Lost...

Glassy eyed smiles for the wind...

2008-04-21T12:21:00.000-07:00

For those that are new. The begining...

Barefoot but less honest.

That's how Bath found me this time round.

I stepped from the train onto the platform and took the deepest of breaths. I walked down to the Sport's Centre Car Park and sat where the box used to be.

Was this my home?

I thought that I should build it again. Even if I chose to never sleep here, I couldn't bear the thought of it not existing. I had money now. A bank account that stored the funds of sin, but I didn't want to spend it. That Claire, the one that had earned it was gone for now. It was about nine o'clock and the Autumn air was cooling fast.

I built my box again.

As I placed the last board on top an angry voice called out, 'This place is for people parking fucking cars, not for dossers like you.'

I turned to face the manager. 'This,' I said and I pointed at the box, 'Is my fucking car.'

I walked along the canal, down past the Boater and the Cactus Club and headed for the Bender Site. I needed drugs and reckoned on a visit to my Gypsy Queen. The site was quiet when I arrived. Polly and a man I did not know were sat about the fire. I kissed Polly on both cheeks and she smiled up at me, eyes stoned and lazy.

'Gypsy in?' I asked her.

She sighed and smiled again. 'Of course she is.' Then as an afterthought, 'Oh, I almost forgot. Someone was here looking for you.'

'My Dad?'

'No. Not your Dad.' I felt silly for suggesting it. 'A boy. Called Shane. He's staying in a squat in town but came down here to find you.' She tapped the chillum on a fire stone to clean it out. 'Pack me another one Womble.' She said to the man, 'And put some lavender in it to scent my lungs.'

I climbed the fence and pulled my coat tighter to my body. I could hear her voice amidst the chatter of others.

'Gypsy!' I called out, 'It's me, Claire. Can I come in?' Gypsy's face appeared from between the slit in the tarps.

'Well fuck me!' She cried, 'Fifika's back!'

She reached out an arm and welcomed me inside. The fire was roaring in the burner. Nick was there, so was Andy, sat at the back near the bike, looking through a box of tapes.

'Give her the fucking dog.' Said Gypsy, sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping a fur around her shoulders. 'We've got a dog for you.' She smiled.

'Where is it?' I couldn't see a dog. Wasn't sure I wanted one either.

'Nick, show her the dog.'

Nick lifted a small flop of black from his lap and held it high in the air. I wouldn't have known what it was if I hadn't already been informed, not until the dog turned to face me and I saw the white of an eye and the pink of a tongue.

'Some girl dropped it round for you last week.' Said Nick. 'I told her you'd fucked off to London but she said it was your dog now and she left it here with us.' He held the dog out to me. 'He's called Yang Dog.'

'Yang dog.' I repeated. I grabbed the tiny ball of fluff and held it to my face. 'Hello Yang.' And for that I earned a lick. 'How old is he and what does he eat?' I asked. I had never owned a dog before.

I tied a piece of rope around his neck and wandered back to town with a new address in my pocket and a life to live.

I pressed the bell for Flat No.6 and waited. Moments later a window flew up and a head popped out. Collin smiled down at me,

'Shane, it's for you!'

Shane greeted me with the biggest hug. I hugged him back. He led me up the stairs to this new abode. The first room was huge. High ceilings decorated with molded cornices and a beautiful Georgian fireplace. There was little furniture, just mattresses and blankets, but it had a cozy feel and it had, remember this, a beautiful fireplace.

I was surprised to see Little Claire still around. Her and Collin shared a room at the back of the squat and she told me that she played her flute to make money near the Abbey steps. Shane and Matty shared the main room along with Sara, one of the Hippie Goths that I knew from the Boater.

So here we were a week later. Six people, three men, three women, one dog and a fireplace, all sharing this space we called home, when there's a knock on the door about midnight and it's the Spaceman.

'I come' said the Spaceman 'Bearing drugs for all.'

'You sound like a fucking musketeer.' Said Shane and he gestured for the Spaceman to join us on the mattress. 'This may be a stupid question Spaceman, but what drugs do you have exactly?'

'Acid.' He replied.

Shane put an arm round the Spaceman's shoulders. 'How about,' he smiled 'I swap you a couple of grams of speed for twelve tabs.'

'Is it Gypsy's speed?' Asked the Spaceman.

'This, my friend,' said Shane with a wink 'Is the best damn speed that money can buy.'

Shane pulled the Sherbert Fountain from his pocket and tapped a good pile into the Spaceman's hand.

'That's not fucking speed. It's Sherbert.' He said, proving himself more lucid than we had thought.

'Damn right Spaceman.' Said Shane. 'But look at it this way. Where the fuck else are you gunna get a couple of grams of good quality sherbert at this time of night?'

The Spaceman considered this point before saying 'Well I'll keep the Sherbert and you can have the tabs for a pound each.'

To this we agreed.

I remember nothing until the weir. After the weir I remember it all.

The Weir

We are laughing and playing on the grass of the maze. Chasing each other around the stone path, leaving trails of colour from our fucked up minds.

I danced. I think.

There are two new faces with us and they have scrumpy and tobacco to share. In return we give them the spare tabs of acid. After, we all sit with out feet dipped in the ice black water of the river. I laugh lots with my friends, with this new couple and with the drugs.

'Let's climb over to the weir!' Suggested the new man. His name was Mark.

I could feel the rush of the water as it poured over the steps of the fall and plummeted down. I could taste the cold of the water as it lapped against my legs. But still I looked over at the suggested climb and smiled.

Glassy eyed smiles for the wind.

I was the second person to find her way to the beam. I would not have noticed that at the time but with the benefit of hindsight; for there to be only the two of us left at the end of this - then there must have only been two of us there at the start. I recall being encouraged to take the hand held out to me and the roar of the water getting deafening loud. The sound of it rushed my twisted mind, you could taste its spray. I took the hand and found myself with feet on metal and back to something.

Eyes closed I held that hand and trusted it to take me safe.

Even with my eyes sealed shut the colours did not stop. The street lamp burned a red and gaping hole and filled my mind with thoughts of blood. The sound of water became a rushing in my veins. I was petrified now and I wasn't sure how long it had been since the hand had stopped pulling me on and had gripped me tight instead. I opened one eye and looked down.

Fucked up.

That was stupid.

I looked at him but I saw only fear. I think I said his name but all he did was stare.

I closed my eyes again and squeezed him back.

'I d-d-don't like this.' Mark stuttered 'I've not done acid before and I don't like this.'

I whispered back, 'I don't like this either. Take me home.'

And then there were the faces on the bank. I wanted to go back to the bank, I really did, but the faces on the bank were not smiling anymore.

They were judging.

The trip, gone bad, was changing things.

'They are talking about us.' I panicked. 'They see us holding hands and they think I'm fucking you. I'm cold.' I screamed 'I need fire!'

'Don't let go of my hand.' Pleaded Mark, 'I just want to get off of here.' I heard the sound of breaking glass and imagined the worst.

'They're going to kill us.' I tried to step towards him, to the other side of this beam, but his body blocked my route.

It seemed really fucking cold now. I fought for lucidity, desperate to organise my actions and enable my body to complete the task at hand, but failed.

They were definitely waiting to kill us. They thought me a slut. They did not trust me. They did not really like me. I had nothing left but a hand to hold.

I waited. Waited for the voices to stop and the noise to disappear.

I looked.

'I think they've gone.' I whispered to the hand I held. I moved slowly, bare feet sore from their time on cold metal, I risked it all and edged towards the bank.

The acid roared.

I fell haplessly from the beam. Relieved to be on land and not above the water. I reached up and grabbed for Mark. Safely down, the horrors did not ease. The silence of the maze and path reminders that our friends had gone. That Shane had gone. I took Mark's hand again, his eyes were full to bursting with the thoughts that he was letting in; I ran, dragged him up the steps of stone towards the street.

'Make it stop.' He begged.

But I couldn't. I couldn't even make it less.

We ran until we hit the door and I pressed the bell and hoped for kindness. I longed to curl up by the warmth of the fire and sleep these demons gone.

Why is he holding a fucking axe?

Nick answers the door with a grin and a weapon. Mark pulls to run again but I hold him there, wide eyed.

The demon that answers the door is smiling. He smiles at us all the way up the stairs, him and the axe.

Back in the room there is chaos, but that is just my mind. The room is white and full of mist. Shane is sat on the floor getting his hair cut by Matty. The fire, roaring in its grate is moving - moving out of the grate and to the tiled hearth in front. The Gypsy Queen has a shovel and I think her responsible for this but her arms move too fast for me to be sure. Yang dog barks confused by the demons, Sara sings, Little Claire shouts, the new girl sobs, Mark screams, the fire jumps and leaves the grate and still the acid roars.

Shhh. I cover my ears and try to make it happen. There is no sense in this room at all.

Shane takes my hand and walks me to the back of the squat, to Collin's room.

'Your trips gone bad.' He held my face and looked into my eyes but he looked different without his hair. In his army combat fatigues he looked more like a soldier. 'You need to calm down. You need to get happy, look, here's Yang Dog. Say hello to Yang Dog. He's missed you.'

I shook my head and looked at Yang. He smelled yucky but familiar and he rooted me a little back in this place.

'Are you mad at me?' I asked. Crying now. 'I didn't fuck him. I was just scared of the bridge and scared of you.'

Shane smiled and hugged me. 'I'm not mad at you babe. I shouldn't have left you. I'm mad with myself.'

I lay with him on the floor near the window of this room and we ignored the screaming and the banging from the one next door. We held hands and giggled at the madness of the night and I stroked the stubble of his hair. He had kind eyes. How could I think them evil?

Take Two - the good trip

We are laughing and playing on the grass of the maze. Chasing each other around the stone path, leaving trails of colour from our fucked up minds. There are two new faces with us and they have scrumpy and tobacco to share. In return we give them the spare tabs of acid. My girl dances for us. She holds her hands up to the sky and she dances with the devil in her.

I like that.

I want to swim in the water of the weir but we chicken out as our toes plunge into its cold. I sit, holding her hand and feel the power of the river. I wish that she was dancing still. She dances well.

'Let's climb over to the weir!' Shouts Mark. And I laugh and lay back on the cold of the stone. Feet still in the water. I feel her hand slip from mine and watch her dance again. She dances all the way to the base of the steps and then she disappears for a moment from the orange into black. I cannot help but smile at the perfectness of this. We are all of us happy with sin.

The girls run back to the maze, giggling. I follow them and we write our names in the air with the tips of our cigarettes. Fascinated, I watch the glowing lines trail with red and spark the night. Matty places the empty scrumpy bottles on the wall of the maze and he and Kat throw stones to make them smash.

'Watch out.' I shout, 'Claire might cut her feet and then she will not dance for us.'

Because I want to dance and sing and lie with her.

Walking to the base of the platform I see her there, still strong, still mine; and I beg her back to dance for me and show me the devil again.

Claire looks at me. She smiles the smile. 'I'm cold,' She cries to me 'I need fire.'

'Fire' I roar. 'I'll make you fire!'

Then I run and tell the others, 'Let's go back and make fire. Have you ever seen one before?'

_________________________________________________

The fire is burning now and I wait for her to come and dance for me. Collin is cutting Matty's hair with the clippers and I watch with fascination as the green tufts fall.

'Are you sure they're OK on their own?' Asked Collin, before he shouted out the window to Gypsy 'Come on up.'

Matty waves the clippers at me and I sort of figured 'Why not?' New girl, new start.

Tools thrown down with attitude and metal clanks on metal and some on tile.

Sparks fly and I watch the fire move. I see the room fill with smoke and choke on its suffocating white.

Matty is shaving my head and the buzzing makes me happy.

'Where's my girl?' I ask. But no one seems to know.

Take Three - The Fire

'The fucking fire's lit!' Said Nick. 'What we gunna do? We can't steal a burning fireplace, can we.'

'We'll put the fucker out.' Said Gypsy. She rang the bell with scar tipped finger. 'They must be off their faces by now anyhow. Spaceman said they bought two tabs each.'

The window opened and a skinny voice called out 'Come on up.'

Gypsy threw the bag of tools in front the fire. 'I'll put the fire out,' she said to Nick, 'You start hacking around the mantle.'

As the axe swung high the girls began to scream.

The Future...

Shane was blond. I never usually went for blonds. He offered me a little too much for a week long love affair I thought.

I was up before the rest and I headed for the kitchen. The only food was a large bag of long-gone-soft carrots and a bottle of oil. I sliced the carrots thinly and fried them up for breakfast.

The huge gaping hole where the fireplace had been was proof that I was done here. There was just one place left to go. I kissed Shane on his sleeping cheek and tucked Yang Dog under my arm. Walked slowly to the Car Park.

'My box!' I said to it. 'Yang Dog, meet the box. Box, meet Yang.' I recalled the days when this place built me whole again. I touched the wood of its roof, bent down and flicked the switch; felt the heat of its vent once more.

'Goodbye Mr Box.' I said. And somehow I knew that this was Goodbye for ever.

As we left the car park the voice came back.

'I've got something for you.' The angry voice. The Manager's voice.

He held a folded piece of paper. I held my dog.

I placed my puppy on the ground and stared at him.

'What's that?' I asked. 'Your number?'

He flicked the paper at me with disgust. I watched as it fluttered aimlessly to the ground and he walked off.

'Well what can that be?' I asked Yang Dog, for want of someone better to ask. And I picked the paper up and carefully unfolded it.

'That' I said to Yang, 'Is fucking hilarious!' I screwed it to a ball and threw it after him.

A bill for eight hundred pounds.

One years parking fees for the parking of my 'box' without a ticket.

'Well it was a car after all.' I said to Yang Dog. He skipped at my feet and I patted him on the head. 'Come on boy, we've got a fucking train to catch.'

And Cheapdate is born.

It's over...

57,003 words, the length of a novel spanning just two years, but it is definitely over. There is nothing left to write of her.
Before we continue, before we leave this blog and join the next, I ask that you open your mind and push the comfort zone...
You may made need to stretch it until it bleeds

She is Cheapdate. Hear her roar.
Continued...

Dance little girl dance...

2008-04-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

Why the fuck is little Claire sobbing in the corner?

Shane has his arm around me.

Like he owns me.

Like there's any left of me to own.

Fiend still in the pool, Claudia stood in the doorway. Little Claire sat in the corner and me being groped by this lad who thinks me nice.

'I'm off to get the bus now if you fancy coming with me.' Said Claudia the pink of last night's spikes misshapen and bent by sleep.

Shane rubbed my arm affectionately, 'Why don't you stay a couple of days?'

'Nah, I think I better get her home.' I looked over at the sobbing mess. 'Come on Claire Bear. Let's go get that bus.'

I had no intention of getting on a bus at all. Padding back down the carpet I stopped by the open door at the end and caught sight of the girl on skates without them. She smiled as we passed. Needle in hand, tourniquet pulled tight in teeth, but still she managed a smile.

We closed the door of blue on a promise to meet up with Shane again in a few days. Half way down the stairs we met the boy with the Batman Pajamas. He was pissing against the wall.

'Hey, that's fucking disgusting. Go upstairs and use the toilet next time.' Shouted Claudia.

'Fucking Junkies.' He cried back in retaliation.

I wasn't sure if the policemen slept during the day too, so again I left the estate quietly.

Claudia told us to flash our tickets quickly and to walk on with attitude. It worked. The driver either didn't notice yesterday's date or he didn't care to argue. We sat on the top of the bus and begged a cigarette to share from another passenger.

'Did Fiend really eat the puppies?' I asked Claudia.
'Fuck knows.' She said. 'But I guess if he's dumb enough to smoke antibiotics when he needs a fix - then he's dumb enough to fry a puppy when he's hungry.'

She had a point.

