Days of Ten & the Jesus Army...

First day: God creates light ("Let Light be!") - the first divine command. The light is divided from the darkness, and "day" and "night" are named.

The first day is a Tuesday.

The Roundhouse Pub. A place for the middle classes to express their trendy yet mild eccentricities. A place with a sign on the door that read 'No Travelers'. But I chose to ignore that. I stood outside for a while, staring through the window at him sat at the table. He was laughing and joking with a man that I hadn't met before and the sight of this gave me a certain peace. When he turned and saw me, his face lit up. I took a deep breath before pushing open the door of the pub.

'Claire!' he looked so happy 'You made it!' I hugged him tight and remembered all there is to know about this man. The Adonis in my life.
'I missed you John.' I said with genuine affection. We held hands and drank our beers reunited and happy, but I could not be sure if it was him I missed or the safety that he offered me. I was introduced to the other man.
'This is Phil.' Phil shook my hand. 'He has space in his flat for you to stay a while. Now that we are back together again, I want you somewhere safe.'

Phil was a Psychobilly and sported a black and white quiff with a Letterman jacket. He looked quite interesting, until he spoke, when his words marked him boring. He was a student with a haircut I guess.

I enjoyed my beer and what it symbolised. 'They have a sign on the door that says...'
'No Travelers?' Laughed John, finishing my sentence for me. 'Well, they also have a sign on the door that says...'
'No animals?' Phil, pointed under the table and I looked down to see my rats in their cage.
'I wondered what the fuck had happened to them!' I exclaimed. I couldn't even remember when I had last seen them!
Another man joined us and asked if I was studying at the college. This man said he was nineteen years old.

This man lied. This man was Steve

He had scruffy blond hair and a stocky build with an unshaven face. He wore motorcycle leathers and boots. Those boots would be a contentious issue in the court room for me soon. They would hold the destiny of another person in their zipped up form. The destiny of Chris.

Chris was next to join us at the table together with a young, petite and pretty girl named Maxine. Chris and Maxine lived on a boat down at the canal.

'Call those rats.' Chris had said 'You should see ours back at the boat. Size of small dogs they are.' Maxine was mostly quiet and seemed a little unsettled by my presence. I got the feeling right away that she didn't like me.

The evening ended with an unusual sense of normality for me. John walked me back to Phil's and Steve decided that he would stay the night there too. My rats were placed on their new home, a table in this basement rental, and I curled up drunk and happy that John had missed me so.


When I woke it was to the sound of Steve's voice. He was telling Phil all about the drugs that he took 'I downed fifty microdots the other day - it was fucking great.'

Day Two.

I stretched out the night and laughed out loud. 'I fucking doubt that!' There was something that irked me about this man from the start. Something wasn't right about the tall stories that he told, but I just figured that he was showing off to this new group of friends.

I met with John for lunch but felt frightened at the normality that he was drawing me to. I loved him. But I wondered if I was too far gone to be with him. Still, I laughed at his jokes and played with his hair just as I used to.

The unexpected twist of the day came from Sarah whom I met later down the Boater pub.
'Someone asked me out today.' she said 'And I said yes to them.' I raised an eyebrow and inquired who, but was not prepared for her answer in any way. 'Merlin.'

I felt the burn of jealousy. Merlin was my friend, he didn't fancy her, he fancied me.

'Can I ask you something?' She had said, 'Have you slept with Merlin?' But I just shook my head and finished my drink. I tried to be happy for her I really did. As I left the pub I placed a note in the hand of the Spaceman and took what he offered me in return. The day had passed uneventfully I suppose.

The third day is a Thursday

Thursday found me woken by Kitten, my oldest rat, licking fluid from my lips. I pushed her away and went to fetch a saucer of water for her. Thirsty, with her belly laden with babies, she was soon to be a Mum again. As I did this I remembered the acid in my pocket and before I could decide if now was a good time or not, I necked down two of them.

The doorbell sounded.
'Claire.' Called out Phil 'It's for you.'

I went to the hallway and saw Dean standing there with his dog Ally.

'I have beer!' Said Dean, holding aloft a carrier bag.

I placed my hands over my face and giggled 'I have acid. Swap you, two for two.' And I giggled again then pulled him inside. Dean and I sat on Phil's bed, teasing Ally by showing her my rats. We would place Whiskey, my male rat on top of the door and watch as he flattened his body and fell to the ground. As the acid took hold this seemed hilarious. We poured egg cups of beer for the rats and sometimes they drank from my mouth, running through my clothes and finding their way back up to my neck where they would sit and sniff the air at Ally. Dean rolled joints with Phil's cannabis and gave blow backs to the dog and me. I think probably I fucked him that afternoon, but I can't say for sure. I do remember having sex with someone on the floor of Phil's flat and I don't recall John being there that day. Funny, after today I don't remember John being around at all. Was there an argument at the door? Did John shout and scream or did he simply walk away. There's something in my mind, a memory, but its hidden from me now.

When acid spreads your pupils wide there is more of the world to see. When Steve joined us later in the day I was entranced with what he showed us. The glint of silver metal from the blade seemed to spark the air.
'Have you used it?' I spoke of the Stanley Knife in awe.
'Of course.' He had answered. 'I always keep it in my boot, just in case.' And with that he closed the blade and tucked it back away.

Just in case.

Phil returned to find Dean and me stoned and tired in his bed and Merlin and Steve snoring away on the floor. He had tins of vegetables, which he offered up to me and I went to the tiny kitchen and made the men a stew of sorts.

Night came and went.

The fourth day is a Friday

He was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of Phil's room and I watched helplessly, trying to find words of reassurance.

'Are you sure? Have you spoken to Maxine? Maybe you got it wrong?'

'Got it wrong? They told me to fuck off. Said they were together now.' Chris's words were broken by sudden uncontrollable outbursts of crying. He looked so terrible. So frightened of his own emotions. I gave him a cuddle of sorts, but offered it awkwardly.

'Phil should be back soon.' I said, hopeful. 'But I think you've got it wrong. Steve was here last night and anyhow, he's a bit of a prick, keeps flashing round that knife like he's really hard. I can't imagine Maxine liking him.'

'If he comes here I'll fucking kill him.' Chris said. Anger momentarily replacing the tears.

After Phil returned the men left to get more drink and drugs whilst I sat on the floor with Sarah, I was a little shell shocked from the muddle of the last few days.

'How many men have you slept with?' She rolled me a cigarette and waited for my response.

'I don't know. Too many to fucking count I guess.'

'Merlin was my first.' She said.

'Well even I can count to one.' I laughed. 'But I don't know, honestly, maybe forty, maybe more? I can tell you the ones since school?'

'OK. We'll count together.' She laughed, grabbing a pen and paper.

'Steve...Rob, the Sailor in the pub with the huge knob. Those two lads from Hawksbury Upton.' I thought for a while, 'Geoff, Steve, John, Bertie, Ian, Blackum, Liam, Merlin, Marcus, Dillon...'

'Merlin? You fucked Merlin.'

Shit.

I had fucked him and I had lied.

'Is there anyone I could find that you haven't fucked?' She retorted angrily.

'Well I don't know Sarah. Maybe you could if you lived your own fucking life and stopped following me!'

I left that flat, pretending anger at her but only really angry at myself.

It was a gray and drizzly summer afternoon. The hot concrete steamed the smell of the city and I was grateful for the mist of rain that cooled my temper.

Where now?

I headed down to the Sport's Centre Car Park, to the one place that I felt was truly home. The Box.

There was no box anymore of course, but I felt comforted sitting near the vent and letting the warm air dry my dampened skin. I saw a long cigarette butt lying on the floor and reached out to take it, just as I heard his voice.

