I put my head back on to the grubby grey of my rucksack, thinking I would get an hour or so before the delayed ferry was ready for boarding. It was not the most comfortable position, and, at just after eight on a sultry late spring night, sleep just did not come. I took a book out of a zippered compartment it the top of the bag, John Irving I think it was, and started to read.

In the waiting lounge people came and went, some settling in, probably getting on the same ferry as me. The horns of the ferries outside came through the large expansive glass windows as gentle shuffling parps. I could not concentrate on the book, and raised myself up to lean back, the rolled up clothing inside a satisfactory bolster against the angular blue metal of the seats.
 
The ferry boarded fifteen minutes after the expected hour delay. We queued up to embark, familiar faces but still strangers. A customs officer made final checks of our passports and tickets before we walked up the gangplank inside a white plastic extendable tube similar to the ones you use to get on an aeroplane. As I stepped onto the gangway, I heard a commotion behind me. A middle-aged man with a greying moustache was banging a finger down onto the podium behind which the customs man looked wearily at him. The man was speaking loudly, but in French so I could not make out everything he was saying. It was obvious he was seriously unhappy about the delay, and from the few words I could glean that he was going to miss a rendezvous. His face was very red.
 
A young man, about the same age as me, dressed in a shabby, baggy blue jumper and jeans, walked round the irate Frenchman and flashed his passport quickly at the customs officer, receiving a quick nod in return. I'd seen him earlier, talking to a pretty girl with brown, bobbed hair. She was not with him.
 
"That guy should chill out," he said as he got to me, with a faint accent, Australian may be. "Looks like his head is going to pop."
 
I smiled and agreed. We walked up the ramp together and I was introduced to Sean.
 
"Fancy a drink," he asked. I did, so we went straight to the bar. It was more like a plushly upholstered waiting room, rows of pale pink velour seats along either side, some table and chairs at one end. The bar itself was at the same end, but it was closed until the ship got going, so we decided to wait, commandeering a set of seats.
 
Sean had a well-travelled rucksack with him so I asked whether he was going far, or had come far. He told me he was on his way to meet up with an English friend who had got himself into the army and was posted at a barracks near Bremen.
 
"I was born in New Zealand," he told me. "I grew up in a place called Papatoetoe, just outside Auckland." The way he said it was like "Papa-toe-y-toe-y" and he smiled as he said it. He went on to tell me that he had come to England with his family when he was thirteen, but this had just given him an urge to see the world.
 
"Same here," I said. "About wanting to see the world that is. Too much time, too little to see in my own town." Just then the metal grill keeping the drinks from us began to clang upwards, and Sean slapped down on his rucksack. The ship gave an almost imperceptible lurch.
 
"Come on. Jules, you stay here with the bags, I'll get the drinks. Beer okay?" Before I could answer, he had gone. I watched as he stood at the bar, one foot bouncing slightly on the brass foot rail as he waited for the barman. He spoke to the barman, and they both laughed. When the drinks came, Sean took a big gulp of his, a skim of foam staying on his top lip.
 
"Cheers, mate!" he said passing a pint to me. We drank in silence, watching the bar fill up with weary travellers, a cornucopia with a united destination. Some people went straight to the bar, brandy, glasses of wine, beer. Some people went to slump on the seats, some lying, most sitting, all looking weary.
 
We finished our drinks quickly. Sean went over to the window and looked out, checking something.
 
"Come on, come with me. This is really cool," he said, almost running back to me. He grabbed his bag, leaving me to keep up, again without waiting for a response. I followed him out of the bar, and out onto the green-floored deck. The cool of the air made me shiver, but I had to move again quickly because he was already out of sight, his boots thudding loudly up metal stairs. I ran up them two at a time to catch him.
 
At the top of the stairs, the deck ran ahead of me towards the back of the boat, narrow, with the white metal wall of ferry to one side and the floor of the deck above making half a tunnel, with just a rail guarding us from a fifty foot drop to the sea. Sean was making his way along the tunnel. There was no need to hold on to the rail because the sea was completely calm. I went under an arch, and out onto a wider, observation deck at the back end of the boat.
 
"Isn't that just the coolest, mate?"
 
Sean was stood with his back to the rail, one arm raised to the moon. I looked up at a huge, full moon. It was a pale yellow, giving off a strange pallid light that allowed us to see but did not have the same sparkly brightness of a silver moon. It seemed to hover in the night sky above the cliffs, its eerily reflection broken up by the wake of the boat. I had to agree it was striking.
 