Claudia took us all the way to Victoria Station. 'You can usually find me down Piccadilly Circus at Eros Statue. If I'm not there, someone there will know how to find me.' I gave her a big hug. Looks like both she and I knew that I would soon be back.

When Claudia left I turned my hugs to Little Claire. 'Here's your ticket. Get on the bus. Go home. If I were you, I'd go all the way home. Don't even stop at Bath.' Then I hugged her again. 'I'm staying here for now.'

'I'm sorry.' She said 'I was just scared that's all.'

'That's OK girl. It's good you were scared.' And with that I waved goodbye.

I begged for about four hours, then bought some makeup, shampoo and soap. One good feed and a can of lager later and I decided to try Claudia's idea for nicking shoes. All of the shops round here only put out one shoe from each pair to prevent theft, but Claudia had noticed that the Clarks shop on Regent Street put out only the left shoes, whilst the Clarks shop on Shaftesbury Avenue put out only the right.

The girl was a genius.

I am now three inches taller and the proud owner of some patent black stiletto shoes.

I take the tube back to Victoria Station to get cleaned up. I had spotted the sign for showers there when we passed through yesterday. Two pound fifty bought me the right to wash and a three pound deposit bought me the the lend of a towel. Hot water and waxy soap. Some days there is no feeling like it.

I nicked the towel, figuring it a pretty good deal for three quid, then left the toilets and headed for the bar next door. It was a tiny open fronted room that faced out onto the Station Concourse. Its customers mostly transient, but peppered with the occasional regular that took the same train every day and scheduled this place as a pit stop. I chatted for a while with the bar man, filling time until the doors of Soho would begin to open. Then off I went, heels tapping, mind in overdrive.

___________________________________________________

'It's my birthday.' I said to the bouncer in the overcoat. He smiled and passed me a cigarette.

'Its not your fucking birthday.' He said.

'Who's Raymond?' I asked, leaning in for the light he offered.

'He's the King.' A group of men approached the door and my bouncer stood back to let them in. 'Have a good night lads.' He called out after them. Then he said it again, 'He's the fucking King of Soho.'

I bit my lip and hoped for bravery.

'I'm clean!' I said, waving a hand down my body to parade this achievement. "And it's my birthday. I'm eighteen today. I was looking for some work.'

'It ain't...' He winked at me, 'Yer fucking birthday. And you ain't eighteen yet.'

'I've got shoes.' So I showed him those.

'Very nice shoes.' He smiled.

The next group of men nodded to him and called out to me as they entered 'Nice ass darling. Coming in to give us a dance?' I looked hopeful and smiled at the coat.

'I dunno. Am I working tonight Steve?' I asked him.

'Not on my shift love.' And he ruffled my hair. Which burned. I felt like crying.

'I need the money.'

I needed something.

'Try Rupert Street love. That's the only place you'll get work round here.'

I walked off dejected.

'And have a happy birthday.' He called out after me.

Rupert Street?

The man that stood at the entrance booth, flicked through a pile of sex cards before looking up at me. 'Well lookie what I got me!' he grinned. 'Fresh fanny.'

I was shown down the steps to the main room. There was a small stage with two poles at the back, mirrored tiling, a small bar area to the right and some booth seating to the left. An angry looking girl in a tasseled bikini top and hot pants leaned against the bar and stared at us. She was the only other person here.

'Who the fuck is this?' She sniped in an Italian accent.

'It's the new girl.' Said the man from the booth.

'Fucking place is empty. We don't need a new girl.' She went behind the bar and poured herself a drink. 'We don't need her,' and she looked me up and down 'We don't need her at all.'

'Maybe,' said the man 'If we had a new girl, the place wouldn't be so fucking empty. You fucking junkies put off the punters. I ain't got a single girl left that can show some flesh without bleeding all over my floor.'

The Italian looked me up and down a second time. 'How old are you?'

'I'm Eighteen.'

'You worked in a place like this before?' She asked me.

'No.' I answered honestly 'But I learn fast.'

She came back round to our side of the bar and motioned for us to join her at a booth table. I sat down on the sticky red velvet between them. Then wondered why they played such terrible music. It sounded like elevator music.

'You even told her what a Clip Joint does?' Asked the Italian, who introduced herself as Mia.

The man from the booth lit a cigar and handed it to her. 'No Babe.' He smiled at me 'I thought that I would leave that job to you.'

So here was the deal. There were two door girls that worked the entrances. Short skirts and smiles worn to get the blokes in. Martin, the guy I'd met was the muscle and he worked his door and the floor along with a second bloke called Michael. Downstairs the room was worked by between three and eight girls, depending how many turned up on the night. Once the punters paid their entrance fee (which was shared between the door girls and the men) and got their voucher offering fifty percent off the price of the first drink, they came downstairs to the bar/dance area. They would then be asked to pick a girl and she would sit with them at a booth. A half price drink would be suggested and one of the other girls would come over to take the order, that made at least two girls in the booth. She would then shout the order back to the bar and join us. The girl behind the bar would then bring the drinks over, making three girls in the area and we would stay and flirt whilst the punter drank his drink.

From there the evening could go one of several ways.

One week later...

There were several people screaming in the bar. The crap elevator music still played but it was definitely drowned amidst the screaming.

'I'm not fucking paying five hundred quid for two fucking drinks!' Protested the middle aged man in the business suit.

Martin held one arm and Michael the other. The suit's hair was in disarray and his glasses were knocked askew.

'You ran up the bill, you fucking pay.' Screamed Martin as the man struggled to get free.

'This is assault. You can't do this. I only had two drinks.'

'Two fucking drinks, three girls and a lot of looking you bastard. Get his fucking Filofax Mikey.' Mikey gabbed the black leather bound book. 'Look up his fucking wife. Or better still, his fucking Mother. You still got a fucking Mother big guy?'

And they threw him to the floor.

'I'm not paying.' He tried a final protest.

'You're on film you cunt.' Screamed Michael, giving him a good kick in the side. 'Now either pay, come with us to the fucking cashpoint or get the living shit kicked out of you.' And he kicked him again.

The man found the money after all.

The Japanese guys were always best. They bowed and paid and quietly left. I learned the trade quickly. Looked out for wedding rings, lone tourists, picked the fools and left the wise.

I slept at Mia's for the next month. Lay amidst the film star posters and the discarded piles of perfume soaked clothes that filled her room. We shared a bed but nothing more.

One day, I found myself.

I found myself stood in this seedy little shit hole of a club and I watched once more as a strange little man struggled for his rights and the skinny girls screamed. And I just decided that I had had enough of all this crap, so I took off my heels and I threw them in the corner of the booth. I padded barefoot, unnoticed, up the stairs and to the street. I thought of Claudia.

Of being barefoot again and all the world might offer.

'See ya Steve.' I called out to my man in the suit and coat from the Raymond Revue. 'I'm fucking off out of here.'

'Take care of yourself Babe.' He called out. 'You had that birthday yet?'

Continued...

Fridge

2008-04-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

Shane might be shag tired but I am not. I sit up and light the candle.

COCK

Still in the paddling pool, still pointing south, still part of Fiend. I crawl on hands and knees over to the blue plastic of his bed and lean in curious. I place my face as close to his glory as I consider appropriate and I stare.

INT. SQUAT BEDROOM
CAMERA ON SIDE OF PADDLING POOL. AT THE FRONT OF THE SHOT WE SEE A CLOSE UP OF FIEND'S WILLY, IT TAKES UP THE LOWER THIRD OF THE SCREEN. IN THE BACKGROUND IS CLAIRE'S FACE. THE BODY AT THE FRONT ROLLS OVER IN ITS SLEEP AND THE WILLY MOVES OUT OF SHOT. FOCUS IN ON CLAIRE'S FACE. SHE RAISES AN EYEBROW AND 'COCKS' A SMILE. WE HEAR CLAUDIA'S VOICE FROM OUT OF SHOT BUT THE CAMERA STAYS WITH CLAIRE'S FACE

[CLAUDIA]
Does it smell as bad as it looks?

[CLAIRE]
I think he's gone peepee

THE CAMERA ROLLS FORWARDS PUTTING FIEND'S WILLY BACK IN SHOT AS CLAIRE SIMULTANEOUSLY MOVES HER FACE DOWN TO KEEP IT IN SHOT. THE IMAGE FLICKERS SLIGHTLY - CLAIRE'S HEAD IS ELONGATED SIDEWAYS AND HER EYES ENLARGE LIKE A JAPENESE ANIME CHARACTER. THE IMAGE FLICKS BACK TO THE NORMAL COCK/CLAIRE POINT OF VIEW.

[CLAUDIA]
Peepee? Nice.

[CLAIRE]
Does he live here?

[CLAUDIA]
No. The junkies live here.

POV - CAMERA SWINGS TO SHOW A CLOSE UP SHOT OF CLAUDIA'S BARE FEET ANGLED DOWN HER BODY. THE LENS IS SLIGHTLY FISH EYE MAKING HER HEAD APPEAR SMALL AND DISTANT

[CLAUDIA]
I'm fucking starving. No point checking out the fridge. You're lucky if there's a bottle of fucking sauce in there.

THE IMAGE FLICKERS AGAIN AND THIS TIME A LARGE BOTTLE OF TOMATO SAUCE FLASHES UP, SOON FLICKERING AWAY

[CLAUDIA CONT.]
My Mum says that poor people can't afford condiments. She hates going round my Auntie Jane's house to eat because they are so fucked up and poor that they can't even afford mother-fucking tomato sauce.

THE SAUCE FLICKERS BACK ON THE SCREEN MOMENTARILY

[CLAUDIA CONT.]
Then, she always points out how ironic it is that Auntie Dianne, who's even fucking poorer than my Auntie Jane, has a fridge that's completely fucking empty, apart from a bottle of sauce. That, is fucking irony.

CAMERA TURNS AGAIN, BACK TO THE PADDLING POOL. CLOSE UP OF FIENDS LEGS. HE IS SAT UP NOW. WE CAN JUST SEE CLAIRE SAT BEHIND HIM TO THE RIGHT OF THE SHOT.

[FIEND]
Anyone got a cigarette?

HE SHIFTS HIS BODY SO HE CAN PULL HIS TROUSERS UP THEN SNIFFS HIS FINGERS.

[FIEND CONT.]
Who fucking pissed on me

IN THE BACKGROUND WE CAN SEE ONLY THE RIGHT SIDE OF CLAIRE'S HEAD. IT PULSES AGAIN AND ELONGATES. CAMERA SWINGS AGAIN BACK TO CLAUDIA'S FEET.

[CLAUDIA]
I think Fiend went peepee on himself.

[FIEND]
Eh? You got a fag?

[CLAUDIA - IGNORING HIM]
Junkies haven't got condiments. And they definitely haven't got any food. Unless you count lemons. So at least we know that my Auntie Dianne ain't a junkie. Just fucking useless.

[FIEND]
You got a spike then? I've got some pills.

[CLAUDIA]
Ask them.

SHE NODS TOWARDS THE HALLWAY. THEN THE SAUCE FLICKERS INTO SHOT AGAIN.

[CLAUDIA CONT.]
Roller chick will probably lend you one. I'd boil it in fucking bleach though first.

[FIEND]
Got any papers then. We could try smoking these?

CAMERA PANS BACK TO FIEND AND CLAIRE. WE SEE HIM HOLDING UP A SMALL BOTTLE OF PILLS. LARGE AT THE FRONT OF SHOT WE CAN READ THE LABEL. THEY ARE ANTIBIOTICS

[CLAUDIA]
What are they? Throw them here.

THE PILLS ARE TOSSED OUT OF SHOT. FIEND TURNS ROUND AND SEES CLAIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME

[FIEND]
You Clod's sister?

ELONGATED HEAD FLICKER.

[CLAIRE - IGNORING HIM AND LOOKING AT CLAUDIA]
What are they?

THE IMAGE FLICKERS AGAIN AND A BIG BOTTLE OF ANTIBIOTICS IS FLASHED ON THE SCREEN. CLOSE UP OF CLAIRE'S FACE FLICKERING

[CLAIRE - KNOWINGLY]
Oh.

CAMERA POV IS BACK ON SIDE OF PADDLING POOL, CLOSE UP OF FIEND'S CRUTCH WITH CLAIRE'S FACE BEHIND. SHE IS STARING AT HIS WILLY AGAIN. SEQUENCE. STAY WITH THIS SHOT FLASHING UP IMAGE OF ANTIBIOTICS BRIEFLY. CAMERA TO FOCUS ON CLAIRE'S FACE AS FIEND STANDS UP AND MOVES OUT OF SHOT. CLAIRE'S HEAD ELONGATES AND HER EYES GROW LARGE. CAMERA PANS RIGHT TO CLAUDIA'S FEET, IMAGE FLICKERS AND THE SAUCE BOTTLE FLASHES UP.

FADE TO BLACK.

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS LEAVING THE ROOM. SOUND OF A FRIDGE DOOR OPENING.

[CLAUDIA]
I fucking told you. Fucking junkies don't even have sauce.

CUT TO THE SQUAT ROOM LATER. CLOSE UP OF CANDLE AS IT FINALLY FLICKERS OUT. VERY LITTLE LIGHT IN THE ROOM. CAMERA SWINGS ROUND TO FACE DOOR AND TRACKS TOWARDS IT. SHOT CONTINUES TRACKING DOWN HALLWAY SHOWING MOSTLY THE DIRTY CARPET. AT THE END OF THIS TRACK IT SPINS RIGHT AND STOPS AT THE DOOR TO ROLLER CHICK'S ROOM. SILENCE. SHOT STAYS LIKE THIS FOR ABOUT 20 SECS. IMAGE FLICKERS AND THE IMAGE OF A BARBIE DOLL SAT AT THE SIDE OF A HOTEL POOL FLASHES UP.

INT. ROLLER CHICKS ROOM

THIS ROOM HAS MORE FURNITURE THAN THE REST OF THE SQUAT. A PROPER BED IS IN ONE CORNER NEXT TO A DRESSING TABLE WITH A MIRROR. ON THE DRESSING TABLE IS SOME MAKEUP, A PILE OF MONEY AND A USED SYRINGE. THERE IS A BLACK GUY SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BED IN WHITE BOXERS. HE WOULD HAVE BEEN GOOD LOOKING BUT HAS LOST A LITTLE TOO MUCH WEIGHT. ROLLER CHICK IS WEARING A BRA, KNICKERS AND HER ROLLER SKATES AND IS SAT IN A CHAIR OVER NEAR THE WINDOW. THE WINDOW HAS LARGE PRINT SIXTIES STYLE CURTAINS.

[BLACK GUY]
I'm serious. They are willing to pay a two hundred deposit for the flat and the first weeks rent.

[ROLLER CHICK]
But we'd have to move out. I ain't staying here waiting for some crazy fucking 'Eye Ties' to kick the door in and fuck my shit up.

[BLACK GUY]
Then we'll have to have a contingency plan.

CAMERA POV - CLOSE UP OF ROLLER CHICK'S SKATES

[ROLLER CHICK]
Like what?

[BLACK GUY - OUT OF SHOT]
Like that lot down there.

CAMERA PANS UP. SKATES STAY IN CLOSE UP AT THE FRONT OF THE SCREEN AND WE SEE A SIMILAR FISH EYE SHOT OF ROLLER CHICK AS WE DID OF CLAUDIA EARLIER. THE IMAGE FLICKERS AND THE BARBIE DOLL FLASHES UP ON THE SCREEN.

[ROLLER CHICK]
We could stay with my Auntie Dianne. Just til we get our shit sorted out. It might help us get Becka back.

CAMERA PANS BACK OVER TO THE BED. THE BLACK GUY FALLS BACKWARDS THROWING HIS ARMS OUT LIKE HE IS TIRED AND HAS HAD ENOUGH. THE SHOT SHOWS HIS CROTCH IN CLOSE UP.