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

I laughed, 'Waiting for you!'

Bertie sat down beside me.

'More to the point,' I asked, 'What the fuck are you doing here?'

'Would you believe I'm playing squash?'

'No.' I laughed, looking at his outfit of torn Mohair jumper and ripped jeans. "How's your Mum? And Ursula?' I asked. 'And Polly?'

He threw his hands to the air like the question confused him, 'Mum's great. Ursula is annoying. Polly, well Polly is out of the picture, shall we say.'

'So you have taken up squash instead?' I teased.

'Not really. I was just in town when I saw you walking down here. I thought that I would come to join you. See if you lived here still.'

'And if I did live here?'

'Then I would stand...' He stood.

'And bow...' He bowed .

'And graciously beg that Madam would consider me as her humble house guest once more.'

'If you get me some boards, I will build you a box' I raised an eyebrow and waited.

'Zebedee!' He cried. And there suddenly appeared a slight little man with strange hair and a pointed nose.

'Who the fuck is Zebedee?' I asked.

'Zebedee. Is from Northampton. He lives with the Jesus Army.' Robert tousled his hair 'He's sort of like a pet.' I frowned. 'Boing'. Said Robert smiling.

The new 'Box' was larger than the previous one, making room for Zebedee to sleep there with us. Zebedee lay nearest the concrete wall, then me in the middle and Robert near the door. We had no mattress yet so we lined the floor with old newspapers. As Robert had sex with me that night I stared at Zebedee and Zebedee stared at me. He had a sort of half smile on his face, like I was sharing more of a moment with him than the man on top of me. He was a strange little man indeed.

The fifth day is a Saturday.

Zebedee is still smiling at me. Has he laid there that way all night? Eyes fixed with a knowing look and watching me as I lay in Bertie's arms. Why does he stare at me so?

Later Zebedee took us to the Jesus Army bus, an alarming vehicle painted in garish colours and filled with evangelists wearing smiles and army combat fatigues. They gave us food and lay hands on us whilst praying. I was scared by the intensity of their joyous words. They showed me brochures of a farm up North and asked if I wanted to leave all this behind and join them in their love for Jesus. One lady, with greasy long black hair prayed extra hard for me. It felt weird to have the intimacy of her hands upon my person. I envied her her bliss, which I saw as born from fear and ignorance, and I wished myself naive enough to join them.

"Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account."

'Come with us.' Said the long haired lady.

'Fuck off!' I cried as I jumped off the bus, hand and hand with Robert who was still stuffing a sandwich in his mouth. Zebedee stayed.

I spotted Neil sitting on a bench in the bus station with some friends and went over to introduce Bertie. Neil introduced me to the rest of 'Papa on a Stick' and told us that they were on their way to a gig in Kent.

'You should come.' Said Neil.

'Maybe we will.' I winked.

I tucked the flier in Roberts trouser pocket and waved goodbye to Neil as he climbed aboard the London coach.

'Got any money?' I asked Bertie.
'Why? You wanna go? We could pawn my instruments again I guess.'

I hadn't traveled out of the South West for the longest time. It was exciting to watch the scenery outside the window industrialise as the city of London neared us. We got off the coach and found our way across the street to the departure terminal. The next bus took us to Seven Oaks in Kent and we soon arrived at the pub where Papa were playing. It felt good to be out of Bath and away from all the problems that surrounded us there.
We bought our tickets and joined the one hundred or so Punks & Goths in the basement room. We only had enough money for a couple of drinks each, a fact that was already pissing off Robert who became testy when alcohol was running short. The gig was fun though. After we shared a can or two with a couple of Goths that Bertie had befriended inside. One of them insisted that Bertie and I came back to his bedsit for the night. There was an empty room downstairs from him and we could share that if we liked.

'I'm off to bed.' Said Bertie. Still in a huff because the alcohol had run out. 'Can you show me the room?'
Mark stood up to take us down there, 'You coming too?' He asked.
'Nah, I might stay up and watch the rest of the film with you. If that's OK.'

Choices.

Mark came back without Bertie and turned the light off. He lay on the bed whilst I sat on the chair, neither of us watching the television. He asked me about Bath and seemed intrigued at the description of my lifestyle. He was full of questions, each of which I answered with honesty.

'Come over here.' He said 'On the bed.'

'I am comfortable here thanks' I said.

'Stay awake with me all night!' He sat up enthusiastically. 'We will listen to music and you can tell me about your box.'

I felt that I would stay. But stay safely here in this chair. I laughed when he complained that his 'cock hurt', and wondered why I stayed and didn't go downstairs.

Because I did stay.

After a couple of hours had passed I stopped being tired. I wondered if Bertie was lying awake downstairs missing me or if he had forgotten I was up here and was sleeping like a baby. Mark tried again.

'Come and join me on the bed. I think you are really nice.'

'I'm with Bertie.' I said 'I'm not going to fuck you.'

'A blow job then?' He tried. He looked sort of pathetic, like he was verging on desperation now. 'It really hurts!' Mark gestured at the bulge in his trousers.

I stayed in my chair. There was more music, some TV and then some coffee. I eventually crawled to the room downstairs, just as Bertie was waking to this new day.

The sixth day is the Lord's Day.

'Did you fuck him?' Was the first thing that Bertie asked and I dropped to my knees and implored that he believe me.

'No Bertie. I would never do that.' But I wonder if either of us believed in me enough to see that as true.

Later we sat in the Littlewood's Cafe. Surrounded by middle aged pastel knits and skirts with elastic waists, we looked so out of place in this catalog of truly original fashion sin. I sat next to Robert and Mark sat opposite us with a friend that I recognised from the night before.

'Claire and I stayed up all night.' Said Mark.

And Bertie shot me a look that said it all.

We drank our teas then walked up to the ruins of an old castle. Him still angry with both me and our lack of alcohol. There we sat on the side of the hill with all the glory of the fallen classes, chins low and defeat aplenty. The view was beautiful but our lives too blighted to see it. I wanted to be back home. In my Box. Just him and me like I had thought it might always be.

Two more coaches. Back to the Roman City.

I wondered what I was looking for and what shape he would take when I eventually found him.

Robert held my hand but did not look at me.

The seventh Day.

Zebedee again watched as Robert huffed and puffed and came inside me. Once again I watched Zebedee and wondered why he stared. When I turned over to cuddle Bertie, Zebedee did the same and snuggled into me. We were safe down here. The three of us.

Morning broke.

'You don't speak much, do you Zebedee?' I said as I passed him a smoke.

He shook his head and sunk his cigarette free hand deeper in his cardigan pocket. I tried to recall if I had ever heard him speak at all! We pulled down the side of the box and I tidied inside whilst Bertie went for a shit around the corner.

'Oi you!' Shouted an angry voice from across the car park. 'Move that fucking crap away from the vent.'

I continued tidying.

'Don't use all the bog roll!' I called out to Bertie 'I need to make a tampon!'

Zebedee rolled his eyes.

'You have no right to be here. This is privately owned land.' Shouted the voice.

'I'm really fucking depressed.' Said Zebedee. Which startled me as I had begun to get used to not hearing him speak. 'I don't want to go back to Northampton but I've nothing here.'

'You have us.' I said.

'I'm just your midnight fuck buddy. You and Bertie have each other. I'm just a spectator.'

'A spectaculator.' I laughed.

'You'll find it all in the bin if it's still there when I get back!' Said the voice. Still angry.

Bertie helped me replace the board. 'You coming into town to make some money?' He asked Zebedee.

'Nah.' I'm going to stay here and sleep for a while.'

We left Zebedee there.