We sat down on cold wooden seats, facing back to towards the port, our bags thrown to one side. The scene impressed me, the lights of the ferry port dancing on the gentle waves, the size of the boats in the harbour, the cliffs hanging oppressively above them, their usual sharp whiteness turned yellow by the artificial glow of the sodium streetlights and the jaundiced cast of the moon.
 
"Smoke?" Sean asked. I said no I did not smoke, but I was fine if he wanted to go ahead.
 
"Nah, mate. Smoke? Like, weed, draw, hash?" He grinned at me as he got out a small plastic bag, the type with a self-locking top. It had a couple of black lumps in it, and some ready rolled cigarettes.
 
"I don't usually," I said, "but look at this. It would be rude not to."
 
"Good on ya!" He took one of the rollups out of the bag, and carefully sealed it again, thumb and forefinger squeezed along the top to secure it. He then got out a battered stainless steel lighter, flicked off the top and lit it. I got an instant hit of petrol as the blackened wick caught fire. He used the large flame to light the joint, drawing back on it, making the thick end glow. He breathed in deeply, tilted his head back looking at the stars, then a few seconds later blew out the remains of the smoke.
 
He passed it to me, and I took a long drag as he had. I was not used to the smoke, and it made me cough. Sean laughed, but I took another drag. Just before I had to close my eyes to the sting of the smoke, I saw it was slightly yellow, not just grey, the whorls of it wreathed around the glowing tip of the joint were the same colour as the cliffs. All at once, the effects of the various drugs hit me, the dizziness of the marijuana began to hit my head, sounds echoing slightly. More than that though, the nicotine rifled to my guts, and I felt nauseated. I could feel my mouth getting wetter inside, and I knew I was going to be sick. I should have known, it always happened when I smoked. I fought back the feeling in my stomach, hoping the smoke would not embarrass me.
 
I took it easy after that. Sean must have realised and kept most of the joint for himself. We sat back, arms outstretched on the benches, as England pulled away from us. The cliffs got smaller, making it look like the moon was getting bigger.
 
"So," he said, "what brings you here on this fine and lovely evening?" 
 
I told him I was hitching to Hamburg where a girlfriend had gone home for a couple of weeks, and I was going to surprise her. It was an impulsive thing, so I did not really have a plan.
 
"Nice one mate. We can hitch together if you want, Bremen's sort of on the way. There's a plan for you."
 
It was agreed, we would hook up and get as far as Bremen together. When the ferry docked, it would be nearly midnight, so Sean suggested we get to the train station, where we could be sure it would not rain on us. Sounded like a good idea to me.
 
We sat and talked about where we came from, what we liked, told jokes. We giggled a lot, the draw catching us the right way. Neither of us noticed it got colder. I heard footsteps. It was the girl Sean was talking to earlier. He had the joint, and was nodding to himself, eyes closed. I tapped him on the elbow with the back of my hand.
 
"Hey, Sean, you've got a visitor," I said, which I thought was unbelievably funny, and creased up. Sean looked back and I saw him mouth, oh, shit. 
 
"I wondered where you had got to," the girl said. "I look all around downstairs. In the bar, and the restaurant, but you are not anywhere. So I look up here, where no-one comes because it is cold."
 
She had a definite European accent. I looked at her through, feeling very tired. She was very pretty, and I put her in her late teens. She had a stripy t-shirt under a white denim jacket, and a baggy brown skirt. Sean stood up, unsteadily, passing the remains of the joint to me. I decided against it, and dropped it to the floor, stubbing it out with the toe of my shoe.
 
"Hey, babe, it's cool, hey," he said in a placating tone. "I just came up here with my mate Jules, to see the view and have a smoke." He went over to her and put his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. She put her arms around his waist, clasping her left wrist with her right hand. He nuzzled into her hair, and I began to feel unwanted, clearly not part of this any longer.
 
"I'm going back downstairs. It's getting cold. I'll see you guys later, eh?"
 
Sean looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, and he mouthed, sorry mate, then said "Yeah, I'll see you later." but he sounded too loud, insincere.
 
I went back down to the bar, finding a space on the floor next to a lifesaver ring, and fell asleep. It did not last long as a service announcement startled me to life, informing us of the estimated docking time and apologising for the delay. Knowing I would not be able to sleep, I got my book out again.
 
A while later, Sean and the girl ambled in through the double doors, his arm around her shoulders. He looked weary, but smiled when he saw me. The girl seemed to be clinging on to him as though he was going to blow away. They sat next to me.
 
"Hi mate," he said. "This is Katrin, she's from Belgium." She smiled sweetly at me and said, Hi, then, "Sean, I must go pee. I see you soon." She left us there.
 
"So, who's she then?" I asked. Sean said he didn't really know, just a girl he had got talking to back in the terminal, and now he could not get rid of her. He laughed when I said he did not seem to be trying to hard.
 