SHOT STAYS LIKE THIS FOR ABOUT 20 SECS. HE THEN LEANS HIS HEAD FORWARDS RESTING HIS CHIN ON HIS CHEST AND THE SHOT ROLLS SIDEWAYS 90 DEGREES, MIMICKING THE COCK/CLAIRE SHOT OF PREVIOUS SCENE BUT WITH HIS FACE AND BODY.

IMAGE FLICKERS AND A USED SYRINGE FLASHES UP, ITS SPIKE BENT AT AN ANGLE.

[BLACK GUY]
So I'll tell them that they can move in Saturday?

CLOSE UP OF ROLLER CHICKS SKATES, PANNING BACK UP TO FISH EYE OF HER FACE

[ROLLER CHICK]
That'll teach the prick for what he did to my puppies

THE IMAGE FLICKERS AND UP FLASHES A SHOT OF FIVE CUTE PUPPIES IN A TARTAN DOG BASKET. IMAGE FLICKERS AGAIN TO SHOW A BOTTLE OF SAUCE THEN FLICKERS AGAIN TO SHOW A CLOSE UP OF FIEND HOLDING UP A KNIFE AND FORK.

FADE TO BLACK

SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS. FRIDGE DOOR OPENING.

[BLACK GUY]
Mutha Fucka

SOUND OF FRIDGE DOOR BEING SLAMMED

Continued...

Cock in a paddling pool...

2008-04-15T15:00:00.000-07:00

Little Claire was precisely that.

Her hair cut to a childish bob, she looked every bit of her fifteen years. I liked her. Wondered what brought her here to us. We wandered together through the shopping centre and up the ramp towards the bus station. I spotted him standing near the ticket office and went over to say hello.

'Are you always waiting here for me?' I smiled.

John smiled back, for which I was relieved. 'I'm buying a ticket.' He said.

'This is Claire.' I said, pointing to Claire. 'Where are you going?'

'On a coach!' He said, still delicious. 'Hey, fancy coming to a gig in London?'

'Got no money.' I grumbled.

'I'll buy you both tickets.'

An offer too good to refuse?

I looked at Claire and she at me, we smiled. 'OK.' I said.

He bought us tickets and we waved goodbye for now.

__________________________________________________________

Tickets in hand we waited for John to join us. That wait took us right up to departure time.

'What will we do?' Asked Claire.

'Get on the coach.' Seemed the only answer. I searched for him in the crowds as the bus pulled out of the station, prepared at any moment to tell the bus driver to stop and let him on. But he never came.

Onwards rolled the bus towards the City.

Claire nervously kept pressing for an answer as to what we were going to do in London without John. We had no money and no knowledge of how to get to the Arsenal Tavern where the gig was held. I however, did not care. London was nearing and I could smell it. I absent mindedly picked at the little crust of blood from the needle on my arm and I looked at Claire and thought her too weak for all of this.

The streets of Victoria bore an infestation of people. I merged with the rush of bodies, Claire gripping tight to my hand and I adored this feeling of chaos. I pushed faster and faster through the purposeful crowd and as their bodies knocked against me I smiled more and more.

How could one not feel at home here?

We asked directions to the tube station and from there we took a train to Piccadilly Circus. A tourist trap of a place, but something at least for the girls that lacked a starting point. The bright electric billboards of the Circus called me over and from there I had a vantage point of so something more.

I stared. 'What's down there?' I asked the lady with the camera.

'That street leads to Soho.' She had answered.

'Soho.' I repeated. Liking the way it sounds. 'Come on.' I cried to Claire, 'Let's go to Soho.' And barefoot I wandered hand in hand down the path that would colour my life forever.

I was in awe. Pretty girls, trashy girls, skinny girls with skinny arms and legs, glowing Neon lights that flashed and lured and made me smile.

Girls. Girls. Girls.

I asked the suited bouncer with the overcoat if he could spare a cigarette. He could.

'You could use a Bath.' He mumbled 'And a pair of shoes.'

'Can you spare a bath or a pair of shoes Sir?' I inquired. The Bouncer laughed a deep and friendly laugh.

'How old are you?' He asked. Voice Cockney thick.

'I'm seventeen and Claire is...' I paused and considered, 'sixteen.' He laughed again.

'Come back and see me when you've grown up girl. I may have work for a lady like you.'

'Do you know a good place for a drink?' I asked.

'Not in here. Unless you're full of money and into tits.' He winked 'Try the Intrepid Fox. On Wardour Street, just round the corner.' And he gave us the rest of the cigarettes to keep.

Soho was coloured by fantastical people. Everything seemed a little more extreme here. Outfits were daring, image was a statement and sexuality of all kinds and deviancies was paraded with satisfaction and pride. The Intrepid Fox was a Punk/slash/Goth pub. The angry anarchists and depressed and blackened youths spilled out onto the pavement where they drank from plastic cups and marked their territory with their presence.

'Are we going in there?' Asked Claire.

'I am.' I winked, 'Coming with me?'

We pushed our way into the group to find the door. Two voices called out in unison, one mine, one his...

'Shane!'
'Claire!'

I recognised him from the Hat & Feather! This was good fortune indeed as with no money to buy our own drinks, company offered more than friendship.

'What the fuck you doing here?' He asked with a smile.

'We came down for a gig at the Arsenal Tavern. I'm not going to bother going now though.' I pushed Claire forward. 'This is my mate Claire. Buy us some drinks.'

And he did. We followed him inside the Fox, the bouncer stared at Claire but let us through despite the obvious.

This place, this fucking place was incredible. The pub, cleaved firmly between the camp and homosexual pink of 'Media Soho' and the testosterone and neon red of the lighted district; this place was a palace of statements. Industrial skeletons made of rusted body parts, bats and spiders, glow in the dark paintings and every imaginable hair colour, piercing, tattoo and expression of alternative fashion. So the toilets lacked doors and the floor was as sticky as the air to breathe, but this place was welcoming me with all it had to offer.

'Claudia' Said the girl stood next to Shane. She held out the palest hand that I had ever touched and offered it to shake.

'Claire...' I paused and I remembered there were two of me. 'And Claire.'

Claudia had fluorescent pink hair shaped into large coned spikes, each about fifteen centimetres long. She was pretty, Meryl Streep pretty and I shook her pale hand with my slightly dirty one and sealed the friendship.

'I like your dress.' She had said. I liked her Myra Hindley T-Shirt and ripped up kilt look too.

Shane was flirting. I flirted back as the free drinks flowed but my attention was mostly on this new girl. Another lad joined us, but I remember neither his name nor why he was with us.

Claire was indeed lost in this place, but I was found.

Claudia told me that she lived in Maryland, near Stratford with her Mum, who was a crazy liberal, and her little sister Cecilia, an aspiring model. She was everything that I wanted to be. Full of fun and happiness. Passionate. Fiery but not angry. I envied her that she could be her and not be us. Claudia knew of a squat where we could all stay the night and I was glad to get to spend some more time in her company. She was also seventeen.

We left the Intrepid Fox when the money ran dry. Begged a little more for our fares then took a bus or was it two to Peckham, just south of the river.

Peckham.

Gloriuus filthy Peckham, model of the sink estate.

If I found beauty in Soho, it could only follow that I found heaven in these streets. Claudia hurried down the main road, wanting to get from the cold of the night to the warm of something. I paused for a moment to stare in the glass of a barber shop window. A large group of African men hung out at the back listening to music and smoking, but definitely not cutting hair. One of them saw me, smiled and waved, just as I felt Claudia's hand in mine pulling me onwards down the street.

'You should wear shoes.' She said 'You'd be faster. I'll nick you some tomorrow if you like.'

'Mrs Claudia' I said, tucking my arm in hers, 'I think that we will become good friends.'

We entered the estate and I saw those blocks before us. I had never set foot in a place like this. I had never seen this type of wall before. The Commercial Way Housing Estate and its very silence frightened me. I liked that. There were signs as you entered the estate, 'Sleeping Policeman', I thought it nice of them to warn us and walked extra quietly from that point on. The door at the base of the block was kicked from its hinges. It lay against the wall like a tombstone to whatever aspirations the council officers had once been hopeful for. It smelt of piss and canvased graffiti. The lift doors were also broken. Forced back and buckled they now strained against the command to shut and grunted unhappily. We heard them moan and decided to take the stairs.

How many fucking floors? Twenty possibly. Up and up we went. Feet slipping on the pee pee soaked tiles and cold on the concrete landings. The door to flat number 86 was Council Estate blue. What's with the blue? Did the Government get donated a thousand tons of not very nice blue paint in the sixties and seventies? Or did a hundred separate managers of the lives of poor, think this an apt and fitting colour?

Claudia knocked on the door of blue.

Footsteps approached then a female voice called out, 'Who is it?'

A door opened behind us and a child, of a about nine years old with a spongy afro and Batman pajamas stared.

'It's Clod and Shane.' Shouted Claudia. And then quieter, 'And Claire and Claire and Matty' with a smile.

The door in front us opened now and the boy behind us called out.

'Don't worry Ma. It's just the fucking punks again.'

Then he disappeared behind his blue.

The girl wore roller skates. She stared at all of us then back at Clod.

'You bought your whole family?' She jibed. The added. 'Well, hurry up. Get your butts inside.'

The hallway had a nasty carpet. Nasty by design and filth. The carpet led us onwards to a room at the end, which we were informed by Claudia, was free for us to use. The girl on skates, mixed race of coffee skin on tired bones, waved us goodbye and shut the door to a different room. My future.

I stared at all before me.

Claudia lit the candle with the cigarette lighter. The room about three meters square, had a double mattress in one corner, a single in another and a paddling pool in the centre.

Shane smiled at me, 'Wanna share the double?' so I did. but my mind was more firmly on the cock in the paddling pool.

That's Fiend

The small blow up circular paddling pool was blue with orange fish. In its midst was a man. A man with dirty dreads and tattooed face and body. His trousers were pulled down to his knees and his cock was hanging out for all to see. He had a tub of sick next to his head, orange ripple contents now replaced with bile and beer. I stared at him a little, but mostly at his cock.

'That's Fiend.' Said Claudia. 'I'm on the single bed with Matty' She threw a blanket at Little Claire, 'You're in the paddling pool with him.'

And for some inexplicable reason I wished that she had left that job for me.

Continued...

The Giving Fields...

2008-04-01T17:55:00.000-07:00

I scooped my hands deep into the soft white of the builders chalk and deposited the powder on the ground in front of me. When I pressed my two palms firmly into the pile, a billowing cloud of pale sent chalk fumes up to my nostrils. I turned my palms back to face me. Then, happy with what I saw, I drew them to my face and held them there. Smudged them down - and round - and over my tears. I looked once more into the mirrored pillar of the doorway before going back for a second handful of white.

I sat there. The ghostly reflection of me available for my viewing. I repositioned my legs so that they met at my knees then splayed outwards at my feet. I draped a weary cigarette holding hand over my knee and watched as the ash grew longer and longer and threatened to fall.

I tapped it. Saw it land in the palm of my hand.

I dipped my forefinger into the ash and wiped its gray carefully over each closed eyelid.

Holding the small twig up to the lights of the street I twirled it with interest. Picked an end and licked it damp.

Dipped back into the ash I saw it black and moisten.

I drew lines. Lines of horror under my eyes and on my lips.

And then I cried again.

_____________________________________________________

The field was bleak and windy and the tiny magic mushrooms hid from our tired minds.

'How many you got?' Shouted Dean. Distant from my position, he stood in the middle of the field and I watched as the wind blew him closer.

I looked down at the small yellow plastic bucket in my hand. 'Twenty, maybe thirty. You?'

'About sixty I reckon. Rats has got about two, the lazy fucker and Collin has sixty. I reckon we call it quits soon. That storm is blowing in.'

I agreed on both counts. We drove in the car and stopped on a grass verge near the base of Glastonbury Tor. There we chewed on mouthfuls of the slimy fungi and waited for things to elevate.

It took about half an hour before the nausea started, the storm hit and the car became smaller and odder than I had perceived it before. I watched as the men laughed and smoked and floated from this normal world. I needed to leave that fucking car.

'Let's climb the Tor.' I said enthusiastically. Before opening the car door and vomiting explosively. I stepped out into the fierce elements of wind and rain, looked up at the tower and then back at the car. I think that the men were talking to me but their words were lost in the breeze.

'Come with me.' I called as I stumbled towards the stile. I think they followed.

The base of the Tor found me muddied and wet and more than a little torn by the hedgerows. I looked up at the great steps of its grassy side with awe, throwing myself to the earth and smelling nature as it met me. I lay there momentarily, watching the storm clouds brew and pattern the roof of my view. I felt the softness of the mushrooms rise and spill towards the manic of LSD.

I better get up.

The wind was so bitter and strong that you could lean into its power and never fall, or so I thought. It supported me as I clambered from handhold to handhold, step to step. I caught sight of the lads, way behind me, moved swiftly up the hill to its summit.

Nature wrapped me in this weird and spiritual place. I felt as if the very Lord of the Underworld, Gwyn ap Nudd, himself had called me here with his potent wind and fury. He has long been part of the tale of this hill that writes him vocal in its history.

I stayed with this 'happy hippie' fantasy until darkness melted to the surrounding meadows and the voices of my friends called me back to the warmth of the car. I shuffled to the edge of the Tor and looked down. Moved by the black, still deepened by the mushrooms, I was reluctant to descend. I crouched. Placed my legs over the first long drop and carefully pushed forwards to lower myself down.

Dean called out to me from far in the distance but I had lost my voice in Annwn and was unable to respond.

I tried to move again.

Stagnant.

Here and always here. In this black.

Missing friends. Missing home. Missing family. Missing courage.

Not even fucking. I sat.

Here and always here.

In the distance at the base of the Tor I saw the light inside the car blink on then off as they climbed inside and sheltered.

The wind blew strong again and I wanted to stand and scream and tell these demons to take me down into their depth, they could have me, I did not care. But here I sat.

Here and always here.

Realising that the next drop was not achievable, I sidled over towards the right and tried to stretch my feet to meet the ledge. It worked. Back towards the left I found a second drop that I could reach; and so it continued until my damp and stiffened hands touched the warm disgruntled wood of the gate. Disorientated, I was uncertain which side of the Tor I now found myself on. I cleared the gate and found myself in the long grass of a grazing field. Alarmed by the first unexpected movement of a lone cow I fled towards the road...

But found no road. Just a hedge.

I tried to lay my thoughts of dark away and hide them from the mushrooms of my brain. But there is nothing like trying not to think of something to make you think of something and I soon worked myself up to a terrible state. With every sound I jumped and changed direction. Where the fuck was the car?

Voices?

Definitely fucking voices.

A fire.

Over the top of the hedge and through its dense I could see the licking orange of fire.

Momentarily I wondered if I had walked the whole twenty miles from Glastonbury to Bath? Was this not the bender site before me?

Was that not Old John with the laughing beard and welcome stories?

I felt my way along the hedgerow. Fingertip led I found the break and tip toed in.

Not benders.

Tents.

The cow mooed as my companion for a while and lit his horn electric yellow to illuminate my night.

I thought perhaps him not a cow. But more a motorbike.

Beings moved around this place with ghostly ease. I watched, engaged and fearful. Clicked my bare heels together and hoped for home.

Nothing.

Falling to my knees I crawled, still unseen by the creatures of this place, past another metal cow and quiet voices to the door. I unzipped it and slipped into the black of haven. Soft blankets under hand and knee, I grabbed one and held it to my body for warmth.

Sleep.

I could feel the bright of the torch before I even opened my eyes. I heard them speak too.

'It's a girl.' Said the first voice.
'Who the fuck is she?' Said the second.

I opened one eye.

'She's Claire.' I offered.