A five minute walk found us at the market and I spent my last 50p on two liquorice sticks to chew on. Spices, herbs and cheeses were sensory amidst the craft shops and clothes.

There is the stall where we bring containers to be filled with acid Scrumpy.

Here we buy plump pork sausages from a plump pork butcher to cook on the licking flames of an open fire.

A magical market of memories for me. Robert and I were going to head to Stall Street to do some begging when suddenly, amidst the trampling feet and happy shoppers Robert spied something.

A five pound note!

He reached down, twisting slightly backwards. Gracefully, like a Playboy Bunny, he grasped the note and momentarily my heart skipped a beat with excitement. The note was promptly hidden in his pocket whilst we both scanned around to check that nobody had seen us.

'Lets go get beer.' Robert had cried.

'And cigarettes!' I added, hopefully.

I smiled wide for the man at the cheese counter as we passed this second time. 'Save us some scrumpy for later Jack.' I shouted.

The crowds were pushed closer together as they entered and exited through the bottle neck entrance to this place. As the people dispersed on the other side, I looked down to see a second miracle. A second five pound note.

'Is that our note!.' I implored Robert as I swooped to pick it up.

Bertie checked his pocket.

'No' he said, producing the original.

'I don't believe it.' I said laughing. Who would have thought!

Some days I feel like a queen!

'Claire.' Said Bertie, 'This calls for a Gin & Tonic on the bin of the arcade. Whilst thou accompany moi to the Office of License to purchase such pleasure?' And I tucked my arm in his.

Arge and one of the travelers caught up with us as we left the market.

I walked slightly ahead of the others, absent-mindedly humming to myself with happiness that for once the day was starting with less hunger and want than usual. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something ahead of me drop to the floor. It came from a newspaper. A paper tucked under the arm of a walking man. It looked, I thought, rather unbelievably like a large roll of money.

But surely not.

I quickened my pace as another pedestrian stepped casually and ignorantly over it and quickly reached down to grasp his fortune lost.

It was fucking money.

Not just a bit of money but a lot of money.

I turned stunned and silent to face Bertie, fanning the notes out and mouthing 'OH - MY - GOD'.

'Where the fuck did you get that?' Asked Bertie. And I pointed down the road to the scurrying figure that was rushing away from us. Bertie grabbed my hand and pulled me sideways down an alleyway. 'Let's go to the toilet and count it!' He cried.

Two hundred and forty pounds. Two weeks wages to the passer by perhaps. To us - a fortune! We gave Arge a twenty and then ran excited back to the box to share our news with Zebedee.

I was laughing out loud, physically bursting with excitement that today I could afford to eat and drink and smoke without worry - and I sprinted through the car park to the box...that was gone.

There was no box. No Zebedee. No home.

'Where the fuck is our stuff?' Shouted Robert.

'It must be that man. The one that was down here earlier. That fucking asshole.' I crumpled to my knees.

'Come on girl. We'll build it again later. I won't be unhappy today.'

He was right. But I found myself worrying about Zebedee and I couldn't put a finger on why.

Beer and love and pizza. A real meal in a real restaurant with a packet of straights on the table and a whole bottle of Cabernet to wet the palate. I dreamed of clean underwear and shoes on my feet.

The day ended in a cheap hotel room and with no knowledge of how the next day might begin.


The Eighth day is a Tuesday.

Love. I question it in all its representations.

I think about how I would feel if I walk away from Robert and I realise that there is nothing to feel. One hundred and twenty pounds left in our pockets. No box. No sign of Zebedee. As he pays for the scrumpy in the market I wait on the Abbey steps. She sees me before I see her.

'How are you?' She asks.

'Fine and dandy.' I smile. Wishing that for once we would give each other a hug and at least pretend that we are bound.

'This is Andrew.' She said, gesturing towards a sliver of man on view behind a pillar. 'Andrew, this is my sister Claire.'

Andrew was red faced and white haired. He never fully emerged from behind his pillar but I waved hello anyhow.

'How's Mum?' I asked her.

'Not so good. Look...we better go...but...take care, yeah.'

'You too.' I smiled.

'She saw you on the telly!' Called out Hayley as she walked away.

Robert returned with the drink and settled on the step beside me.

I thought of my sister.

'Can I have money for tampons?' I asked. Then I took the note from his hand and started walking. I walked to the canal, and then I didn't stop. I didn't know where I was going, but I liked the feeling of the damp grass under my toes again. I recalled a girl. Vicky. She lived with her Mum. I had met her in the Boater.

I would go and see Vicky!

Vicky's Mum was a hippie and as such was open to the dirty girl that wished to stay.

She ran me a bath and I floated content in the Victorian Claw Foot. Incense and cannabis the tone of this place. I used their make up and painted myself happy again. Vicky told me of the squat punks and chastised me for sleeping on the streets. 'There are free houses all over this town.' She had said, 'Why would you sleep in a car park? Mum and me don't pay rent for this place you know.'

When next I went to the bathroom I silently pocketed the pair of scissors that lay beside the sink.

The ninth day is the Eve of Days

A chaise longue. It had seen better days and now it had seen a day of me. It fascinated me how the edges of its pattern tufted strands of green silk and I stroked these with my fingers as I roused to the day. I could still smell the scent of fruit soap on my skin. In only my underwear I padded to the kitchen and found a clean cup to make tea for breakfast. One cup and a smoke of last night's left over cigarettes before I left with Vicky who was already running late for school. It seemed strange to see her in a uniform. It reminded me how recently I had worn one myself.

I found my way to the square where I had danced for Keith and I sat on the doorstep of a shop that had not opened yet. I watched the 'proper' world hurry by. A smartly dressed gentleman asked what I was doing.

'Contemplating Quantum Physics.' I had answered.

He smiled, 'So just what are you contemplating?'

'I am wondering,' I said, 'If I can remember enough of it to bullshit you into believing that it is actually what I'm sat here doing.'

He laughed a deep laugh, 'Now why would you do that?'

'Because Sir, I am a little bored today.'

The weather promised sunshine and warmed my skin. I found myself grateful for this man's conversation.

'Why are you here?' I asked.

'I am retired. A morning stroll took me further than usual and before I knew it I was here in the city.'

'Why did you talk to me?'

'Because you looked like you would talk back.' He lay down his jacket and sat beside me. 'Look at these people. They are, I have learned, impossible to talk to. Even if they speak, they say nothing.'

'You're funny.' I smiled at him.

'For instance.' He said 'If I asked the lady over there, the one with the blue shirt. If I asked what she was doing, what do you think she might say?'

I looked at the lady in the blue shirt, middle aged, middle England.

'Go ask her.' He said to me.

I hurried through the mass of city workers and stopped in front of his lady.

'Excuse me. My friend and I...' I gestured at the doorstep, 'Were just wondering, what you were doing?'

She frowned and scurried off.

'You see!' He said 'They say nothing.'

A woman turned up with a key to the boutique and asked us politely if she could open the door that we blocked. I wondered if she would have been so kind of word if my new friend had not been with me.

'What did she say to you?' He asked.

'She said "I will be nice to you just in case this man can afford one of my dresses".'

'Well her caution is worthy. Because indeed I can. Which one would you like?'

'You're kidding me?' You'll buy me a dress.'

'If you want a dress?'

I stood up and walked slowly along the shop front. 'I do.' I said, 'I want that one.'

Inside I tried on the floor length blue dress in the purple velvet-curtained cubicle. It had long flared bohemian sleeves and a print of tiny green leaves and purple flowers.

'Do you have kids?' I asked, as I twirled for approval in front of both the mirror and him.

'Two. Grown up now. They don't say much either. Well not to me anyhow.'

'Are you really going to buy me this dress?'

'Yes. I believe I am.'