"Have you seen her, mate? She's gorgeous. A gorgeous Belgian chick, who wants me rabidly? Damn straight I'm not trying too hard." He laughed again, then looked serious. "She is a bit clingy though, isn't she? Still, not long until we dock, eh?"
 
Katrin came back and sat next to Sean. We talked for a while, then we all sat with our backs against the wall waiting for the ship to dock.
 
When it did, we breezed through customs, as though the officials wanted to make things better for us all to make up for the delay. Sean did not show any nerves as we went through. I wondered how he could do that, and figured it must be because he had so little marijuana that the consequences were minimal any way.
 
We caught the free bus from the esplanade at the front of the ferry port, directly into the centre of Zeebrugge to the railway station. Katrin was still with us although by now it seemed as though Sean wanted her to leave. Inside the station we looked for the waiting room, but it was locked, and we had to huddle into a corner where we had least chance of being disturbed.
 
I opened the bottom compartment of my rucksack and took out my sleeping bag, flicking it to lay it flat on the hard marble floor. Sean did similarly with his sleeping bag, but Katrin did not have one, so she had to snuggle inside Sean's. She seemed more pleased than he was about it. Despite the sounds of the train station and the beginnings of a hashish headache, I fell asleep - the long day, the drink and the marijuana catching up with me. Before I did I could see movement in the other sleeping bag, so I turned over, out of sight.
 
Before realised it, a hard toe pushed me in the ribs to wake me up. I opened one eye and saw a dark version of myself in the shiny black leather of a sturdy boot. It was daylight. Above me was a policeman. He was regarding me with contempt from underneath his kepi.
 
"Levez-vous. Vite." I understood what he meant, and got up as quickly as I could, my bones aching from the hard floor. I rubbed my muscles to bring them back to life. The policeman was accompanied by four other men, one policeman, two large men in black suits who each had white plastic, like the cord of a telephone, leading from their breast pockets to an earpiece, and a man dressed formally, with a very expensive looking camel coat. 
 
He was not looking at me, but at Sean and Katrin, staring brutally at them, rage barely hidden behind his eyes. They had been roused and now were stood next to me, looking dishevelled. The policeman said something in French to the well-dressed man, who simply nodded. Then he spoke to us.
 
"Catherine," he said it in a lilting way, pronouncing all three syllables. "Please, tell me what you are doing. I thought we had agreed you would not do this again."
 
I struck me that he spoke perfect English, with only a hint of an accent. This made me feel more uneasy. We were in Belgium, yet police were here, and clearly they knew the girl.
 
"Papa," she said. "I told you on the telephone where I was, and you said to me that you would allow me to come home in my own time. You said you would treat me like an adult but you did not. And last night you said we could talk about it when I got home. You said - " 
 
"Catherine," he interrupted, his tone allowing no argument. "You are only fifteen. How can you expect to be treated like a grown up if you act like a child? As soon as I do something you do not like you act like a child again and run away. Of course I could not allow you to come home when you felt it appropriate. You are surely not so stupid as to believe that."
 
I looked at Sean, his face had become hardened. He was staring at Katrin, Catherine, and when she tried to take his hand, he pulled it away sharply. He faced her father, involuntarily smoothing his hair.
 
"Listen, mate - " he started.
 
"No," again he interrupted, and again there could be no argument. "I will not listen to you. This is my daughter and I will talk. You are nothing. You should be quiet. For the moment, it is best for you."
 
He went on. "Now, Catherine, please tell me what you are doing with this boy. What has he done to you?"
 
Catherine had bowed her head towards the floor when Sean did not take her hand, her hair falling down to hide her face from her father, but now she looked up at her father.
 
"Papa, I was doing nothing." It was hard to hear her now. Although defiant, her voice was almost a whisper. "He and his friend were looking after me. I was cold and Sean let me get warm in his blanket. Please do not do anything to them, and I will come home with you."  
 
"It's true, sir," said Sean, obviously realising that deference was a good idea. He started to say something else but the man cut him off by raising one hand. He spoke to the police officer who asked us for our papers, our passports. I got mine from my bag, Sean's was wedged into the back pocket of his jeans. The policeman took them and walked away with the two men in suits. The formed a huddle and one of the men started to say something while staring out into the distance.
 
We stood for a minute or so, Sean and I looking down at our feet, Catherine's father stock still with his hands behind his back. Catherine sat down on my sleeping bag and I could see she was crying. There was little any of us could say or do. The triumvirate came back and one of the suits spoke to Catherine's father, his head bent in close to the older man's ear. Catherine's father nodded whilst the other man spoke. Then he dismissed the man in the suit, who stepped back to join his colleague a yard behind.
 