'Claire!' Said the first voice.
'Who the fuck is Claire?' Said the second.
I sat up, blinded by the bright light that they held on me.

'Who gives a fuck who Claire is?' Said the first voice. I was still unable to see their faces, 'She's in our fucking tent. Hello Claire!'
'Hello Claire.' Said the second voice.

There was some bickering. Only the first voice had a condom and there was much debate about whether the voice with the latex should go first or last.

'I ain't going after you man.' Said the first voice. 'I've got the rubber. I'll leave her nice and clean for you.' They shone the torch in my face again. 'You on drugs?' He asked.

The first voice asked me to lie down and told his mate to turn around.

'Fuck off.' Said the second voice. 'You go first I get to watch.'

The first voice had a beard and smelt of ale. The second smelt of ale but had no beard.

'God,'laughed the first voice, 'sure moves in mysterious ways.'

In the morning we all had sex again and I wondered if the car would still be close.

When they finished, I unzipped the tent about halfway and looked outside. This muddy field was full of motorbikes and tents. I climbed out and met the world again.

I have to stop this. I thought. Or one day I will end up dead.

Then I waved the boys a cheery goodbye and made my way through the piles of shit, back towards the road.

Collin was leaning against the car smoking an angry cigarette.

'Where the fuck have you been?' He opened the door 'Get in the fucking car!'

Dean winked at me and smiled.

'I was just...'

'Oh we know where you were.' Laughed Dean. 'That's why Colin here is so pissed. He doesn't think that was a very lady-like thing to do.'

Rats laughed himself to near hysteria in the front seat.

I lay my head on Dean's shoulder and held his hand

'Hey Coll. What happened to that little girlfriend of yours? How old is she? Ten?' Teased Dean.

'She's fucking fifteen you bastard.'

'Another fucking year and she can get her picture in Barely Legal. That should make you proud.'

I could see that Collin was riled.

'What's her name Coll?' I asked.

'Her name's Claire.' He answered. Then looking back at me, 'But she's nothing like you at all.'

Continued

Days of Ten & the Jesus Army...

2008-03-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-03-11T15:58:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-03-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

'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...

2008-03-10T17:33:00.000-07:00

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...

Bathing with Bladud

2008-01-24T10:59:00.000-08:00

The sun beat down on the mostly economically viable patrons of Bath - and is if to prove that some things at least are equal - it beat down on us too. This was a hot, simmering June afternoon that found the City Centre bustling to the brink with tourists from England, Europe and beyond.

'Hi Alf' I smiled. Offering the scrawny punk a cigarette from the packet in my hand.

'My name's not Alf.' He mumbled. Which seemed silly to me. As there in big letters, scrawled across the back of his leather jacket, lying beneath the word 'Exploited' was the name 'ALF'. But who was I to argue. 'I'm Rats' he said, taking a cigarette with dirty lean fingers.

He had a needle spiked, dirty blond Mohican and a thin twisted face with an abnormally long bent nose. I had not seen him around before. I would have remembered that face. He offered me a swig of his beer, by way of recompense and, as it always was back then - a new friendship was sealed. Rats, so it would seem, was down from London. He knew Merlin and Punky Shane so we already had a bond and he told me about his exploits as an animal rights activist. ALF was an acronym for the Animal Liberation Front and I was fascinated by his stories. Within an hour of meeting him I was a committed vegan again, although I momentarily regretted this when I realised that I could no longer eat those wonderful little chocolate truffles that I used to beg money for in the afternoons. C'est la vie. We shared a few more beers and took deep pleasure in the unexpected heat wave. This is England after all. Dean and Merlin joined us early evening and I begged some money for us all to get some chips for dinner. Chips, thankfully, were vegan.

I was sat on the bench counting the coins received into one pound piles, when a sudden and unexpected move on behalf of Merlin, sent the money cascading to the ground. We all scurried to retrieve it but I watched in abstract misery as two 50p coins rolled towards the metal grill of a drain just down the hill from us. I ran to catch them but unfortunately threw myself onto the burning metal grill just as they began their descent.

This was not a drain at all.

"What's down there?' I said to Merlin. The magic man knew all that there was to know about Bath.
'Our fucking dinner?' He complained woefully.

I stared hard. Bent my face closer so my cheeks pressed against the bars and looked from side to side.

'Its a passage way, not a drain.' I said 'Where does it lead?' There was a drop of about twelve feet to a dusty wide passage that headed in two directions from the grate. I sat up and pulled at the grate with my fingers. It lifted slightly. 'It's not locked!' I cried.

'Its the Roman City.' said Merlin 'You know, the tunnels where they dug up the remains. The Georgian City was built on top of the Roman one.'

I remembered a similar grate nearer the Abbey and hurried towards it, pushing past the sweating tourists with disregard. Merlin was hot on my heels. Another view of the passage from this grate, but this one was sealed shut. It headed off in the direction of North Parade and the famous Sally Lunn's Tea Shop.

Nothing there though.

'Look' said Merlin, pointing at some steps that led down to the basement level of a building nearby 'Lets try there.' Even in the heat you could smell the damp from the cold stone walls of these tunnels. Three arches, blocked off by metal bars, revealed a passage at their rear, heading back towards the Abbey.

'What if there's more of this.' I wondered aloud 'We could have somewhere to live.'

All we had to do was wait.

We waited for the air to cool and the last of the merry people to disperse from the pubs and find their way home. We all sat watching the grate, a motley crew of modern day filth bandits, wondering what this next adventure might bring.

'It's quiet enough now.' Said Dean, but as soon as he spoke the sound of laughter and clicking heels came towards us and we were forced to wait a while longer.

When silence once again washed the streets, Merlin darted towards the grate and swiftly lifted it, just enough to throw down the sleeping bag. The next round of silence saw Rats and me do the same. We planned for the sleeping bags to break our fall.

'I'm first' Said Rats. And quick as the words were spoken he disappeared down the open hole. We all rushed to check he was OK and looked down to see his smiling face. "Dive in,' he called 'It's easy'. One by one we disappeared, leaving only Blackum to close the grate and to wait for news. Dean even dropped his Alsatian dog down the hole before him. 'What?' He had protested against Rats stares 'I ain't going anywhere without him'

Rats and Merlin switched on the torches.

The passage that led downwards from here looked more modern and recent. Quick discussion revealed that we were all more interested in the dark and cave like passage that led towards the top of town. Rats headed the group with me following with a hand on his shoulder. Merlin and Dean took up the rear. The passage floor soon broke open to reveal a large pipe, the sewers most probably and the terrain became a little more difficult to navigate. When the passage turned right we were faced with an opening, a doorway of sorts and it found us with the light of only one torch. Rats shone the torch through the hole and we caught glimpse of a vast open space.

Is that lights?' Rat's exclaimed pointing the torch beam up to the cavern roof. 'Maybe there's a switch?' We all laughed as Rats groped around to the side of the door but were stunned to silence as the strip lights flicked on one by one. He turned the torch off.

Down here the world was different. Ancient and organic, the earthy floor beneath and the uncatalogued excavations made like we were stumbling upon an old Egyptian tomb. To the left of the 'cavern' stone coffins lay open and empty. Tools were scattered around reminding of the recent presence of people and artifact's and history were everywhere. It was with awe that we stepped down into this room of remains.

'I bet this stuff is worth a fortune!' Merlin looked around him 'There could be rooms of this stuff.' We wandered through this space excited, touching everything, feeling the adrenaline that comes with the unexpected and the unknown. To the rear of this room we found a partially excavated Roman Bath. About 20ft square and filled with muddy brackish water, fitting into the space against the wall. Behind this bath was a door. We figured that we could get access to the door by pressing our backs against the earthen walls and shuffling along the bank carefully. I did not want to end up in that water. Visions of the scene in the movie Poltergeist plagued me. I imagined falling into this swamp of a pool and ancient corpses swilling around my drowning body. I took a deep breath and Merlin's hand before stepping onto the ledge. Rats reached the door first and I think we all felt an enormous sense of relief when it swung open and we saw him jump through it. Dean and his dog Ally came last with the dog being the only one that almost ended up in the deep.

This new corridor split two ways. To the right where it continued into the distance, and for a short way to the left where it ended in a set of double doors. I turned back to face the doors just in time to see Rats lift the bar and push them both open with ease. I gasped with fucking awe.

Twinkling in the light of his torch was the water of a Museum spa. Ally began to bark and Dean struggled to quieten her. Rats took a step inside the museum and shone his torch around, settling finally back onto the ancient spa waters. 'Will you get a fucking look at this!' One by one we filed to his side and stared down where the beam of his torchlight settled. 'Have you ever seen anything like it? We are like, so rich right now!

Merlin spoke next 'Hey, this has to be our secret. We can come down here every night and get some more but we must be careful not to take too much and not to tell anyone else. The more people that know about this - the more fucked up this will get.'

I had to agree.

This time I was first. I placed a bare foot onto the top stone step and felt the film of slime that coated it. 'Be careful,' I warned 'its really fucking slippery and its cold.' The next three steps found the freezing water up to my mid thigh. This was not going to be as easy as it looked but I reached down and picked up the first silver coin that I could reach.

'Should we go in there?' Questioned Dean. 'That fucking girl died in here after swallowing the water, remember.' He tied Ally's lead to a wooden post nearby.

'You pussy!' shouted Merlin as he unlaced his Doc Martins and joined me. 'Come on in!'

'I'm being fucking serious. You can die touching that shit. I ain't going in there. ' Dean backed away from the water's edge a little as if even proximity was dangerous. The rest of us however were not deterred. Getting the money from the wishing pool was harder than it appeared at first. For starters a large proportion of it was not English currency and most of it was hard to reach. It twinkled before us though, tempting us further and further into the tainted green depths.

I stuffed the coins into the pocket of my skirt and took a deep breath every time I had to dip my head beneath the water to reach another one. Gasping as the icy water shocked my chest I had to dip again and again to try to reach the coins, perspective skewed by the shimmering surface and the lack of light. Was the water dangerous?

There was definitely danger here now though.

Startling bright lights flickered on from both somewhere and everywhere and voices, shouting voices, from the distance commanded us to 'Stay where you are and place your hands over your heads'. We did not stop to think and we certainly did not raise our hands but we all made for the doors splashing and screaming 'Fucking run!'

Turning into the large room we tried to move with speed around the rim of the partly excavated pool, my heart thumped with fear of both falling and of being caught. I made it about three quarters of the way round when Dean who was at the front screamed 'Fuck - I forgot Ally!'
'I ain't going back' shouted Merlin. 'Keep fucking moving, fuck the dog. You're not getting past me man'

The only way back for Dean was through the water if we didn't move.

The brackish foul water.

The water that killed girls.

'Fucking move!' Screamed Merlin pushing against him, desperate not to be arrested. Dean was spitting fury now 'You fucking move. I want my dog.'
Rats shouted something but the words were lost in the panic. I looked back to see him disappear through the door.

'He's gone back for Ally. For your fucking dog! Now move Dean. Please?'

'Fuck' Dean shuffled forwards 'He better get her.' We were through this area in seconds now. Merlin remembered at the last moment to flick off the light switch to make it harder for us to be followed and in the hope that the police would meet their fate at the bottom of the murky deep. We now ran by the light of the torch, trying desperately to keep our footing on the uneven floor of the tunnels.

Stumbling. Breathing hard.

We ran until our feet hit the soft padding of the abandoned sleeping bags and the street lights touched our skin. 'Blackum!' I shouted. But there was nothing. Just silence. 'Blackum' I tried again. Merlin motioned for silence and we listened back down the tunnel to see if evidence of the cops following would echo to our ears. Still silence. From above and behind.
'This way' whispered Merlin, continuing down the tunnel into the unknown and down the more modern passage. Another door, this time cut from a wooden boarding, took us into a dusty vastness that smelt of cement and wood. Merlin flashed the torch, looking for a way forward. 'This is the new shopping centre. Come on.' The new centre was a building site still. We entered through the basement and quickly found our way up to the street level by a newly installed escalator. Only the builders boards separated us from escape into the real world now. Dean motioned towards a pile of wood, stacked ready for use and we all scrambled to climb it and jump to freedom.

The three of us collapsed against the street side of the boards grazed and bruised. Two of us fucking freezing and soaking wet and all of us tired but on a total high. It seemed that we started laughing in unison. Manic, hysterical laughter. And when we eventually stopped and Merlin said...

'Can you believe that ratty fucking vegan risked getting himself nicked for someone else's dog?' We laughed some more and then some.
'I don't know about you two, but I ain't ever going back down there again.' said Dean. And even though I was desperate for a roof over my head and a pool of endless tourist money - I had to concur.

We had collected enough money to buy three MacDonald's Apple Pies and a packet of ten cigarettes. A feast! The crazy vegan was released from police custody the following day charged with 'Breaking and Entering' and 'Resisting Arrest' and Ally spent the night in the police station too. It would not be Ally's last night in a police kennel that's for sure and it would certainly not be Rats.

Still homeless but a little less hungry our minds turned back to the festival at Stonehenge. We had twenty four hours left to go.

Continued...
_____________________________________________________________________________________

The Roman Bath at Bath Spa that we discovered that night, you can see the money twinkling in the water! A beautiful sight for the hungry indeed!

The Roman Baths Museum of Bath Spa (link)

Conspiracy me blue......

2008-01-18T15:43:00.001-08:00

'We should get out of the car' The voice was mine but sounded different.

I was more frightened than I had let on. It hit me suddenly. Cold, white fear that drained my colour and left me still. Ian just shook his head and stared out of the broken window.

'I've got to tell you something. It's about your Dad'. Said Ian. He looked sort of weird with his bashed up and bloodied face. Weird, like a film star. 'Gypsy is fucking with your head Claire.' I looked out of the window too now. It seemed better that way. 'You've got to stop listening to her bullshit. The truth is that your Dad turned up here looking for you just after you first visited us, that's how Gypsy knows all about you, your Dad told her. There is no fucking big underlying secret to this world. Just one sad lonely woman that wants attention from a sad and lonely girl.'

'How much of what she said is the truth?' I felt sick now. Could be the accident. Could be his words.

'She sells good speed I'll give her that.' A bubble of blood burst from his nose as he spoke and he wiped it clear with the back of his hand. 'And she was clever enough to figure out that the place where we squatted in Longwell Green, was just around the corner from the address that your Dad gave her. All the rest is fucking lies. Lies or coincidence. Nothing more.'

'What will I do?' I sobbed. Broken like the car.

'Fuck. If you have to ask me then you are fucked. Why don't you just get the fuck out of here. Don't look back. Find yourself a nice man, get married, have a couple of kids.'

Get married and have a couple of kids?

Now there's a thought.

Evening

John was in the back of the Boater Pub and he smiled with his mouth and his eyes when he saw me. We shared an evening of drink and conversation and I thought of Sarah's words.

'He's the key to the fucking door.'

I had assumed that I would go to John's house that night, but John had said that I couldn't. His parents did not approve of him bringing home 'girls'. I felt like crying but I didn't. I could not go back to the bender site though. I knew that much for sure. John could see that I was upset but I don't think that he really understood to what degree I was 'homeless'. To some people, to those who are loved and to those that love - it is incomprehensible that you have nowhere left to turn. I was relieved when towards the end of the night he muttered,

'Pete will take you home. Won't you Pete?' Maybe he did know?

Pete was sat across the table from us. He was not someone that I had noticed much before, but all of a sudden he seemed important.

'What am I supposed to do with her?' Laughed Pete.

'Let her sleep and keep her safe.' Said John.

'Let me sleep and keep me safe.' I smiled, but I expected less. Not for the first time in my life I questioned what price a bed? We all walked together through the streets of Bath to a new part of town, to Pete's place. John and I held hands and stared at each other like long lost lovers. All three of us went up to Pete's tiny bedroom then John tucked me in to Pete's tiny bed and kissed me Goodnight.