'In that case then...' I reached into the carrier bag that held me few possessions. 'I can do this!'

And I cut the dress off mid thigh, him helping with the back so I could keep it straight.

He paid for the dress and we left, leaving the remainder of the fabric and my filthy rags on the fitting room floor.

I did not see Bertie that day, or for that matter anyone else that I knew. Begging in this new outfit was easier though. The people of Bath found their pockets deeper when their pity fell on beauty.

AS the air began to cool and retail closed for the day, I sat in the entrance to a different shop, examining my reflection in the mirrored pillar. I put on eye liner and mascara. I stared. I allowed my mind to drift momentarily on where I was heading, but it was easier to look in the mirror and forget. For the first time in my life I contemplated getting arrested. A cell has a bed and food. I wondered what they would do if I smashed the glass of this shop front. I wondered if with it would come my salvation, or would there simply be a different type of cold. I walked through the town, lonely as my first night here. Once again I pondered what price a bed and I decided to go to Barry's house. Back to the Photographer.

The crescent was huge, maybe 60 houses which all looked freakishly the same. I tried my hardest to recall a feature that would lead me to his door, but eventually I resorted to looking through letter boxes.

I have found it.

I knocked and I called, but no answer from my photographer friend.

Disillusioned I walked again. Some of the houses had their lights on inside and I could see families safe and happy within. Some watched TV, some talked, some, so it seemed, did nothing with nobody - but how I envied them their triteness. If I walked up and knocked on a door and begged to stay the night, what would they say? This man, the one I can see at a table reading a paper. Would he say yes? Would he let me live there and forgive me for all that I was? Would he even care?

But I never had the courage to ask.

I walked myself lonely again, back to the box that was no more, but found only yesterday there and not my future. I could see the pile of boards and clothes discarded on the waste land that lay between the car park and the sports ground. My entire life. Discarded.

I walked again. Back up to town. I found a phone box and dialed the number on the piece of paper with hope ready to spill from my lips. Black ink on white paper. It led only to a painful silence.

I walked again.

This house was also silent. I sat on the stone wall outside it for maybe twenty minutes, legs hugged close to my body, knees to my chin, wishing I had left the dress at least a little longer. I knew every bump and curve or this pavement by the time I picked up the small piece of gravel. My first aim landed wide of its mark and bounced off a drain pipe to the right of his window. The second missed as well but the third pinged nicely off the glass. I recall being relieved that it didn't smash.

John looked bare chested from the window down at me. He prised the sash open and whispered down at me...

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

Inside I prayed. I would do anything for a bed. Anything at all. I looked up at him wide eyed and begged for his help. 'Let me stay John. Just tonight. I've got nowhere to go.'

But he closed the window and left me there.

Back to the car park.

The boards were heavy to lift on my own but I dragged them one by one and built the box again. I used a discarded tarpaulin as a blanket and held the hand of a new fear as my friend. I did not want to live this life any more.

It was a long time before I fell fitfully to sleep.

When the board was lifted and the stranger pissed on me, I kicked off the tarpaulin and huddled near the vent to warm my skin and dry my dress. I cried. I wished I had not woken up at all.

Day of the Deadly sins...

5AM

The footsteps found me still crouched for warmth and sanity against my home and they ended with a knock on the wooden board.

'Claire?' Said an unfamiliar voice from outside. 'It's D.S Coull. Can I have a word?'

I crawled from my box and blinked against the strip lights of the car park. Coming into focus was a plain clothes policeman in his late forties.

'Don't worry. I'm not here for trouble. Do you know a guy called Chris Parry?'

'Chris?' I mumbled confused 'From the canal?'

'That's the one.' The Detective offered me a cigarette, which I took. This all seemed surreal. I wondered if I smelt of piss. 'Do you know a sixteen year old lad called Steve?'

'No.'

'Bleached blond hair. Wears bike leathers?'

'I know someone like that, but he's older.'

'Do you know where he might be? Steve?'

'Have you tried Phil's? Up near the Beehive?'

'Can you show me the house?'

I figured that I could.

The Detective was kind to me. He gave me a ten pound note to buy food and he knew enough to not suggest I go home to my parents. When the trip to Phil's ended without success he sat down with me at the top of the stone steps and said, 'I feel guilt for each and every child like you that I meet.'

'It's not your fault.' I had answered. 'It's mine.' And I dared let myself wonder for the first time why this man was here with me. 'Is Chris dead?' I asked.

11:50AM

'I need to come and collect some things.' I said down the phone. 'My violin and maybe some clothes.' I held the handset away from my ear until the shouting stopped. 'Yes, I know that you paid for the clothes and the violin.' I felt calm though. 'I will be there in about an hour.'


1:40PM

The black case lay open revealing the polished orange wood of my Skylark. I quietly sat on the puffed up duvet, fingering the resin and stroking the velvet of the padded chin rest. Mum stood in the doorway watching me.

'So why do you need the violin?'

'Because I can play it. Why do you need it?' I retorted. When she left, I pulled out the drawer and felt along the underside of it. The tape. It was still there. I contemplated taking it, but there was nowhere left to take it to.

4:28PM

Gypsy was just ahead of me on the canal as I followed silent, subservient to whatever she might take me to. At the strange house she cooked the speed and lay the filled syringes out before us. On this couch I was apathetic to my fate but my eyes had love for what she offered me. I sat up and held out an arm, stared deep into her eyes like I was willing her to fuck me, but this was penetration of a deeper kind. She held the syringe in her teeth and my arm in her palm. I felt a small pinch and then the coldness in my vein, just momentarily before it hit me.

There could never again be a yesterday.

We bathed naked in the canal and laughed together as I walked her back towards the town.

Alone again I wandered, high and energised, in search of conversation.

8PM.

'Have you seen Zebedee?' I asked the black haired lady from the Jesus Army bus. But I had received only a blank stare and the words 'Who's Zebedee?'

She had prayed for me again. Lain a hand atop my hair and asked the Lord to forgive me for my sins. Wide eyed and wild as I was, she had taken me to the top deck for a private conversation. I placed the violin case on the ground and my bare feet on top of it.

Bring it on Jesus Lady. Bring it on.

'You are being suffocated by this life.' She said. "Open your heart to Jesus and all of this pain will end.'

'Why?' I asked her. 'Why should I not hate your Jesus for all he has done to me?'

'Sometimes,' She offered, 'Man does not behave as God would like but so is the free choice of life.'

My toes tapped against the black of the case with anger.

'No. Sometimes 'Man' rams a cock down your throat so hard that you can no longer breathe and sometimes...sometimes he forgets himself completely and fucks you dead inside.' I heard her pray for me. 'We wouldn't want God to get in the way and fuck with the free choice of that now would we?' I grabbed the violin and fled from her prayer.

All I could feel was an itch in my arm where the syringe had gone in.

There are graves in my garden.

Continued...

Papa on a stick...

Sarah and I sat on the wall of the maze, staring at the man under the tree. Floppy black hair and lots of make up, he reminded me of Robert.

'We should.' I suggested 'Go and talk to that particular man.'

And before she could protest I was kneeling beside him and inquiring of his day.

'I am writing.' He had replied. His skin was marked with acne scars but he had a sort of rugged appeal. When I asked what he was writing, he answered 'A song'. Which had stirred my interest. He showed me a flier for his band, 'Papa on a Stick'.

