled, her cheeks scarlet and her eyes now starting to brim and run with tears.

   "How did she get to you? I was thinking she… Oh far too much." She paused, aware of her sudden rush of tears. "God, I'm sorry – I just thought I’d lost her. I thought I’d messed up so much." She turned her back on him and furiously wiped at the tears on her cheeks. He stepped forward and suddenly cradled her shoulder with his arm.
"Easy. She got round the back and barked at the back door. She knows this place better than any of us."

   She turned slightly and placed her face into the armpit of his jacket, glad of his consolances and his near presence. He was amused, and quietly touched by her vivid displays of emotions; he looked down towards her, his mouth only centimetres away from her hair. "I shouldn’t have left her with you – she’s not very obedient with those she doesn’t know – I'm sorry."

   "You’re sorry? God, I'm sorry… I'm making such a fool of myself and of you." She pulled away from him, furious at herself for her sudden loss of control and of her small showing and apparent craving for affection. She turned away again drying her damp eyes and felt crushingly aware of her burning cheeks. She turned to face him with as much cool and affected nonchalance as she could muster. "So, have you finished yet, or…"

   "Aye, I'm ready." He was enjoying and taken with interest at the ups and downs of her vivid moods.

   "So – so what about that great place for a drink then?" She could feel her heartbeat slowly decreasing as she gathered herself.

   "A great place? And a drink? I thought I said coffee."

   "Well I fancy a drink. Running around after that dog of yours has given me a thirst."

   He shrugged. "Okay then, lets go – but not to a ‘great place’, just somewhere where they serve drink.

   She followed, glad that the scene was over, and steeled herself to be as collected and cool as she wanted to be when she was with Tom.

   Lyndsey cradled her vodka and coke in her hands as she leant against the back of her chair. The air around them was smoky and stale, the familiar hubbub of the town pub surrounded them – the heavy male presence, the sound of balls hitting on a pool table, the thud of penetrating darts and the nearby mild disagreement of two men discussing the wisdom or otherwise of the some football manager’s current choice of first team players. This is the familiar and almost monotonous scenery and soundtrack of any town-centre pub in the afternoon, but to Lyndsey as she settled back with a drink and a cigarette facing Tom across the table, it was a comforting background. She felt free and easy.

   They had only spoken a few times since leaving the gate of the tenement; he had led her back to Byres Road and to one of the many drinking pubs on the corners of the side roads. And true to his words it wasn’t a "great place", but it was a perfectly adequate one. Tom drank from his Guinness, replaced his glass on the table then wiped his mouth clean of the froth.

   "Feeling better now?" He enquired of her teasingly.

   "Aye," she replied aware of the lightness of his question. "But I've been feeling fine all day – I had a clear head this morning."

   "Is that right?" He was interested by her attempt to deflect the conversation. He was about to speak again, but he paused sensing she was about to elaborate on her theme. He was quite right.

   "Aye, a clearer head than yours I think."

   He leaned forwards full of interest in her attempts to manipulate him into interest at her cryptic lines, and also enjoying the flashing of her intense eyes. "Are you saying I was a little worse for wear this morning?"

   "And a little large eyed." She leant back in her chair from where she had leant forward to answer his question, and took a deeper drag on her cigarette.

   "Oh aye, I was a little ‘large eyed’," he admitted. "But then I am most mornings." He was a little disappointed to discover that that was apparently all of interest.

   "And is that were you were just now, acquiring more gear – a little more ‘large eye gear’?" She smiled as she spoke, anxious not to incur any wrath because of her inquisitiveness.

   Tom smiled and drank again from his Guinness. "You’re a funny girl, Lyndsey."

   Her smile faded. "Funny? How?"

   "Funny in a nice way... How old are you, can I ask?"

   She smiled again, but more cynically. "This is how I'm funny isn’t it? Young-funny. Inexperienced, childish – is that what you mean?"

   "God… you race ahead. I only asked a question. Yesterday I found out your name, I don’t think its so calculating to ask your age." He stared into her glinting eyes wondering at her current mood.

   "Twenty one, nearly twenty two," she said quietly and wondering at the effect of her admission on him. "And you…?"

   "Oh a wee bit older," He replied annoyingly, but then noting the vexation in her eyes and her imminent second question he added an answer. "Twenty four – not nearly twenty five."

   She drank from her glass. "So am I still funny then?"

   "Don’t be so sensitive, I was only teasing you."

   She sat responseless and thought of her next question. A line that could be a subtle way of opening up the topic and answering the question that was of most interest to her. "Was anyone else up this morning?"

   "Anyone? Well you saw Santa. Did you go into the main room?"

   "No, I thought that you… Well I didn’t hear you leave the other room last night." She was a little confused now with the reply from Tom that made her think that things may be different.

   "No, I slept in my room… I think you may have been a wee bit knackered last night Lyndsey." A small smile played around the edges of his lips, he had an inkling of an idea of what she was thinking of – of what was really behind her questions.

   "So was it just weed that you were taking then?" She was suddenly eager for a change in the conversation being aware of his awareness, and presently not confident enough to want to venture further along the subject of Tom’s sleeping arrangements.

   He laughed. "A moment ago you were making polite, subtle suggestions, now…" He laughed again. "No, a few E’s too, but mostly just chilling y’know."

   She stared back at him aware they were off a subject she had wanted to pursue but had pulled back from, and now they were onto a subject she had only scant interest in – and now seemed at a full stop. So with the drugs subject apparently cleared up, she debated the intelligence of being seen eager to find out more about his love, carnal or bed partners. And she decided easily to leave it until another time, or until maybe the answer presented itself.

   "Come on," she said drinking the last from her glass, "let's go and find some food."

   As they crossed the road outside Lyndsey threw her head back and reeled in the delight of being in the big city. She quickly looked across to study his concentrated features as he guided her through the maze of speeding cars racing up Byres Road. She took in his concerned, yet laid back features; his pleasant, yet lop-sided smile, and his watchful, yet glazed eyes as they cut across towards Argyle Street and back toward the squat. She unthinkingly walked herself closer to him – the vodka flowing through her system, the nicotine lightening her head, her thoughts and desires moving her heart.

   She was beating one step more, was walking one step closer, was sailing one stage nearer the wind. She was smiling broadly and barely knew it. The total randomness of the activities she was currently involved in  - the ‘throwing herself down – run where she landed’ feeling of her current movements totally suited where she wanted to be at. It was a place where neither she, or anyone she knew hadn’t been to before. A place of no personal experience for her – unknown territory. And she was now experiencing the pleasure of the unknown pleasure – and with a guide whom she was beginning to desire more and more with each passing moment. She drifted with the flow and followed closely in his shadow and direction.