'Thanks Pete.' He said earnestly - then he just left us there. The bed was only a single so it was a real squeeze fitting myself and Pete in.

How was I still clean come morning? Pete woke me with a smile and a coffee.

Why?

When John came back to get me, I smiled at him with my mouth and my eyes. He had been true to his word and found me a safe place to sleep. We smoked cigarettes on the doorstep in the hour before he was due at college. Promises were made and goals were set. 'Hang in there.'he had said 'My parents leave for America in eight days. As soon as they have gone, you can stay with me.'

It sounded perfect.

Perhaps a little too good to be true but I still had some innocence, some trust left and the alternatives were unspeakable.

A new extended family surrounded me. John's many friends gave me floorspace, bed space, food and never questioned why John asked this of them. I am sure that more than one of them wondered why this man would waste his time on one so lost, but still they helped.

Eight days soon passed.

It took just one foot on the Victorian floor tiles for me to feel the comfort of that house. I adored it. Full of antiques and wonderful art, a kitchen packed with vegetarian food and homely copper pots and a massive garden with hidden nooks and seating to retreat to. The house was spread over four stories. It was a home. The ground floor contained a large formal living room and a huge kitchen. The first floor a large family room, the next two bedrooms and a bathroom and the top floor offered two more bedrooms. The people that lived here were spirited and independent. Their choice in decor told me this. I liked his family already and I had never even had the opportunity to meet them.

That first night we feasted on vegetarian sausage sandwiches and sat in the garden drinking good red wine and kissing. It felt so fucking perfect that it almost broke my heart. I remember those days in that house with such passion still. Snuggling on the sofa with John watching TV. Cooking. Sleeping. Fucking.

Listening to music in his bedroom, I would play Pink Floyd's 'The Wall', side 3, over and over again. I would twist his red and blond dreadlocks through my fingers and marvel at the perfect whiteness of his pale and freckled skin. I would laugh with him and I would lie with him. He was my Adonis and he gave me sanctuary, physically and emotionally. Bit's of the old me retained though. My attitude to sex was tainted with a view that I owed him much. I can see now how he must have hated that, but I had so little left to give that wasn't in the bedroom. Weeks came and went.

Some days the cracks would show.

'Where the fuck have you been?' I shouted angrily at his back as he headed up the stairs to his room. 'I'm talking to you. What? Do you think that I will hide away at home like your little fucking wifey, cooking dinner and waiting for you to come home every night?' I was fuming. Worse than that, I was frightened again. Where had he been?

He turned to face me with a weariness that I would come to know. 'I've just been out for a drink with Pete. I told you I might go out after work. I said that you could come, but no, you chose to stay in yet again.'

'Who are you fucking?' I screamed. That's what it came down to. Everything always came back to fucking.

He fell back onto the bed and threw his hands up to his face.

'Bloody hell Claire. What more do you want from me? When will you trust me?'

'You want to change me.'

'I don't want to change you. I just want you to get better and to...to shut up. Stop nagging me. Stop hating me. I'm not ready for any of this crap.' He threw the pillow at me. 'You fucking sleep here. I'll sleep upstairs.'

Silence.

That silence burned me. I was petrified alone in his room. It felt like I could no longer breathe at night if someone wasn't there to hold me. I flicked on the light and sat on the edge of the bed holding his bandanna in my hands, tears streaming down my face. Standing up I padded barefoot over to the mirror. Once again I didn't recognize the girl in there. She changed so rapidly that I was helpless to keep up with her. Looking around me, I saw one of John's old T-shirts on the bedroom floor. I pulled it on then glanced once more at my tear streaked face. He could not leave me. It just wasn't possible. I crept up the flight of stairs and opened the door to the bedroom.

'What?' He had started to hate me. I could hear it in his voice now.

I knelt on the edge of the bed, bit my bottom lip and raised my eyebrows. 'What do you think?'

'Just go back downstairs and sleep Claire.'

I swung a leg either side of him and poised on all fours above him. 'But I want to sleep with you.'

'Sleep downstairs Claire.' He said wearily. But his eyes smiled. This was not over as long as his eyes still smiled. I kissed him lots, up and down his chest. Down further, licked my way back into his bed. Momentarily, he almost let his moral standing prevent himself from saying yes.

Life was a little colder after that night.

Some days later I was in the kitchen, thinking of nothing much in particular and stirring a pot of pasta sauce, when two words highlighted on the calender for the weekend screamed out at me.

PARENTS BACK

And that was that. On Friday, no amount of sex was going to stop him asking me to leave. I knew that. I was shaking so much with fear that I had to sit down. I pulled myself to the kitchen table and collapsed in a heap of pain. I could not bear for him to leave me. I could not bear for him to stay with me but not let me live here. Where would I go? I had no money. The 'Me' that didn't live in this house was dirty and damaged. She was broken and limp. She could not sustain a relationship with a decent man. An Adonis.

Some people do terrible things. Some people live their lives scared and let that define their actions.

Later that day I headed into Bath Town Center for the first time in what seemed an eternity. I drank beer and cider with Dean, Tabbitha and Blackum. I drank so much that I forgot to care when John came to find me and tried to take me home.

'Not now.' I had barked. And as quick as he had come into my life he was gone. I will always thank him for those days though.

'You can always come to Stonehenge with us.' Said Dean.

'What's at Stonehenge?' I asked.

'Everything and everybody!' Laughed Dean. An adventure indeed.

Looking back, what strikes me as most strange about the story of John and me and my stay with him - is that he that would change the path of my life more than any other person ever would. It would not happen yet. Not for several weeks, when a chance meeting at the Bus Station would find him uttering these simple words...

'Fancy coming to a gig in London?'

And things would never be the same again.

Continued...

Best Damn Day of My Life...

2007-06-17T16:05:00.000-07:00

I shook Keith from my skin and found myself in town once again.

I was beyond bored. I am sometimes certain that no one else feels the burn of boredom quite as intensely as myself. There was little left to inspire me in this mediocre place. As the people drained from the city, back to warm beds and comforting arms - I was found at the fountain near the Abbey. A flagon of cider in one hand and some lost hope and abandon in the other. I smiled as he sat beside me.

'Alright girl?' Said Ian. And I thought about this for a moment before answering.
'Yes, I guess I am.''Gypsy wants to know where you are. She thought you'd fucked off somewhere for good.' His hair fell in dark greasy curls around his pale face, I knew that face so well now, I had seen it at its worst. I knew the smell of him.
'What me? Never!' I smiled back.
'I've got some business to take care of.' Said Ian. 'You can come with me.' He smiled 'If you like.'
Again I thought before answering, 'What type of business?'
'The sort where the less you know, the better.' He stood up and looked at me 'I'm sorry Patch hit you that time. I should have said that to you before. But there's no stopping Patch when she gets an idea in her head.'
I took a large glug of cider and wiped the excess from my lips with the back of my hand. 'Fuck her. She's an ugly bitch. But do us a favour and don't tell her that.' I offered the flagon to Ian, 'I'll come with you. But just for a bit.'

After all, I figured that on a day like today, I should take a risk or two.

We walked up towards the top of town. Not far from where Pug lives. Not far from my memories.

'Where are we going?' I looped an arm in his and pulled myself closer.
'We're not going, so much as looking.'
'What are we looking for?'
'For that!' He replied trying the handle of a parked car. Ian looked around and checked that no eyes were heading our way. He peered in through the car window before saying 'Maybe not.' And we were off again, arm in arm.
'Are you going to nick a car?' I asked, suddenly interested.
'Nah, just borrow one for a while.' He pulled a large bundle of keys from his pocket and began flicking through them. Stopping beside a blue Escort, he once again peered through the window. Selecting a key he tried the lock. No luck. he picked another and tried again. 'Bingo!'

We were in.

I had never ridden in a stolen car before. Adrenalin coursed as I jumped in beside him. My knowledge of Joy Riding extended to the stories that you would hear in the media. Images of smashed up cars and reports of fatalities. A risk indeed.

I thrived off such danger now.

The car started first time and Ian pulled quietly out from the parking place. 'Don't say I never take you anywhere.' He winked.
I watched him as he drove. I realized that I didn't know Ian at all. In this moment, here in the car with the street lamps strobing him orange; in this solitary moment though, I knew more of him than I could have ever known before. I realized that he too came from a place of pain. We talked of his childhood.

And mine.

October 1998

The elderly man to my left wore small round glasses stuck together with a piece of dirty tape. He was a thin and spiky man and he twitched like a mouse in sight of pray as he listened to us talk.

'Fuck it.' Said Paul. 'I ain't sitting here in a crap boozer when some wanker is holed up in my woman's place just round the corner. I say we go home Babe. We go home,' And here he patted the iron bar tucked inside his coat, 'And we wait.'

Paul's face was a battlefield of scars. A particularly good one adorned his chin where a prison guard smashed his jaw against a concrete ledge. Or so he said. You could never trust much of what he said; perhaps he fell off his bike as a child. His hair was shaved to a dark blond stubble, his pale skin vandalized with prison tattoos and ridged with self harm scars. His only redeeming feature was his eyes. I was deeply lost in that blue.

I stood slowly, pulling down the red dress so that it covered at least some of my dignity, 'He's going to be so fucking surprised to see us. How about you old man? You up for a fight too?' And Paul and I roared with laughter.

The old man twitched some more.

'Get your cash out John. I feel the need for one last drink before we leave.' And I bent down low, licking the old man on the side of his face whilst Paul pulled down my dress to try to cover my assets. I made my way to the bar, stilettos clicking on the wooden floor. Paul called out, 'Better make this round bottles Babe.' And he winked. I smiled at the barman as I surveyed the choice. An obvious one stood out.
'Three bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale please Mate.'

Now I smiled at the memories.

I paid with the old man's money, clicked my way back to the table, then clicked again to the toilets - still holding my bottle of beer. The girl in the mirror never ceased to surprise me. Long hair tied high in a ponytail, face plastered with makeup, dress not even long enough to cover her crotch - who the fuck is this girl? I raised an eyebrow at her and she did the same at me. I felt that my life was running away from me, like it was all completely out of my control. I thought of my daughter, her pretty face, her warm cuddles and of my memories. At this I almost shed a tear. I didn't though, because the girl in the mirror was no longer the sort to cry. Instead I finished the beer and tucked the empty glass bottle safely inside my bag. Newcastle Brown was sold in a thick glass bottle. This was the sort of bottle that could split a scalp at first strike and still survive for a second blow.

The sort of bottle that could crack bone.
That could destroy faces.
I knew this.

Paul and the old man necked the last of their beers before we all pulled on our winter coats and left. Those that saw us walking down the road would probably have assumed we were Pimp, whore and punter - but this relationship was far more complex than that. It was probably less than 100 meters from the pub at the Tube Station to the block of council flats where we were heading. There was that adrenalin again, feeding me and hiding the fear. One hand in my left pocket for warmth and one tucked inside my bag. Fingers on glass and ready for action, I wondered what tonight would bring. We waited for at least fifteen minutes before someone opened the door to the block, allowing us to push uninvited into the main entrance way. This building was built in the early seventies. A concrete and brick four story elevation that consisted of about 30 maisonettes stacked in rows. It was the first of six such buildings that formed the estate. The concrete stairwell that we began to climb gleamed umber in the corners with urine and damp. We ascended the four flights then made our way along the balcony to number 22. I pulled the wire coat hanger from my bag and unfolded it, forming a hook shape at one end. A quick glance either way, a hand flicking open the letterbox, wire inserted - we were inside in less than five seconds.

Home?

I turned on the lights.

It was quiet and surprisingly tidy. These were the first things that I noticed. I sat old John in the armchair and began to look around. Opening the cupboard under the dresser, I move a sharp bin stuffed with syringes and find some cloths stained with old blood. I throw one at John and watch as he holds it to his face. 'Now shh. Just sit quietly. If he comes for you, just hit him with the bottle' Then I winked and pulled my underwear to the side to give him a quick flash. This was done with irony. There was nothing about the human form that Old John found attractive. I liked to remind him how fucked up he was from time to time though.

How fucked up we all were.

Paul and I lit cigarettes and we relaxed into the waiting. This scene may have appeared normal if it weren't for the fact that the bottles we were holding were empty.
'Best day of your life. What was it?' Asked the Paul with the iron bar on the sofa 'I'll go first. The best day of my life was the day that my Mrs, the beautiful Claire,' And here he winked at me 'Agreed to leave Rehab with me. That - that's fucking commitment. Right there. Better than a ring on her finger, eh Babe!'

The Claire in the armchair smiled.

'My best day.' Said the John on the armchair, 'Was the day that Claire and her daughter came to ride the Steam Trains with me. No one else has cared to go out with me for a long time. Not since Mum got ill. I thank her for that.'

I felt so loved.

Interestingly, neither of those 'Best Days' rated highly on my list. All four eyes were now firmly rested on me as I dredged my memory for a best, or even a mediocre day to hold dear.

But there was the sound of a key in the door now.

Silence stayed with the room as we turned to the noise and gripped our weapons tighter.

'Claire! You're back!' From his position in the hall, I was the only person that this man could see. From my position, I could see everything. Even how this night would end. He hung his coat on a hook and turned towards me. 'You're supposed to be in for another month. How was rehab?'

Three more steps and he would be inside this room. Three more steps. I couldn't bear it any more.

As he placed his first foot on the green carpet of the living room, Paul flew across the room and knocked him to the ground. The iron bar was lost in a hail of flailing fists and the Old Man and I watched with cruel curiosity. I walked over to them, smiling. Bent down to the ground where this new man was held and calmly said.
'Paul, meet Paul.' And the Paul on top hit the Paul below once again. The Paul on the ground was lifted, shocked, to his feet. 'Put him in the fucking chair.' I ordered. And the angry Paul did as I said. A fist flew again, knocking the shocked Paul's head sideways and showing me blood for the first time tonight. The sight of this made the old man squirm.
'I know all about you, you dumb fuck. Like to hit women don't you? Like to scare them?' Another punch, this time sinking the shocked head into the softness of the chair.
The shocked man looked only at me. He was hurt.

Hurting.

'Claire? What the fuck is going on here?'

Another punch. Submission.

'Don't you fucking talk to her. You aren't worth shit compared to her. She told me what you did. She wouldn't give a fuck if I finished you off, would you Babe?'

I yawned incidentally, but it spoke a thousand words so I left it at that. Then I sat in the armchair with the peculiar old man who clutched his cloth a little tighter. For a while nobody said anything.

I smiled at the peculiar old man and stroked the Grey stubble on his head.
The peculiar old man smiled at the Paul's, both shocked and angry.
Angry Paul looked at shocked Paul.
Shocked Paul looked at the ground. Tears, snot and worse dripped from his nose and chin onto the carpet. He really had been the best looking of my boyfriends by far.

A sudden movement, arms pushed upwards, body lunging forwards, broke the moment. Shocked Paul became fighting Paul and he made a run for the door. Angry Paul grabbed at him and caused him to hit the ground hard. Now he crawled desperately towards the exit. I was there before he made it even half way. Bottle in hand.

'Get back in the fucking chair Dickweed.' But he lay there sobbing, hands held in front of his face, fetal. 'Put him back in the fucking chair Babe.' I kicked out at him with my foot, 'You're pathetic.' Angry Paul lifted the broken man and threw him back in the seat.

'If I were you, Asshole. I'd stay fucking put for a while.' Angry Paul raised a hand to his head and felt the stickiness of blood. 'You scratched my ear you prick. Babe - he scratched my fucking ear. I'll kill the cunt.'

Did I care?

I just wanted out. Out this room?

'Old man. We need more beer.' I piped up chirpily. 'Fancy a trip to the Offie?' I turned to face the angry man. 'Is this under control?'