Sarah came and sat beside us. 'Hello new friend of Claire's' She had smiled. 'I'm Sarah.'
'Neil.' He smiled back. He wore tight black jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with a picture of Nick Cave. We talked and smoked and I did my best not to think of the Roundhouse Pub and whether or not my day would end there. Neil told us he was in a band and studying at the University. He rented a small 'crap and smelly' room up near the Royal Crescent. We were, he offered, welcome to come back there and share a bottle of wine. I looked him up and down a final time before nodding 'yes' and pulling Sarah to her feet.
'Come on.' I winked 'It will be fun'.
The walk to the Royal Crescent is all up hill. It is the most famous street in Bath and is a much sought after location. Neil seemed nice, I couldn't place his age, possibly late twenties, maybe older. He was right about the room too. Just enough room for a narrow single bed, a chest of drawers, a fridge and a bad smell. He sat Sarah and I on the bed whilst he rummaged through the communal kitchen next door looking for a bottle opener. In an attempt to keep my mind off the inevitable I studied this room in detail. I flicked through his records, saying the titles over and over in my head, sometimes out loud.
'Are you alright?' Asked Sarah, perhaps alarmed by my behaviour.
The bottle of wine was a cheap Bulgarian Carbernet Sauvignon. I remember that. It was one of the thoughts that I spoke out loud and I liked the way the words sounded.
'Who's that?' I asked Neil when he returned with the corkscrew.
'That?' He said with a smile and a look of adoration, 'is Beatrice Dalle in the film Betty Blue.'
'Betty Blue.' My eyes lit with adoration too 'I want to be just like her.'
Neil sat beside me and poured the wine. 'No you don't' he said 'She was sad. She was sort of lost.' I moved round on the bed, kneeling now. Looking. Staring up at the poster of this woman with big breasts and plump lips.
'Yes I do.' I both thought and said. 'I want to be just like her.'
'Would you like to watch the film?' He asked.
____________________________________________________________________

Thursday was a blue day.
A Betty Blue Day...

September 2000

The flat was filthy. Caroline had agoraphobia and was a hoarder of things from her past. Things that had long rotted and stagnated into crap. She had once been an up and coming designer and the eighties had seen her vibrant and affluent. A popular socialite that was invited to all the right parties.

Not now. The gray haired lady was content to rot alongside her possessions. It was just her, her cat and her medications. And boy, were there a lot of medications. She sat on the sofa and smoked cigarettes, often watching the world of Tufnell Park pass by beneath her.

She liked her sofa. It was one of her better possessions.

She was sat on it when she got my phone call.

'Caroline?' My relief at the sound of her voice was consuming. "They've taken Jake off me. I don't know what to do. You have to help me.' I was sat on a toilet in the Social Services Office in the Essex road. At my feet lay my handbag with the straps torn off.

I had just tried to hang myself.

'You tried to hang yourself!' She roared with laughter 'With the straps from your handbag?' And it all suddenly seemed ridiculous, so I laughed too. Someone was banging on the door loudly...

'Claire, are you OK? You need to come out the toilet.'
'I have to go. Can I come to yours? They say I can't go home.'

The person knocked again.

'No I can't go back to Mick's. He's the reason that they fucking took Jake off me. They did a fucking nonce check on the cunt and he came up dirty.'

More knocking and raised voices.

'No. Jake's fine. He never laid a finger on him.'

Then the door flew open with a huge crash.

The Social Worker was called Tyra and I had known her since getting pregnant with Jake. She poured concern on me whilst making me sign papers that were unimaginably painful to read. She offered me a lift to Caroline's house, which I accepted, and she gave me hope that Jake would soon be back in my arms. As I approached the car I had to walk around to the roadside of the vehicle. I stared at the on coming traffic, so tempted to fall towards it. But not today. Not yet.
'What's Caroline's address?' Asked Tyra.
'It's in Tufnell Park, on Junction Road. Do you know it?'
'Yes.' Tyra had answered 'The housing co operative?'
'Have you been there before?' I asked.
'I live there.' She had smiled.

Caroline sat me on the sofa and lit us each a cigarette.

'What the fuck am I going to do with you?' She had said, stroking my hair. But I had no answer to that. I had never been here before. Caroline and I had met in therapy. Drama therapy, a New Age treatment for drug addicts, spoon fed us when nothing else was deemed able to work. The counselors had pushed us together and we had formed a friendship of sorts. I was about to test that friendship to the limits. Caroline did not usually let anyone else in her home. I knew that Rhonda was allowed there, Caroline's ex-girlfriend, but these walls meant more to Caroline than a roof over her head. They were her sanctuary.

We drank and talked a lot that night. I met Rhonda, a Vidal Sassoon hair dresser with short cropped bleached blond hair and I liked her too.
'Why Caroline!' Rhonda had shrieked 'You fucking sneak. You never told me she was so pretty.'

Pretty? I could not see it anymore.

When darkness fell, Caroline and Rhonda lifted me up and put me on the sofa, now converted to a bed. They undressed me and tucked me in. Even in my state of near unconsciousness I heard them talking in the hallway.

'How long will she stay?' Asked Rhonda.
'Where would she go?' Caroline had answered.

The morning found me blighted by the day before. My eyes had cried so much that it was an effort to prise them apart and see the world. I looked around for a cigarette and spying an unopened can of beer I said good morning to my new addiction. Alcohol.

I had about two pounds left in the world. Actually I had less than that. I had nothing tangible left at all. My children were gone. First Alice, now Jake. I wondered quite what was left to live for.

Would it be today?

I dare not think further than the bottom of that can. It helped me, it stopped my shakes and gave me something to hold. My arms had never felt so empty.

I was one fucking year clean form Heroin. How the fuck had it come to this?

I wandered to the bathroom. Past the filthy stacks of books and clothes. The light flickered on with an electric buzz and I shrank from my own reflection.

'Girl, you need to do something about that face.' I said aloud to myself, looking down at the filthy sink and wondering where to start. I took the cat bowl from the sink and placed it next to the cat bed in the bath. I felt a little sorry for Tithelo. If I were a cat I wouldn't fucking sleep in there. I'd have standards. I turned the tap and waited for the water to run from rust brown to yellow. Soaking a dirty cloth with the freezing cold water I sat on the toilet and held it hard to my face. The smell of damp fabric made me heave a little and a mixture of bile and beer entered my throat. I wet the cloth and pressed again. At all cost I had to make myself look decent. Returning to the lounge I opened the briefcase that lay next to the bed. I moved aside the video tapes and took out a small bag of make up. Underneath the make up bag was the transcript of a conversation from an internet chat room. I smiled at that memory. I locked the case and reset the combination. Inside the green bag I found a gold snake skin corset and a pair of tight black jeans. I grabbed the cleanest underwear that I could find then returned to the bathroom. My bare skin was covered in bruises and it goose bumped at the feeling of air upon it.

Memories.

How much make up?

Lots I figured. I couldn't believe that I was about to do this, but I knew that he was out there somewhere. And if he was never going to come to me than I would fucking find him. We had run out of time. Me and him.

'Morning. Called out Caroline from her bed. 'Milk and two sugars please.'

Her room was next to the bathroom and I popped my face around the door.

'Hair up? Or down?' I asked. Showing her both and waiting for her suggestion.
'Where are you going?' She asked, lighting a cigarette.

'Kings Cross.' I called out as I headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

She joined me there and began laying out a line of different pills and liquids.

'What are you going to the cross for?'

'What do you think?' I replied. Gesticulating at my outfit.

'Oh' she had muttered.

I returned to the lounge and tidied up the sofa bed. When the bed was out, the only way across the room was to climb over it. The room was full of broken computers and boxes of the yesteryear. I had never seen so much dust. Clouds of it puffed out as I touched and moved things. Clouds of Caroline I guess.

'Don't go.' Caroline asked. 'You're not a whore. You can't do this.'
'Sweetheart, I've been a whore my entire fucking life. Just most of the time the bastards forgot to pay me.' And I wiped a tear from the side of my eye and watched her do the same.

