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...