Paul nodded. He pulled a shiv from his trouser pocket and flicked out the blade. I took the old man's arm and we left this place. Off we went into the cold rain of the night, back into the city noise. There was history between myself and the staff of the Off License. A mutual history, best described as hatred. This always made me want to shop there more. They would watch me intently. Scan my every move from the second I entered the door. I always made sure that there was plenty to watch. 'Morning Muhammad.' I called out as we walked past the counter. He had long since given up on pointing out the obvious - like it wasn't morning and his name wasn't Muhammad, but he couldn't quite commit to stony silence today.
'You look...' And he looked right from the tip of my head to my toes, 'You look clean today.' Voice thick with sarcasm.
I opened the fridge and began passing old John the beers.

I'm Claire and I'm an alcoholic.

'It's such a pity Muhammad,' I smiled wide 'that my tits are so small and this dress so tight, or I reckon I could have stashed at least two beers already without you seeing. You should stare a little harder, it might prevent future theft on my behalf.' John and I headed back to the counter. 'Twenty Benny Hedgehogs and those.' I said, pointing at the beer. 'He's paying.' And I waved a hand at John. With the transaction complete we headed for the door as 'Muhammad' sprayed a good waft of air freshener at my back. He always did that, but I no longer cared.

I took my wet skin, my cold beer and my peculiar old man back to the flat.

Things had changed.

I felt fear as soon as I heard the laughter.

Back inside, I found the two Pauls relaxing on the sofa. Both were more battered and bloodied than when I'd left, but both were now smiling and chatting away like nothing much of incidence had just happened here.
'Babe!' Said Angry Paul 'You're back!' And both he and the previously shocked Paul shared a glance. 'Crack open the beers girl and take a seat.' I saw the look in Paul's eyes and I knew to be wary. There is lot's to be frightened of when you choose to bed down with a man who scares you.
'Paulie here, he was just telling me that the Adams are running the Pawn shop on the corner. I wonder if my Uncles know about that?'
'That's yesterdays news Paul. Fuck the Adams. What about him.?' I nodded at the man on the sofa. The man who it appeared had been clever enough to turn around a very sticky situation.
'There's room here for us all tonight Babe. And first thing tomorrow, Paulie here is going to go score for me.'
'What the fuck do you mean? Score?' I felt this betrayal worse than infidelity. The thought of him taking heroin made me feel physically sick, I would prefer that he fucked another woman. 'You promised me when we left Weston that there wouldn't be any more Heroin. You said that we were fucking clean now. I won't get my kid back if we use. They'll take Alice off me.' I stormed to the kitchen, pushing John aside from where he stood, washing his face at the sink. I tried to run through my mind what the options were. Clever Paul had been clever indeed to bring Heroin into the mix. A hungry junkie will always side with a likely deal.
'John.' I whispered 'How much money have you got left?'
John checked his wallet 'About five hundred I think.'
'When I go back in there, put the money in the pantry. Hide it behind the flour at the back. Will you do that for me?' John nodded.
'Are you going?'
'Just put it in there John.'
He held my arm and begged. 'Ring me. Don't disappear.'
I promised I would.

Paul grabbed me affectionately as I walked back in the room and pulled me to his lap where I sat submissive. He was tapping the side of his beer can with the open knife, a reminder to me that things were more complicated than they appeared.
'I think it's best if Paulie sleeps in the bed upstairs. Old John can fuck off home. We'll sleep down here.' And he waved the knife at Paul continuing, 'With the door open. That way I know you'll still be here in the morning.'

My mind stayed focused on what I was going to do next. I knew that I had to get out of here. But I also knew the danger in leaving him and I didn't know where I would go. Islington was his manor, he had family here. He had eyes.

'You still here Old Man?' Paul said as John joined us. 'We were just saying it was time for bed.'
'But you promised me...' Stuttered John.
'Shut the fuck up fool.' Shouted Paul angrily. 'Go home. Claire will call you tomorrow morning. Won't you Babe.' I looked deep into his pretty blue eyes and tried to remember why I was here. 'This weirdo...' Said Paul to Paul 'This weirdo has a thing about filth. That's why he likes my Claire so much, she's pure filth my Baby.' He squeezed my breast.
I looked up at John. 'I'll ring you. Now go home.' I heard the door shut quietly behind him and I prayed that he'd done as I asked.
'Now you.' Paul waved the knife at me now. 'Take your fucking dress off.'

I did.

'And you, fuck off upstairs. We'll talk in the morning. Right now I want some quality time with my Mrs.' I watched as clever Paul did as angry Paul said.

I had to wait about an hour before he fell asleep. Loud, deep snores penetrated the silence of this room. I eased myself away from him gently, rolling from the cushions on the floor I lay there very still and waited for a response. Nothing. Unfortunately he was lying on my dress. I would have to make my move without it. I backed crawling on all fours towards the doorway. Still nothing. Just the snoring. Carefully I pulled myself to standing using the door frame for support. I looked towards the front door, relieved to see that the key was still in the Chubb lock. I looked towards the door, then back up the stairs. Clever Paul was there. Stood silently at the top. He motioned to me to come up.

I looked at the door. Then back up at him.

He motioned again. I placed one foot on the bottom step and tested for a creak. It took my weight silently. I tested the next. Then the next. At the top of the stairs I could still hear that asshole snoring.

Clever Paul motioned towards the bedroom. I crept in behind him and we shut the door.

'What the fuck is going on Claire?' He whispered.
'You've got to help me. He's dangerous. We're not safe.'
'No fucking shit Sherlock.' Paul shook his head in disbelief. 'Why the fuck should I help you? You brought him here to do me over. He's your fucking man, you sort him out!'
I was sobbing quietly now. 'Please Paul.'
He grabbed me by the wrists, it was almost an affectionate gesture.
'Claire. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it got so messed up between the two of us. And I'm sorry if I hurt you.' I was shaking from the cold, stood only in my underwear. 'I'm sorry but I can't help you here. If you want to walk away from this, then go. Go somewhere he won't find you. Go back to your daughter.'
'He'll find me.'
'Only if you want him to.' He said, dropping my wrists and turning away. That burnt because I knew that it was probably true. Opening the bedroom door I was relieved to be greeted by the familiar snores. I made my way silently down the stairs and into the kitchen. The wad of money I clasped tightly in my left hand.

Thanks John.

Back in the hallway I placed my free hand on the key. Taking a deep breath and holding it in, I turned the key 180 degrees to the right. There was a dull thunk as the Chubb slid back. The rain was torrential now. I transferred the money from my left hand to my right and reached back towards the coat rack, carefully unhooking my jacket before silently stepping forward. I pulled the door closed on this world, stepped out into the new one with my knickers on display for all to see.

Brazen.

That's what Mum would have called me. Head held high and bare feet tapping boldly along the damp balcony, I wore a big smile and even wriggled a wave as one of my old neighbours passed me. I was laughing as I danced down the concrete stairwell. That feeling was in my bones again. I was on the move and I didn't care where. Rain. Glorious rain fell heavily, making the pavement glass and sparkle with the reflection of the street lights. I was in love with London at night. Always had been. From the very first moment that the lights of Soho had drawn me here. I turned into the main street with more than a vague idea of where I was heading. Paul's house.

A few heads turned and some faces stared, occasionally a comment bounced off my back but I felt freedom greater than shame.

'You OK?' Called out a friendly looking gentleman with a golfing umbrella.

I stopped to speak to him. 'Sir,' I reached out and touched his face gently, one hand on either cheek. 'Thank you Sir, for asking. But the honest truth of this matter is...' And I held my arms skyward to embrace the rain, 'That this, is the best damn day of my life!'

************************American Beauty************************

ARIEL VIEW FROM ABOVE. CAMERA TRACKS CLAIRE AS SHE MAKES HER WAY DOWN A BUSY ROAD.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
Best damn day of my life?
Probably.
Although that doesn't say much when you inspect the competition. Here I am, twenty seven years old and the highlight of my fucking life amounts to no more than a bad script.
I am about to embark on the most remarkable period of my life. If I knew then what I know now, I would have gone back to the flat and killed him.
In less than a year I am as good as dead.

THE CAMERA DESCENDS SLOWLY FINISHING WITH A CLOSEUP OF CLAIRE'S HAND AS SHE OPENS THE DOOR TO A PHONE BOX. SHE SEEMS HAPPY AND PLEASED WITH HERSELF. SHE DIALS A NUMBER AND WE HEAR THE PHONE STARTING TO RING.

[CLAIRE]
Dave! Is Paul there? It's Claire

INTERIOR. PAUL'S FLAT. CLOSE UP OF MOUTH TALKING WITH HUGE CANNIBIS JOINT BOUNCING ON LIPS. THE MAN APPEARS TO BE WEARING A WHITE BURKA WITH THE MOUTH PIECE HANGING LOOSE

[DAVE] STONED
Wow it's Claire. You in rehab, cause I shouldn't be talking to you if you're still in the rehab.

INTERIOR. PHONE BOX. CLOSE UP OF CLAIRE'S MOUTH.

[CLAIRE]
I'm right outside Dave. Rehabs just a distant memory. Is Paul there?

[DAVE] CLOSE UP. MOUTH ONLY
Paul, are you here. It's Claire. She says rehab is a distant memory

[CLAIRE] CLOSE UP. EYES ONLY
So can I come in? Ask Paul if I can come in.

[DAVE] CLOSE UP. EYES ONLY
Yes she says a distant memory. She wants to know if she can come in.

[CLAIRE] CLOSE UP. MOUTH ONLY. IMPATIENT
Dave, can I speak to Paul

INTERIOR. PAUL'S FLAT. IT'S DISGUSTINGLY MESSY. DIRTY CLOTHES, ROTTING PLATES OF FOOD, DRUG TAKING EQUIPMENT ARE SCATTERED EVERYWHERE. IN A FILTHY RECLINING CHAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS MESS SITS A LONG HAIRED HIPPY WEARING A RIPPED WHITE TOWEL AROUND HIS CROTCH LIKE A LOIN CLOTH.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
That's Paul. Hippie Paul. I can't remember how we met. But that doesn't mean it was inconsequential
HIPPIE PAUL IS IN ANOTHER WORLD. HIS VIEWING OF THE TELEVISION BROKEN ONLY BY THE OCCASIONAL BOUT OF SCRATCHING.

INTERIOR OF CLAIRE'S FLAT

CLOSE UP OF DROPS OF MOISTURE ON THE OUTSIDE OF A CAN OF BEER. A SCARRED HAND REACHES INTO SHOT AND SNAPS OFF THE RING PULL

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
See that beer he's holding? Skol Super Strength. It's 9.2 percent alcohol, 0.2 percent stronger than Special Brew. That's not an accident. He actually cares about that.
CAMERA PANS OUT TO SHOW ANGRY PAUL SAT CRYING IN THE CHAIR

WIDE SHOT. WE SEE BOTH PAUL'S SAT IN THE ROOM IN ANIMATED CONVERSATION. BOTH APPEAR DISTRESSED. WE CANNOT HEAR WHAT THEY ARE SAYING

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
He used to beat me.
THE CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON CLEVER PAUL
But do you want to know the real truth. I made him. Him beating me, made me feel so much better. Made me feel redeemed somehow. I bet he never beat another woman before me.
Or after.
I wasn't always like this. I used to be happy

INTERIOR PHONE BOX. CLAIRE LOOKS DESPONDENT. TIRED. HER HEAD IS LEANING AGAINST THE GLASS OF THE PHONE BOX. HER EYES ARE SHUT.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
I have lost something. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I know I didn't always feel this... sedated. But you know what? It's never too late to get it back.

THERE IS A SUDDEN LOUD BANGING ON THE PHONE BOX WINDOW. CLAIRE STARTLES, DROPPING THE PHONE SHE TURNS TO SEE THE WEIRDLY DRESSED DAVE. HE IS WEARING WHITE MICKEY MOUSE BOXER SHORTS, A WHITE 'I HEART LONDON' T-SHIRT AND HE HAS A WHITE TABLE CLOTH TIED AROUND HIS HEAD LIKE A BURKA. HE IS STILL TALKING TO HER ON THE MOBILE PHONE AND WHEN SHE GOES TO OPEN THE PHONE BOX DOOR HE SHAKES HIS HEAD ANNOYED AND POINTS TO THE PHONE HANDSET, NOW HANGING NEAR THE FLOOR. CLAIRE PICKS THE HANDSET BACK UP AND HOLDS IT TO HER EAR.

[DAVE]
Paul wants to know what you are wearing.

[CLAIRE]
A Puffer jacket

WITH HER FREE HAND SHE GESTURES AT THE JACKET, FRUSTRATED BY THIS CONVERSATION NOW.

[DAVE]
No, he wants to know what colour you are wearing

CLAIRE GESTURES AT THE JACKET AGAIN. DAVE SHRUGS AS IF HE STILL NEEDS AN ANSWER

[CLAIRE] VERY FRUSTRATED NOW
It's black

[DAVE]
It's not white. We're having a white day.
HE GESTURES AT HIS OWN ECLECTIC ATTIRE

CLAIRE UNZIPS THE PUFFER JACKET SLOWLY. CLOSE UP ON DAVE'S EYES AS HE WATCHES TRANSFIXED. SHE PULLS HER JACKET OPEN AND A PROFUSION OF WHITE ROSE PETALS SPILL FORTH TOWARDS THE CAMERA. SUDDENLY THEY STOP AND WE CUT BACK TO REALITY. AN ANNOYED CLAIRE STANDS IMPATIENTLY IN THE PHONE BOX IN HER WHITE BRA AND KNICKERS WEARING AN 'IS THAT GOOD ENOUGH?' LOOK ON HER FACE.

CUT TO INTERIOR PAUL'S FLAT. CARTOONS ARE PLAYING ON THE TV AND WE CAN NOW SEE THAT EITHER SIDE OF THE TELEVISION ARE BANKS OF ELECTRIC ELEMENT HEATERS AND A MESS OF CABLING.
PAUL HUGS CLAIRE ENTHUSIASTICALLY. THERE APPEARS TO BE GENUINE AFFECTION BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM. DAVE IS BUSY IN THE BACKGROUND CUTTING A PILE OF BROWN POWDER AND FOLDING PAPER WRAPS FROM A PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE. CLAIRE AND PAUL REMAIN STANDING WITH BIG SMILES AND CONSTANT EYE CONTACT. THEY EMBRACE A SECOND TIME.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
Can you even imagine the determination it takes to be an addict. I used to work every almost every waking hour just to finance that particular colour of fun. I was busy. Desperately busy. Between that and the quiet calm of a hard earned fix, I had little time left to think. I like it best this way.

CLAIRE REMOVES HER JACKET AND STANDS THERE IN ONLY HER UNDERWEAR. SHE IS ALREADY SWEATING FROM THE HEAT IN THE ROOM.

PAUL COCKS HIS HEAD TO ONE SIDE, SMILES AND NODS APPROVINGLY.

[PAUL]
White. You're wearing white

HE SWEEPS THE CLUTTER FROM A CHAIR TO CLEAR A SPACE. THEN GESTURES TO CLAIRE TO SIT. SHE DOES. HE RETURNS TO HIS SEAT. BASKING IN THE WARMTH OF THE HEATERS.

[PAUL]
So tell me about rehab?

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
Dave and Paul are also addicts. They however aren't particularly busy. They are drug dealers. This means that they can fund their own addiction.
With relative ease.
PAUL SWITCHES CHANNEL ON THE TELEVISION TO A BRITISH TALK SHOW. TRISHA. VOICE OVER CONT.
They are bored.
Boredom brings with it its own peculiarities.
It makes you behave like this.

CLOSE UP OF DAVE IN HIS BURKA OUTFIT DANCING AT THE TABLE TO THE TRISHA THEME MUSIC.