'Stay. We'll watch a film.' she enthused 'And Rhonda will be round later with beer.'

I thought of Jake and shook my head.

'We'll watch Betty Blue. You said you loved that film.'

'Just for a bit then.' I said 'Until my cigarettes run out.' And I had fallen to the sofa with her and dreamed of Beatrice.

As the film neared its end I became filled with terror. I was safe here in this 'Betty Blue World' with my crazy lesbian friend. What might come after this film was unimaginable. As the title credits went up Caroline asked me 'Is this it then?'
And I nodded as she added, 'I knew you would go. At least we got to watch the film.' She said it like this would be the last time that she ever saw me.

I paid my bus fare and traveled South towards the centre of London. I had no idea what I was doing and a million questions filled my head. How much would I charge? What will they be like?

Kings Cross is a bustling epicenter for the crap and forgotten souls shat out of London's ass. If you have never been there, know that it is worse than you can imagine. There is an unbelievable amount of pain on display in this place. I stood next to the main entrance to the station, looking left and right. I couldn't see any police so I looked for something new. A gentleman in a trench coat near the phones made eye contact with me. I smiled and walked towards him. My mind was going fucking overdrive. I wanted to die.

I wanted to fucking kill him.

'Looking for business Sir?' I asked.

'Fifteen.' He answered. Smoothing back a stray hair that fell forward with a nervous hand.

'Fuck off. Thirty?' I looked him in the eyes. 'I ain't fucked up like the rest of the shit round here.'

But he laughed and walked off.

I headed up towards the Hampstead Road Junction, soon being approached by a black man in his late forties.

"You working?' He asked.

I took one look at him and said 'Thirty. Straight sex, nothing else.' He tried to haggle but I left him there and continued on my way. The traffic moved down the road like blood through the veins of London. I edged a little closer to the curb and balanced on the edge of it. Jumping on to the road I walked away from the oncoming traffic with my eyes closed. All the time I willed myself to jump sideways and end this day, end this life. A bus veered dangerously close. With my eyes still shut I felt the wind of its passing on my cheek and the anger of its horn in my ears. I looked over and gave the bus driver the finger. A traffic Island caught my eye in the centre of the road and I walked slowly through the traffic towards it. More cars beeped at me. I ignored them. On reaching the traffic island I sat down and leaned against the railings. I lit a cigarette and took a deep drink of its smoke, screaming as I exhaled with all my fury.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Sobbing now I was angry at myself. I couldn't even get fucked for money! I punched the ground and contemplated the traffic again.

To my left was the old station building. I stood up and soon found myself in the middle of its madness. I had a phone in my hand.

The phone had Caroline's voice at the other end.

'Just come back here.' She had shouted. 'Shall I come and get you?'

A big offer indeed from the woman who was scared of the world and lived in dust.

'No don't.' I had conceded. 'I will take a bus and come to you.' I had one pound left. Enough for one more bus fare.

I tried to shake the madness from my head and moved towards the ranks of people waiting for buses. I stood there. I was shocked to see that it was almost ten o'clock, that I had lost all sense of time and day. How long had I been here? What had I done?

I simply stood there. In the queue .

I waited Caroline. I was coming home to you. I promised you that and I didn't lie.

The queues for the buses were so full that they mingled together and the hundred or so people waiting in the busy street pushed against each other, vying for position. I got pushed further and further down the queue. Out to the end. Away from the people. From my salvation.

The car pulled up and the window was lowered. He smiled and gestured for me to come over. I did.

Leaning into the car I had a sense of completion. I asked him one thing.

'Is it you?'

And he nodded whilst swinging the car door open. 'Get in.'

I looked back one last time towards the bus queue but knew my fate was elsewhere. I climbed into the car and smiled. 'Where are we going?'

'You know.' He had answered.

The car smelt of magic trees. The man smelt of nothing. He had an Eastern European accent and a smile with missing teeth. 'We go pub? Yes? The Holloway, yes?' he asked. And I had nodded and looked at him to check I was not wrong.

As the car cruised around the back streets of North London I became more and more certain that this was him. I studied his hands. Imagined them squashing the life out of me, imagined this smell - the one of cheap car air freshener - to be the last thing that would fill my lungs. This car was not going to the Holloway, I was sure of that.

I looked out of the windows and watched this city pass me by. London. My city. My enemy for the longest time. Sometimes I would look at him and once I even spoke the truth, 'I honestly don't care what you do to me.'

'Thank you.' he had said with a gappy grin.

When the car stopped in a dark square and he lay my seat back I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and crossed my hands over my chest. I held on to my top white knuckled as he tried to lift it. He gave up after a bit and removed my trousers and underwear instead.

I held on tight to that top like it would make this all less painful.

I remember crying and fighting him. I could see the little 'Magic Tree' air freshener swaying with the movement of the car and my feet striking out at the dashboard.

Still I held on to my top.

My left hand clawed at the door and window and I thrashed from side to side for which he complained.

'You make it hard'

Still I held on to my top as his hands moved up to my neck with anger.

The new face at the window of the car was shocked and fearful as it banged and mouthed hatred.

Everything moved faster now.

The door was open and I was thrown to the ground hard in the black of the night, barely able to see with shock and initially gasping for air. The thud on my back must have been my bag and clothes. I looked back at him one last time as he sat there looking at the taxi driver, illuminated by the door light. I saw him raise his arms and scream as a fist came towards him and with that I ran, half naked and fast as I could away from that car.

Breathing.

The sound of me breathing. That's all I could hear. Eyes flicked left and right with a depth of paranoia, clothes clutched in my hand against my body, I was too confused to even dress. The sound of a car approaching made me run again. What if it was him? I ran faster now, towards the lights and the main street, then I turned left and I kept running. I didn't stop until the music of a pub drew me to a door and I went flying inside. A few faces turned to me but none for long. It takes a lot to shock this town. Some even laughed as I stumbled half naked and fearful towards the toilet at the back but no one thought the event exceptional.

I dressed and waited.

But no one came.

The change of sounds outside this place alerted me to the fact that the pub was closing. I stumbled from its rooms and out into the coldness and I realised that this was the Holloway Arms.

'The Holloway, yes?'

'You OK love?' Asked a plump lady, slightly drunk and arm and arm with a friend.

'Is it far to Tufnell Park?' I asked.

'Twenty minute walk' She had answered.

'Then I guess I'll be fine.' I said.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Neil and Sarah chatted happily as Betty Blue played out its art house vision of pain on the TV screen. They were a world apart from me and her, I knew that. I could see it already and I dreamed a future, watched entranced with only one thought repeated in my head.

'I still want to be like her.'

I never ever wanted that film to end.


Continued...

In him I see...

'Arge' I said with a dreaminess 'Is beyond perfect.' I grabbed at Merlin's hands and stared deep into his face. 'He...is...beyond perfect.'

Merlin motioned for me to jump on his back and I did.

'Like...beyond...amazing.' I continued. 'Like...an angel.'

'Arge.' Said Merlin. And then, like he had found enlightenment in my ramblings 'Is beyond amazing!'

I could see Dean and Blackum slightly ahead chatting to a skinhead who gesticulated wildly with riotous excitement. The thousands of footsteps around me and the caress of a hundred conversations made me feel safe in this acid driven madness. Merlin's Mohican smelt of glue. And I snuggled my face into his neck trying to find warmth and safety. Mumblings of activity ahead began to pass down the line and reach our ears. Blackum ran back to update us.

'You fucking high? I'm fucked! They say the pigs are ahead and have blocked off the route. They are asking us to move into the field and back to the site. They want the roads cleared. Are you fucked too? Is she awake?' He tapped me on the shoulder 'Cause if she isn't awake you're fucked. Are you fucked up man? I am!'