"Now," said Catherine's father. "Catherine. I must ask you once, and you must answer me immediately and honestly. Please stand up so I can see you." Catherine stood, shakily. She looked scared. "Thank you. Now, please tell me whether this man was aware of your age, and whether you were forced or persuaded against your will to do anything. We have the police here, and if necessary we can have this man arrested and charged. Or, of course, if nothing happened, and you alone are to blame, we can allow him to go with no question, and you shall come home with me. So, please, let me know your answer."
 
Catherine looked at him, and I could see hate in her eyes. She seemed to be considering the option she had been given. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She looked to Sean for help.
 
"It's okay Katrin, I'll tell him," he said, taking her hand. He then looked at her father. "Mr, er, sorry I don't know your name, but I have to say none of it is Katrin's fault - "
 
"No, Sean, please. Papa. Don't listen to him. It was nothing, and he did not know anything. I told him I am eighteen, and he did not ask me for anything at all. He does not know who I am..." She paused, thinking, reaching a conclusion. "Wait. A minute please."
 
She took her hand out of Sean's and put it on his forearm. She covered her eyes with her other hand, then shook her head and laughed cruelly.  
 
"Oh, you've really done it now," she said vehemently to her father. "Do you think I will not know what you are trying to do? Well, sorry to disappoint you again. You are wrong, Papa." She practically spat the last word out.
 
"I know what you want here, you bastard," she went on. "You want to make sure this is all quiet don't you. It's your work, isn't it, your precious Embassy? Eh, Papa? Am I right? It is isn't it, oh you...and I'm sick of it. How would you put your work before your own daughter? Perhaps he has taken me and raped me? But you do not know do you. So you make it that I decide what happens. I say nothing and he can wlk away and nothing is said. Is that it? Well, no, sorry. We made love on the boat, under the stars, and I seduced him. What can you do about that, eh Papa?"
 
Her father looked stunned. His presence had deteriorated, his power gone. He looked old.

"Catherine, please do not talk so. I am sorry my darling. What would your mother say? Please come to your Papa. I love you, you know. And if I seem to be harsh, it is only because of that. I want to care for you. Please do not think I put my job first. When you run away like this, can you blame me for acting so? I do not know what to do. It is you, always you, now you are all that is left of your mother."
 
Catherine hesitated, looking hard at her father, seeing if this was true, trying to understand whether there were any lies behind it. He looked devastated. Whatever she decided, she suddenly ran forward saying in her own language, "Oh, Papi, je suis désolé, Papi".
 
Father and daughter stood for a minute, barely moving except for his hand stroking her hair, as we watched. Then the policeman tapped him on the shoulder and spoke to him in French. Catherine's father looked across to us, to Sean in particular, then back to the policeman. He shook his head and walked away with his arm around his daughter's shoulders. 
 
The policeman escorted us in silence to the front of the station, where they left us.
 
"Shall we go?" I said to Sean. We walked down the esplanade and through the town. We stopped at a patisserie to buy pain au chocolat for breakfast, washed in the cold water of the public toilets, and then found the road out of town quite quickly. About half a mile further, it joined the main highway, where a sign promised Holland. We dumped our bags underneath and sat down.
 
"So," I said to Sean, the first words either of us had spoken to each other since the train station. "Did you know how old she was?"
 
Sean did not answer at first, then a wide grin spread over his face. "Of course, mate. What do you reckon? A shag's a shag ain't it?"
 
I did not know what to think at that stage. He was either lying and thought I would be impressed, or he was telling the truth. Either way, I wanted to leave him there, to get as far away from him as I could. I resolved to take the first lift available and stood without making a response, and stuck out a thumb. Sean shrugged, and stayed sat down.
 
 
After about five minutes, he started to pat his pockets, then he swore.
 
"Go on, tell me."
 
"Bastard Belgian bitch has got my draw." He thumped his bag hard. "I put it in her pocket last night. You know, before we went through customs? I figured I could get it off her this morning, but I forgot. Bollocks."
 
"You're sick." It was the last thing I said to him. I moved closer to the kerbstone. The traffic was starting to increase, and a large black Mercedes saloon with Dutch plates stopped a couple of minutes later, pulling in to the side of the road .
 
"Adios, amigo," he said to my back as I picked my rucksack up. I climbed in the back of the car, saying hello to the middle aged man in the front seat, telling him I was heading towards Hamburg. He said he was going to Arnhem, which was well on the way.
 
"Your friend is waiting for a ride also?" he asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror. "He is coming with you?" 
 
"No," I replied. "He's not with me. He's not my friend."