CLOSE UP OF CLAIRE'S MOUTH.

[CLAIRE] DREAMILY
Rehab.
SMILING
It's just a distant memory.

CUT TO SHOT OF DAVE AND PAUL SLEEPING, TOP TO TAIL IN A SINGLE BED IN CORNER OF ROOM. CAMERA PANS TO CLAIRE WHO IS NOW IN PAUL'S CHAIR, FULLY RECLINED LYING BACK AND STARING AT THE CEILING. WE CAN HEAR THE WHITE NOISE OF A TV WITH NO SIGNAL IN THE BACKGROUND. SHE IS ILLUMINATED WITH A STRANGE ORANGE LIGHT FROM THE BAR HEATERS.

CLOSE UP ON A SOLITARY DRUG SYRINGE AS IT FALLS SLOWLY THROUGH THE AIR.
WE LOOK DOWN ON CLAIRE, STILL AWAKE, STARING UP AT US.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
It's the weirdest thing
THE SYRINGE DRIFTS INTO VIEW LANDING ON HER BARE STOMACH
I feel awake. Dangerously awake now. I wonder how much longer I can survive like this

CLAIRE'S POINT OF VIEW. SHE IS STARING AT A FLOATING NAKED VERSION OF HERSELF IN THE MIDST OF A DELUGE OF SYRINGES, FLOATING AROUND HER. THIS FLOATING CLAIRE LOOKS DOWN AT THE CLAIRE IN THE CHAIR WITH A SMILE OF SERENITY. A SMILE THAT INCITES.

WE LOOK DOWN AT THE CLAIRE IN THE CHAIR NOW COVERED IN HEAPS OF THESE SYRINGES. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE HAS NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY.

SUDDEN CUT TO CLAIRE STANDING NEXT TO THE BED SHAKING PAUL AWAKE

[CLAIRE]
Paul. I've got some money. I need a ten bag. Wake up.

PAUL OPENS HIS EYES

[PAUL]
What if you die?

FADE TO CUT. BLACK & WHITE. CLAIRE, DAVE AND PAUL ARE NOW ALL ASLEEP IN THE BED WHICH IS RIDICULOUSLY CRAMPED. THE CAMERA ZOOMS IN TO A CLOSE UP OF CLAIRE'S HAND WHICH HAS A SMALL TRICKLE OF BLOOD RUNNING DOWN TO A STAIN ON THE WHITE SHEET. THE BLOOD IS RED.

[CLAIRE] VOICE OVER
In a way. I'm dead already.
My life is fucked.
It's a car crash.

EXIT AMERICAN BEAUTY

I am in the car and I am screaming. Ian's head is jammed against the horn and he doesn't appear to be moving. There is blood on the steering wheel. I don't know how long I screamed for, but when I stopped I was aware that Ian was awake. He lifted his head painfully, bringing a hand to feel the damage to his nose and forehead. Bubbles of blood splashed onto his cupped fingers.
'Shit.' He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. 'You OK?'
The car was folded around a concrete bollard at the top of a lane. The bonnet was buckled and steaming. It took a while for me to mentally check how hurt I was.
'I'm fine. My neck hurts a bit, that's all.' Wherever we were, it was quiet. Nothing but the clicking of the indicators and the continual rush of steam.

We started laughing.

Him first, but it was so ridiculous as to be infectious.
'Fucking Bastards.' He said through the bubbles of blood and the laughter. 'We're not even fucking dead.'
'Well at least you're hurt. I'm not even fucking injured much.' I felt overwhelmed with the reality that we were still alive, despite our best efforts.

'Claire.' Ian was suddenly serious. 'Did you leave that video tape at your parent's house?'
I grabbed a box of tissues from the back seat and began wiping the blood from his nose and chin.
'Yes. I left everything. Why?'
Ian looked at me, serious now. 'Promise me you'll go back and get it one day.' He punched a bloodied fist against the steering wheel. 'Promise me you'll destroy it.'

I promised.

What else could I do?

"I don't know why I kept it and it felt very strange to put it on. But as Scout would say 'This post is useless without pics!' So here it is. The little red dress, snapped secretly last night on my mobile phone in the bathroom. To think, I once wore this in public with only a thong!'

Continued...

Topical Application to All Affected Areas...

2007-06-10T16:08:00.000-07:00

Bath was bustling with daily shoppers by the time I arrived. The Central Cafe was quiet however as most of the local travelers had left for the festival already. I ate alone, genuinely annoyed that there was no one here to pay me attention. After some idle time at the shops and a new pair of shoes I headed to the Boater, but it was the same story there. No friendly faces, just strangers.

No John.

I guessed that he could be at college.

The men at the Boater were more interested in the Rugby than in me. I should have stayed here amidst their indifference. Instead I left, just as the first few large drops of rain plummeted from the clouds and splashed upon my skin. Thunder crashed in the distance and the pedestrians ceased window shopping to dash for cover. Within moments it seemed that I was the only one left. I walked through the town centre, occasionally being passed by a dashing figure with an umbrella at hand. The rain fell harder and the thunder crashed closer. I walked slowly, chin up, never shrinking from the wind or the rain. Unlike the other people, I had nothing to lose in this sensation of cold wet skin. 'What did they fear?' I wondered.

I soon found myself in a quiet square with pretty trees and expensive boutiques.

On the corner of the square was a pub. A biker pub.

I thought for a moment that John might be there, but by the time my damp fingers contacted with the cold glass of the door - I no longer cared. The barman handed me a dry bar towel, offered by his heavily tattooed hand, tipped with dirty fingers.
'You look a bit damp love. Dry yourself off with this.' I nodded my thanks and looked around as I scanned the crowd for sight of him, rubbed my neck and shoulders dry.
'Newcastle Brown please. No glass.'
'Newcastle Brown. No glass.' He repeated as if to remind himself. 'So what brings you here love? I've not seen you before.'
'Sheltering from the rain I guess.'
'I'll buy her drink.' Said a voice from my left. And I turned to see a man I had not seen before. 'Keith.' He said holding out a hand to shake. Keith was at this point oblivious to the fact that in this one simple gesture, he had become a very lucky man.

I shook Keith's hand firmly and smiled. 'I'm Claire. Thanks for the drink Keith.'

Keith nodded towards a table and asked if I cared to join him. I did.

'I've seen you in the Hat & Feather.' Keith offered me a cigarette. I took two. One for each of us. Lit them both then handed him a lipstick stained smoke.
'I've not seen you there.'
'You are more memorable than me then. I gave you a cigarette in there once.'
I waved my smoke in the air. 'Guess that makes two then.'
Keith was in his early twenties. A tall, slim, dark skinned biker that was uneducated but a great fuck. Ok. So the first three were observations and the latter two assumptions, but who cares. Tonight was not going to end in a cold damp bender for me.
'Are you cold?' He asked.
'Do you want to fuck me Keith?'
Keith laughed raucously. 'You're not backwards in coming forwards are you!' He took another swig of his beer 'I don't think a girl has ever had the balls to ask that one before.'
'Do you live near here?'
'Well the answers are yes - and yes. Just a short walk down the canal. Why? Are we going?'
'Not yet.' I reached out with one leg under the table and placed a foot on his groin. 'I wouldn't want you to think that I was easy after all. Two more beers and a packet of peanuts might tempt me back out in the rain though.' And I pressed my foot firmer into his crotch.

The rain. It still pelted against the windows. Still sat damp against my skin.

'I like the rain.' I said, chasing the trail of a rain drop with a finger.

'I'm glad you do.' He smiled as he headed to the bar for some beer and nuts, calling back to me, 'The rain suits you.'

I watched as he brought the beers to our table. Enjoyed the pretense of normality for a moment. It felt good to laugh and flirt with a man again. Then, I watched as he went to the upper part of the bar and spoke with a heavily tattooed man. I smiled wide as he showed me the plastic bag on his return.

'Let's save this for the 'Fucking' part of our afternoon.' He said with a wink.
'Speed?' I asked.
'Coke.' Replied Keith. 'I don't mess with cheap shit.'

I put money in the duke box. The Specials. The Cult. Some heavy metal requested by him. The thunder hit louder and the storm showed no sign of passing.

We held eye contact but said nothing for the longest time. Spoke only with our eyes. He broke the silence first. 'You should dance in the rain for me.'
'Ok.' I replied.

And dance I did. After, he threw his jacket over my shoulders and led me running through the town. Both of us were soaked by the time we reached the canal. I don't recall a single word said on that journey. I just remember really wanting him. I had not felt a moment of equality with a man for a long time. I was tempted several times just to push him to the cold wet grass, but the anticipation of this promised liaison was too much fun.

By the time we entered the block of flats I had imagined fucking him a thousand times. As he fumbled with the keys, I ran a hand up his back and felt his bare warm skin properly for the first time. Once inside he pulled off his t-shirt and threw it to the floor, then he lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder.

I giggled as he ran up the stairs with me.

'Put me down!'

He booted the bedroom door open with his foot and carried me to the bed. I lay there looking at Keith, breathing heavily. Keith stood there, staring back at me.
'Music!' He suddenly shouted, fumbling through a pile of vinyl and selecting an album. 'Oh and by the way, it's your turn now.'
'My turn to what?'
'To get your bloody kit off girl.'
'How about some coke?' I looked about the room, absorbing every little thing I could. Learning as much about him as my eyes could take. This room was messy but comfortable. Lived in. Partied in. It was his room. It hadn't escaped my notice that not all the items in the room were masculine either. If a woman didn't live here, she stayed here often.
'You'll have to get that dress off, 'cause the coke ain't for you nose Babe.' He pulled off his jeans then joined me on the bed wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. 'The coke...' He lay a hand between my legs, 'Is for here'. Then he pulled down the top of my dress and kissed each nipple 'And here...and here.'

Coke sex.

Best darn sex in the world.

Afternoon merged into evening and the coke merged into everything. Lines snorted on stomachs. Smears licked off genitalia. His eyes got sexier with every dilation of his pupils.

Evening merged into night. I remember a visitor coming, the man from the pub maybe. More coke in a second bag. More lines on skin.

Skin on skin.

'You have the prettiest eyes that I have ever seen.' I spoke to him through coke numb lips 'And the prettiest tongue.' So I probed a coke dipped finger, first in his mouth and then in mine.

'I like you Mr Keith. You're more fun than a bucket of sand.' We both giggled at the stupidity of this analogy. Lay back coke tired on the pillows, all of us tender from drugs and kissing, we smoked cigarettes and contemplated more.

More coke.

More sex.

Morning.

I padded to the bathroom, barefoot, softly. Showered. Noted the box of tampons on the shelf and the contraceptive pills in a drawer. Where was she?

Keith met me on the landing. Back in his boxer shorts with his hair all fucked up and sticking out all over the place, he hopped from foot to foot.
'I'm dying for a waz Babe. Don't go anywhere...' And he rushed into the toilet.
Back in the bedroom I lit up a cigarette and searched for the glass of water that I had fetched in the night. My mouth felt like shit and my head was throbbing from the lack of sleep.
Funny, but he was better looking than I remembered, I watched him again as he walked back into the room. My Rock star. Mine.
'One fucking hell of a night eh?' He rubbed his face in an attempt to shake back reality.
'I had fun.'
You stupid cow. Is that the best that you can manage? I chastised myself for not thinking of a better line, a line of girlfriend leaving greatness.
'Fun! Oh Man, the boys aren't going to fucking believe this one. I'm the luckiest bastard in Lucky Bastardville. You are a top bird. Top night Babe. One of the fucking best.'
'Marry me then.'
Ok, a little extreme maybe.
Keith did no more than laugh, 'Chicks like you are out of my league Babe. Besides, I'm already married.'

Pity, because I would have married him that day.

Continued...

That Dress...

2007-06-05T17:34:00.000-07:00

I woke with a rested soul and the dulcet tones of my screaming Mother breaking the silence that had protected me.
'What have you done in the bathroom? I just can't bloody trust you. I wish you'd never come back. You'll never change'
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I ignored her words, held the sheets to my nose and breathed in deeply. The smell of cleanliness, small sanctuary in this place.
'Morning!' I called out as she disappeared down the hall still mumbling her concerns.

'What have I done in the bathroom?' I wondered.

I pulled back the curtains and gazed at the familiarity of it's view. Drugs change everything. Take enough of them and a definitive switch happens. Everything seems normal when you are on them and perversely surreal when you are not. This house was indeed perversely surreal.

I took myself and the floral nightgown to the bathroom next door. Everything appeared fine in there. Whatever I had done in the bathroom last night, it had been forensically cleansed by the Queen of Clean already. I walked downstairs, watching my clean toes press into the softness of a piled carpet, a simple luxury. I smiled as I caught a reflection of Claire in the hall mirror. I looked ridiculous in my Mother's nightgown. But there again, everything looked ridiculous to me here. Mum looked so much older than I remembered too. Foolish in her agony. She sat at the dining room table with a plate of buttered crackers and a cup of hot tea, every inch of her lost to me.
I lit up a cigarette and sat beside her, once again smiling at my reflection, this time in the glass door of the china display cabinet. Mum began to sob. I could see her shoulders jerking up and down with stifled emotion out of the corner of my eye.
'I still see that bitch Emma.' She spluttered. 'Butter wouldn't melt nowadays. And look at you...' I raised an eyebrow at the me in the cabinet 'All messed up and your whole life ruined. She made you like this. She got you in all this trouble. Everything was fine until Miss Short came to town.' I took a deep draw of satisfying smoke and thought of Emma. Mum could say what she wanted, but from where I was sitting, blame lay much closer.

We had gone to therapy once. My entire family. Well, when I say my entire family, it wasn't much of a show. Dad doesn't speak to his family, nor Mum to hers. I don't know why but I thought of it now as I sat here with my Mother's sorrow for company. I had just turned 15 then and had taken a concoction of pills in a failed and half hearted suicide attempt. 'What's wrong?' asked a white coat in the hospital Psyche Ward as he stamped a referral for Family Therapy. I drew pictures for the counselor back then. An intricate sketch of a naked anorexic, falling in to a large crack in the ground. A screaming face with it's eyes sewn up. A ballerina, posed and happy. But nothing was resolved in those trite smiling sessions with all four of us sat around a table grained with detachment.

'You're a monster.' Mum threw her head in her hands and I rose to standing.
'Whatever I am, you made me. Whatever you say I am, I'm a product of you. You hate me? Tell you what I hate you more. Every fucking night I hate you. I hate everything about you. I even hate hating you.'
'Then get out' She screamed.
I finished my cigarette and moved closer to her.
'Did you think I was going to stay?' I bent right down and held my mouth close to her ear 'I'd rather sleep in the fucking gutter then be here.'
'Please stop it.' She cowered from my words, making me hate her more for her lack of strength.
'I'll be out of here as soon as I'm dressed.' I began to walk away from her, turning back only to add with a smile, 'And in case you're wondering, I'll be dressed whenever I'm fucking ready.'

Strong words indeed.

My clothes flapped on the line, innocent to the suburban nightmare that continued here. Everything was winter damp so I took it upstairs to the airing cupboard to finish drying. At the top of the stairs was a landing and off it came six doors. The first door was my Mother's room. The second door, my Father's was slightly ajar. Next to my Father's door was the airing cupboard, then Hayley's room, my room and the bathroom. As I placed my clothes on top of the hot water pipe, two things caught my eye. On the top shelf of the airing cupboard, hiding between the sheets and the disturbed pile of nightdresses that I had rummaged through last night; There, folded neatly as only my Mother could, lay my favorite black dress. I smiled at the thought that some of me was left here and pulled the dress close to my chest. As I held it there, my eyes settled on the second thing. Just inside the open door to my Father's room, sat atop the dressing table amidst the cozy china collectibles - there was a writing book with a title scribbled on the front. Just three words...