I was awake. I was lost in this world of Merlin's shoulders and of Arge's perfection and of the smell of glue. Here, with my eyes closed I imagined that his whole body was coated in a thick layer of glue. He was sticky and I was stuck to him. Merlin tickled my feet.

'Claire, you got to get down girl. You got to walk for a bit.'
'I can't'. I said, because I truly believed that I was stuck to him. And I expressed surprise as he bent his legs and laid me to the ground with ease. 'You're not sticky anymore!'

A Helicopter began to roar overhead, sweeping across the crowd and shining a light down upon us. There was a sudden and dramatic change in the atmosphere of this place and it seemed that everyone but I was shouting.

'They're through the fucking fence. Fucking run for it!' screamed someone from somewhere. I stood transfixed by the light of the helicopter and felt Merlin grab my hand and drag me forwards. He had a studded belt wrapped around the knuckles of his right hand but he smiled at me and held me tight. A loud voice came from the sky mesmerizing me again...

'Move back. Move back to the fence line.' Boomed the voice.

I thought that maybe God was speaking but Merlin said it was the helicopter.

The next thing I remember was that the crushing crowd was moving the other way towards us. We were swept in this tidal wave of panic back down the road at running pace. I screamed with glee as the adrenaline fed my already drug fueled mind and ran happy with the knowledge that Merlin was so sticky. I knew I could not lose him.

'Fucking watch it mate!' Screamed Merlin as I was knocked to the ground by a desperate escapee with blood on their face. He pulled me up to standing and we ran again. The crowd suddenly changed direction, moving into a field to our left, so we followed like sheep to a slaughter. I could feel every beat of my heart and some of Merlin's. The two of us stood in the centre of this chaos, mouths agape, no clue which way to turn.

I looked at Merlin, here in this field with us and them, his trousers for some reason lay around his ankles and his face played with an animated and theatrical grin. He was, I thought, my brother.

"Hey Man!' Merlin called out to the person standing nearest us 'What the fuck is going on?'

'We've been told that the site is blocked off by the pigs now. We are waiting here for the police to let us in and get our vehicles.' This man had sweat dripping from his face and head. He scared me. He didn't feel safe like Merlin.

Merlin pulled up his trousers and replaced the studded belt. 'So if we haven't got a vehicle, which way should we go?'

'That way,' said the scary man pointing to a road on the opposite side of the field 'will take you back to Amesbury.'

I smiled at Merlin. Merlin smiled at me. We headed towards the road with a sense of smugness. Henge, I thought, was yesterdays news.

Home. In more ways than one...

Merlin and I found the bus station with ease and the bus station found us exhausted. My feet were bruised and aching and my mind still muddled from LSD, yet I was relieved to be heading back to a place of familiarity. It would however be more familiar than I could have guessed.

The second bus from Salisbury wound the country lanes and saw the acid begin to leave my system. I so desperately wanted a home to return to. I could not help but silently sob as Merlin slept beside me. Now that things were fucked up with John and Gypsy and the bender site was no longer an option, I was petrified at the lack of choice that lay before me.

I thought about sex.

I thought about the possibility of disease and why I let them touch me. I did not think that I could stop. I thought of the phone number in my pocket and of the man with the promise of omelette's and a camera in his hand.

If I had Aids would I have a home?

Would they have to house me?

If I were seriously ill, would others love me and care for me?

If I had Aids then everyone who stuck their dick in me would die. Hospitals would let me sleep there. They would give me drugs and make it better.

They would die slowly and painfully. So might I.

I stepped off the bus in Bath leaving Merlin sleeping on the seat and I felt his arms around me like a dream of what had come before.

This man came from the shadows of the walls and he wrapped me tight.

'I had to find you!' he said. 'I should have never have let you walk away that day!'
'What are you doing here?' I asked. 'How did you know I'd be here?'
'I asked around and heard you'd gone to Amesbury. I wanted to be here when you came back.' he stroked my face but stayed behind me 'I wanted to hold you again.'

'I hate you.' I whispered 'You hurt me more than anybody ever has.' But I was grateful for his arms.

'Come with me.' he asked 'Let's go for a coffee.'

That coffee would be filled with tears.

The cafe was a workman's one. Filled with cheap formica tables and wipe clean seats. We sat in a booth at the back and I snuggled up against his body, not quite able to shake the acid-cold from deep within despite the rising Summer sun. I looked up at this man's face and hated him so. I was drowning in the familiarity of him, of memories of skin on skin and him and me. I blamed him for everything and I was filled with fear that I would leave this cafe and return to all that was before.

He stirred the coffee slowly, leaving the spoon still in it whilst he drank, just as he always had.

'I know what I did to you was wrong. I know that you hate me. I just want you to know I am OK with that.'

'I am frightened of you.' I sobbed. 'You sit here and you tell me you are sorry but it's not enough.'

'You are part of me.' he pleaded 'you destroyed me too. I know what you have done. I sometimes sit and watch you. I see the lot of them with you and sometimes I just know that they lay where I should be.' He squeezed me tighter. 'I have to go. But if you decide you want to see me again I will be at the Roundhouse Pub tonight after seven. Waiting for you'

'Where will we go? I asked.

'We'll go home.' He offered.

In him I see everything.

Continued...

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Link to article on the 1988 Stonehenge Festival riot

Black ink on white paper...

Going to the Stonehenge Festival was going to take planning and money. So Dean and Blackum set off for the bus station to check departure times whilst I began begging for funds.

'Can you spare a bit of change please Sir?'

I smiled as the money left the pockets of the tourists and landed into mine. Hungry and thirsty I moved closer to the tables outside the cafe in the Abbey Square.

'Spare some money for food Sir?','Can you spare a bit of your lunch?','Sir, you couldn't spare a cigarette could you?

'Sit down Claire' said the man at the table with a broad smile 'Would you like an Ice Cream Sundae?'

'Dave - fucking - Druan!' I exclaimed, joining him at the table and taking a cigarette form the packet he offered me. 'Fuck me! I'm surprised you recognised me!'

Dave was in his late twenties. A receding hairline and an unshaven face would have marked him as looking much older though. He was scruffily dressed in an old army jacket, band t-shirt and jeans, but he was in no way a man of the streets, more an eccentric intellectual.

'So do you want that sundae Miss White?'

'Do I ever Mr Druan!'

He smiled but seemed a little sad at the sight of me. 'Do you still write?' He inquired.

'No, not really. Well not at all really.'

He motioned over a waitress. 'Two Sundaes and two teas please.' When she left he looked back at me. 'I often thought about what might have become of you. You always left me so fucking frustrated. You were so clever. Had so much to throw away. I hated it when you would turn up stinking of drink and looking so angry.' He paused momentarily as if considering whether or not it was safe to continue, 'I always check the local paper and expect to read of your demise.' He blew a smoke ring. 'I thought that you would leave my world the way you entered it - with black ink on white paper.'

'I never think about you.' I laughed 'In fact I am so fucking glad to be out of there. Life's good now, it's really, really good.'

Dave looked away towards the crowds in the square. 'I watched you for a while. You're good at what you do. I can't believe how many people give you money.'

'Are you going to give me money Dave?' I moved a foot under the table towards his in an attempt at flirtation. This caused him to look back at me.

'No Miss White. I most certainly am not. From the scenes that I just viewed I think that I can safely say that English Teachers earn a good deal less than beggars do. And we are also indulged in less cigarettes and Ice Cream Sundaes.'

We motioned to put our cigarettes out at the same time, but at the last minute, with the realisation that our hands might touch, Dave withdrew and tossed his butt to the floor instead. We ate our sundaes and kept the conversation safe. We talked of shared memories. Of the school, the students and the classroom and of his friends.

We talked of incidentals. But definitely not of why I was here or why I drank or why I persisted in nudging his foot with mine.

'I better go back to my begging then. People to ask - money to make, and all that.' I hoped that he would give me money. He didn't. He embraced me warmly as I stood up to leave and I noted that he smelt of Patchouli Oil, just like Ian always did.

'Stay out of trouble and stay safe.'

I thought perhaps I would try.

Blackum and Dean returned and found me with a pocket full of change. Enough for the four bus fares and some food that's for sure. I sat on the warm cream stone of the Abbey Steps and shared an also warm can of cider with Rats whilst the lads begged some money for drugs. I thought of 'black ink on white paper'. Of what I could write and who I could tell but at this point in my life, such declarations were not within my capabilities. It had however been good to see Mr Druan again.

That night we slept near the Abbey for about three hours until the police moved us on and then spent the rest of the night on the damp grass of the maze in Parade Gardens. We woke stiff and sore to the fresh dewy air of the canal side and the sounds of the barrels being loaded into the Boater Pub.

'I'm ready for henge Baby!' Shouted Dean and we all smiled as we remembered where we were heading. A quick wash in the public toilets and a breakfast of Cornish Pasties saw us right for the day.

Ian and Merlin joined us near the Bus Station.

I linked arms with Dean and we went and stood with the others in the long queue for the Salisbury bus.

'This is going to be fun' I said. All the time watching Ian out the corner of my eye with a level of lust that I could not justify. Ian winked at me.

'Do you think that there will be another fight this year?' I asked.

'Like the Bean Fields? We're fucking cruising for it but I don't think that the pigs will let it happen.' Answered Ian whilst rolling a cigarette. He closed his eyes then licked the paper before looking back at me and smiling.

'Pigs better watch out because this year I ain't got a bus or a woman to drag me down.' Said Blackum, obviously riled at the memories of the riot two years ago. Dean grabbed him affectionately in a wrestling hold and ruffled his hair.

'Awww. Has Blackum not got a woman any more. I blame Claire.' It was only half a joke but everybody laughed. Except me.

'Seriously Claire.' Said Ian 'That was pretty fucked up though, raping Blackum like that. Hey everyone, hands up if you haven't screwed Claire.' Merlin, Ian and Blackum laughed as Dean who was still on my arm raised his hand. "Doesn't say much for you then does it Dean!'

'The days still young' I jibed. 'And you can shut the fuck up because both of them were way better than you.'

'You lie' said Ian with that look in his eyes and his singing Welsh lilt. 'I know you're fucking lying.'

I knew I was lying too.

How fucked up was I that I had reduced Ian to a happy memory?

'Arge.' Shouted Merlin. 'Get your arse over here with us.' The new man moved towards us with the motion of a salsa dancer.

'Talking of fucked up.' Said Ian 'What the Fuck is that in your ear RJ?'

Now RJ, or Arge, King of the Swing - whatever the fuck you want to call him - was the most fucked up and interesting person that I had ever had privilege to set my eyes upon. His head was completely shaved, right back to his smooth and milk white skin. A nail was attached to his scalp, I can only imagine with glue, and it stuck out from the centre of his head like a television aerial. He wore eyeliner in a thick dark streak beneath each eye and was wearing a rather dapper black suit and shiny shoes. Poked through massive holes in his ears were various items.

Safety pins, wine corks, something that looked like an amputated rat's tail.

Indescribables!

'It's a fucking scab.' Said Arge. 'I picked it off my knee and stuck a safety pin through it. It's my new ear decoration, ça vous rapelle votre enfancie, oui? '

'That's tres fucked up RJ. You coming to Henge?' Asked Ian.

'No. I don't hang with the dirty hippies. Too much pride for that ride brother.'

And he did a little dance again.

For reasons I could not explain RJ made me feel small and irrelevant. He made me feel like I had never truly understood this alternative lifestyle. He was an epiphany. An understanding that all my attempts to be different had just made me the same as lots of others. I looked at us all and we were simply clones of the same rebellion. Soldiers in a uniform. Nothing more or less. I watched as he wandered off and wondered if he was gay. What uniform did RJ wear and what was he trying to say?

On the bus Blackum told us stories of the Battle of the Bean Fields in 1985. How friends holding babies in their arms had been beaten into submission by the riot police and how innocent travelers had been forced to their fate and had lost almost everything whilst defending families and friends.



How many were beaten for no reason and their homes destroyed.



How they were dragged distraught from the Bean Fields, bloodied and crying, confused and angered by the actions of the British Police.


We listened and drank and the men got more excited and ready to fight. I felt fear at the unknown. Would the festival of 1988 end the same way? Would I get bloodied and damaged?

From Salisbury we took a second bus to Amesbury and from there we could walk to the festival site. The streets were crowded with travelers and their vehicles, I had never seen so many comrades in one town!

Merlin was in good spirits, singing loudly to Blackum as they walked with arms around each other up the first hill. I was feeling less merry and I was beginning to wish that I had boots on like the men. My bare feet were already sore from the stony ground and I knew that we still had a long way to go.

We stopped at a garage to buy drinks and more tobacco and so that I could use the toilet. I asked a woman in the queue how much further to the site. 'About an hour' she had replied 'The police aren't letting us set up anywhere near the Stones this year, but its well organised. We'll get through.' My feet wished we were there already!

Bored, I crept around the back of the garage for a snog and a grope with Merlin before we left. 'You fancy Ian don't you?' He had asked whilst he stuck his hand up my top.

'Why? You jealous?' I had laughed.

'That's fucked up baby! He's an asshole.' And we paused the conversation for more kissing before I pulled back.

'Let's go.' I said 'The others are waiting.'

'You are nothing but a fucking tease.' He retorted as we walked hand in hand and rejoined the group at the roadside.

'What the fuck have you two been doing?' asked Ian. 'We've been waiting here like a bunch of knobs for you.'

'Claire is having a period. She needed my help.' Smiled Merlin. Ever the comic.

Ian looked at me and said. 'She better fucking not be. Or what's the fucking point in bringing her?'

Merlin was right. He was an asshole.

We arrived at site just as the sun was leaving the sky. Hundreds, maybe thousands of travellers were already here; all of us ready for the walk to the stones in the early hours of tomorrow morning. I remember watching Hawkwind play and then chatting with friends of Deans outside their caravan. Stories of the Bean Fields were on everybody's lips and it was hard to imagine that this could end in anything but violence. Many wanted payback for that day and I had a feeling that we would get it. Some people seemed to be more important than others here. There were those that directed the crowds. That gave orders on which vehicles should park where and which families should stay near the back when the violence started. I listened with interest, every intention already of being right at the fucking front with my men when it all kicked off. We bought acid from a man in the crowd that shouted 'White Lightenings, two pounds a tab' in a cheery Cockney manner, like he was selling fruit at a market stall. I placed mine in my mouth with anticipation, feeling only a fleeting insecurity at the concept of joining a riot on LSD.

We were high and happy, settled in our bond of friendship by the time that the walk to the Stone Circle began. Merlin and Dean took it in turns to give me piggy backs when my feet hurt too bad and even Ian was kind in words and gestures. The feeling of unity was enormous here and we chatted happily about drugs and lifestyles with those that lined our route. I felt the bonds that make a tribe and the pride that goes with that. Everything became more intense as we neared our goal, colours, people, attitudes, the acid.


The tiny piece of paper with Dave Druan's phone number on it lay safely in my pocket.

Black ink on white paper. Despite the colours of this night.

Onwards we went.

Continued...