CLAIRE - TO DATE

I stepped back, still holding the dress,to the top of the landing. Listening carefully for any sign that my Mother was heading this way.

Silence.

I stepped tentatively forward and entered his room. Thumbing the cover for a moment I listened again.

Nothing.

I flicked the pages from back to front, stopping at the first sign of writing. Yesterdays date was at the top of the final entry and below it Dad wrote that he had received a phone call from Brenda and that he was going to drive to collect me. I flicked back further, more entries. A photo of me on the television from the documentary. Transcripts of phone calls to the director Mike Dornan. I flicked again, forwards, towards the last entry and one word jumped out at me like a sledgehammer.

GYPSY

'What the...?'

Next to the book lay a pair of scissors. Dad's scissors. I put the book down and thumbed the smooth metal instead, then headed to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I didn't like the girl that looked back. He had never wanted us girls to cut our hair so it seemed a delicious irony to do this here. I held each dredlock up by the tip and snipped them off near the root. Most of the green hair dye had washed out last night, so when I finished I was left with closely cropped, short brown hair. It felt so empowering. Whatever I was cutting off in that room it was more than hair. I removed Mum's nightgown and stepped into the shower, washed the 'old' me from my body. I could hear Mum moving around upstairs now, but I didn't care. Once dry I fumbled through her makeup bag, finding a black eyeliner, some black mascara and a dark grey eyeshadow. I took great care with my makeup. I had indeed changed and evolved. This was not the Gothic me. Not the Gypsy me. But the me that was going to walk out this door and screw the pants off a certain John McKenna. I pulled up the black dress and looked in the mirror.

'A Princess Moment!' I smiled. The look worked better than I had thought.

I took the makeup, threw it in a bag with my now dry clothes, grabbed my cigarettes from the bedroom and did exactly what my Mother wanted. Left this home.

'Keep the change.' I laughed at the bus driver, throwing him a five pound note from the roll in my hand and clutching the stolen bottle of Fitou in my other. My Mother's house had its uses after all. I made my way upstairs. To the back where I could smoke in peace, I leaned back and rested my bare feet on the seat in front. I saw a new future heading my way. A good feed in the Central Cafe was on the cards for starters. Some new shoes, more makeup, some clothes maybe, but most importantly a night on the town in the hope of stumbling upon John. I smiled at my own shallowness as I realised how much I wanted the city of Bath to see me pretty again. I thrived off these moments of fleeting attention. My eyes were closed and my thoughts on Dad's book when I heard laughter and a voice call out,
'Fucking 'ell. It's Spiff!'

Spiff was my nickname from school. Back then, posher than the masses in my speech and mannerisms, it earned me cruel jaunts and fury. I opened my eyes and saw Eric. Big fat ugly smelly Eric. And Tommy, tall thin fucked up tattooed Council Estate scum Tommy. It seemed amusing to me that I had seemed more teaseable than them. They sat on the seat in front of mine.
'Alright Spiffy! We heard that you were sleeping in Bristol with Steve Carter.'
He placed his chubby fingers on the back of the seat, brushing his hand against my bare foot and causing me to shrink away. I tucked my feet into my body, curling up on the seat. 'We heard,' continued Eric 'That you were fucking Steve. In fact we heard that you were giving it out to half the Bristol Posse.' He laughed and reached out to tousle my hair.
Tommy turned to face me too. 'Well lookie, lookie. Little Spiffy gone and grew up on me. Where's your violin and your plaits now bitch. You playing in the real world for a while?' He spied the bottle lying by my side. 'Give us a drink then.'
And he took the bottle from beside me. I didn't argue. I couldn't.
'How's Emma?' I asked Eric. Of these two it was him that I found more bearable.
''Shorty's the same as ever. Big tits, small brain. Opposite of you really.' And he laughed. Which, for some incomprehensible reason burnt me, just like it had in the old days. I also realised how much I missed my old friend Emma.
'Tell Emma I'm in Bath now. If you see her, tell her to come find me.'
'So where you living?' Eric was shaking his head at Tommy's futile attempt to push the cork into the wine bottle with a plastic pen. 'Give it here you wanker.' He took a knife from his pocket and pulled out the corkscrew attachment.
'I'm between homes at the moment.' Was the best I could come up with.
'Between homes.' Jibed Tommy putting on a squeaky posh voice, 'What the fuck does that mean?'
There was a loud pop as the cork was pulled from the bottle.
'Ladies first' Said Eric as he passed the bottle to me. I took a large glug and wondered what Eric wanted, as to be so nice was outside the ordinary. Eric flicked the corkscrew closed and pulled out a short blade. 'Where you getting off Spiff?' I watched as he began to carve a name on the back of the seat, scratching at the Formica with his penknife.
'Town Centre.' I replied.
Outside the bus window, the houses muted from red brick to the cream stone of Bath telling me that we would arrive at my stop in about fifteen minutes.
'Well this is our stop.' Called Eric as he jumped across Tommy to the aisle 'And give the girl her wine back.' Tommy lent over the seat and passed me the wine, at the same time looking down to see what Eric had carved on the back of their seat.
'You total wanker! You'll get me nicked' He shouted, punching Eric hard on the arm.
Eric ran towards the front of the bus laughing, shouting back at me, 'By the way, you look really nice in that dress and Tommy, he's on a suspended sentence for vandalism of public transport!'

And I laughed too as I ran my finger over the etched words 'Tommy Taubman was yer, April 88.'

Hands curled around the bottle of red I thanked the weather for it's warmness and the God's for not living in Longwell Green any more. I lit another cigarette and thought once again of Dad and Gypsy and the entry in the book. Their secret was now my secret. But did this mean that the Wolves were real?

Continued...

The cell of foul memories...

2007-04-11T12:48:00.000-07:00

The wolf was busy over the next few days.

First Liam, then Merlin, two more houses of wood that fell at my feet and confirmed the new truth in my life, that sex was the way to go.

And go, and go, and go.

Something changed about my perception of myself as victim in these liaisons. I became predatory and aggressive in my demands.

Dean, Shane, Dillon, each of these making me stronger and more certain of my direction. I had clearly been born to live this life and I mused on the fact that I had finally found my talent. If only Gypsy had approached me sooner. Pulled me from the drab and fucked up mediocrity of suburbia and shown me the power of a new belief.

Sunday saw me sat around the fire at the bender site again, somehow able to look all of them in the eye and feel the pride of achievement. I sipped the hot cup of soup and chatted to Polly about the festival in Northampton. They were leaving in two days.

Suddenly I felt an explosion of pain on my back and a shower of hot sparks spun around my face and body. I turned stunned to see a long haired woman brandishing a burning log from the fire. 'Fuck you.' She screamed, swinging the wood again and this time hitting my hands which I raised defensively. Gypsy seemed to appear from nowhere and held the arms of this stranger in restraint. I watched as the woman went from frantic struggling to limp submissiveness. I searched startled around the faces of the fire and found my answer in Blackum's pained expression. So this was Nicky. Gypsy dropped her sobbing to the ground and gestured to me to follow her.
'She's just jealous.' Remarked Gypsy. But this seemed a horrible underestimation of what Nicky must have been feeling.
'Tell me,' I was shouting now 'Tell me that this is real. Tell me that what I am doing is all for you. Tell me that you speak the truth to me and that I'm not bad, not evil, like they think. Fucking tell me Gypsy!'
She screamed back. 'You take my drugs, you take my friendship, I can't make you take my word as good. You need to come to us completely. We're all you fucking have. Remember that.'

Was she right?

I dialed the numbers on the phone with trepidation. I had not spoken to Sarah in months, but I needed to talk with someone that was removed from this insanity. She agreed to meet me in The Boater and seemed concerned at the state I was in. It seemed ridiculous to mention my story of wolves and torrid liaisons to my gentle friend. I spoke instead of my isolation, of my deep desire for a home, for a bed, for a family.
'I can't leave you here like this. You know, each time I see you, I feel relief that you're not dead yet. You're killing yourself before me. I hate you for that.' It had never occurred to me that my demise was hard on others, I wiped a tear from Sarah's face. 'What happened to make you like this? What happened to the girl that laughed with me at the stables and walked with me to school? Where has she gone?'
'She's sleeping.' I smiled, gingerly.
'Then wake her up because soon enough you'll be in this too deep. You know, your new friends scare me. They're all fucked up on drugs and shit. Why are you with these people? You seem to have forgotten all about your real friends. We're still here you know. We haven't changed.'
'I am sorry. I just feel so lost.'
'You've got to fight. Stand up and be 'you' again.'
'Be me?'
'You are so caught up in this fucked up world of yours that you can't even see what's going on around you anymore. See him?' She pointed at the dredlocked man stood near the door with a bottle in his hand. 'You remember John? You thought that he was the prettiest man that you'd ever seen. The fucking Adonis, you used to call him. He's a friend of mine now. You wouldn't know that because when we meet all we do is talk about you. Fucked up, pretty little you. Truth is that John, the fucking Adonis, has been infatuated with you for months. He offers up about a mile of raw desperation every time you cross his path. But you, you're too fucked up to notice or care. Now, here's my little gift to you. My attempt to save your crying soul. John's a good man from a middle class family. He has a reasonable job, he studies hard, he lives in a beautiful house with his parents who love him and for some incomprehensible reason, unblighted by the fact that you are desperately in need of a sensible hairstyle and a good bath, he would like nothing more than to sweep you off your feet and take care of you.' All of this was said with a hint of a smile.
'Really?'
'My suggestion is, that I take you home and try my best to persuade my mother that you can stay for one night. We clean you up, change your clothes and get you a good night's sleep in a warm bed. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of your life. And him,' She nodded at John who was now smiling at the two of us 'He's the key to the fucking door.'

We were halfway to Bath Easton when Sarah phoned her Mum. I sat on the wall behind the phone box, smoking and listening to Sarah's raised voice and desperate pleading. 'Where will she go if we don't let her stay?' 'It's only for one night.' 'I hate you for this.'

We sat together on the wall for a little while in silence. Sarah holding me and crying. I felt silly that I had hoped for this night of normality. I had to remember who I was and forget the sanctitude of old dreams.
'It doesn't matter.' I offered reassuringly.
'I can't bear to leave you out here. It's so cold. I could never get used to this cold.'
The cold was in my bones now.

Sarah looked at her watch 'It's almost one thirty. I have to go. Come with me. I've got an idea. You can sleep in the toilet block over the road. I'll sneak out in the night and bring you a sleeping bag and some food. When Mum leaves for work in the morning you can come in and have a bath.'

I didn't like to tell her that public toilet's were disgusting to sleep in. That the chilly, damp, urine soaked floors, offered little in the way of comfort from the cold of the night. I sensed that she needed me to stay nearby. I would do this for her.

The toilet was a small tiled building with three separate cubicles, two sinks and a hand dryer. I pressed the button on the hand dryer and joked about 'central heating', but the hot air on my skin made my fingers burn painfully.

'Take my coat as a blanket.' I did. 'I'll see you in about an hour.' She hugged me. 'Take care of yourself.'

I hit the button on the hand dryer once more and surveyed my new home. Out of the three cubicles the middle looked the cleanest but the end one offered more protection from the cold. I chose the end one and lay Sarah's coat down on the floor. If my head lay behind the u-bend and my body length ways down the cubicle, I could just tuck my legs in and keep my feet this side of the door. The smell of piss and pine disinfectant was choking. I wrapped my own coat around my legs and lay there until the cold dictated that I should use the hand dryer again. I returned to my bed and slept fitfully for maybe an hour.

More time under the hand dryer. More time in the cubicle, before footsteps.

Sarah?

There were two steps of footsteps. One pair of high heels clicking towards my door and the softer tread of trainers behind them

'Claire?' I recognised the voice as Sarah's Mum's. 'Come out Love. You can't sleep here.'

I was so grateful that they'd come. I opened the door to see Sarah in her dressing gown and her Mother wrapped warmly in a winter coat.

'I phoned your Mum.' She said softly. 'Your Dad's coming to get you.'

I lied

Not so much a lie, more a 'forgotten'. But when I said in the first chapter of this blog that it would be four long years before my father and I would speak again, I had not remembered this. This night was hidden in my yesteryear, where I place all the bits of me that I need to hide.

This night was red.

We stood outside the building at the side of the road,waiting for the Volkswagon Jetta to pull up and collect my sins. I felt completely out of control. If I had been willing to sleep in the toilet to please my friend, was it also possible that I could get in this car for her?

My father was a good looking man in his late forties, most would have placed his distant origins as non-white, but to speak of that was to arouse his aptitude for denial. He pulled the car to a sudden halt, wound down the window on the passenger side and leaned across to me.
'Get in the fucking car.' He said this with a forced smile as he looked at Sarah's Mum, who was huddled from the cold, just out of ear shot of us, with her daughter. He unclicked the lock on the car door with a slim brown finger and motioned me inside. 'Thanks Brenda,' He shouted 'Sorry if she caused you any trouble'.
I climbed in beside him and with a roll of his eyes we were off towards the place that I had once cared for as home.
'Do you know what time it is? Three o'clock in the bloody morning. I was supposed to start work at two. I get this bloody phone call by some condescending woman that wrongly assumes that she is doing me a favour by pointing out that my child is sleeping in a piss hole down the road. If you wanted to come back you could have come during the day and had the balls to phone yourself.'
'I'm not coming back.'
The car burnt rubber and mounted the pavement as Dad's anger fired.
'Then get the fuck out. Stop wasting my time, the time of this family. Do you know what you've done to your mother, your sister, to my reputation!'
'I'm just cold. Let me come back for one night. Please. I'm just really cold.'
He rolled his eyes again, returned to the road and off we went to the silently waiting village of Longwell Green.

There was the same curtain. Twitching again in an upstairs window as the car pulled into the driveway. My desperate mother stood once again at the top of the stairs wringing her hands in pain. I heard the car behind me leave as I stood in the doorway looking nervously up at this lady, this woman, that had once carried me warm and safe inside her womb.
'I've made your bed.' She squeaked. Then finding strength in her hatred she barked, 'Have a bath before you go in the room. You look disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.'

The lavender scent hung heavy in the steamy air as I lay in the bath soaking myself presentable and clean for these people. I wrapped myself in a snow white towel and pondered the pile of filthy clothing that I had discarded on the floor. It seemed incomprehensible to put these soiled clothes upon my skin. I threw them in the bath and poured in a whole bottle bleach from the shelf besides the sink. My fingers burnt again as I stirred and kneaded until my knuckles shone red at the effort. The smell of bleach and this room evoked a powerful emotion. I padded downstairs to the kitchen where I met my Mother once again, standing at the sink.
'Why are you here Claire?' She slapped the soapy water with angry hands of frustration 'Why do you do this to us? I can't cope with any more from you. I just can't cope.'
I took a glass from the cupboard on the wall and smiled at the confrontation of absurd neatness. Was my Mother the only person that cared if all her cup handles pointed in the same direction? I poured orange juice from the fridge and turned back to face her.
'One night. That's all I ask. Just one night.'
'You ask so much and yet you don't even see it. This isn't one night. It's bloody revenge.' I threw the glass of orange juice at her feet, spraying her drssing gown and legs with shards of glass and sunset drips. Both of us were crying now. I hung my wet clothes on the line in the garden and stormed upstairs, stopping only to collect one of Mum's night dresses from the airing cupboard at the top of the stairs.

My room had changed a little.

Four small walls, one door, one window. No bigger than a cell I'd guess. It's walls papered in a garish mauve clover print. Shiny wardrobe and matching drawers, not too dissimilar from Barbie's, all the same as before. I opened a drawer carefully and quietly. Nothing. The same with the next and the next. All trace of me, of what I was, had been vanquished. My pictures were gone, as were my drawings. It seemed almost unbearable that only a cell full of foul memories remained.

I looked around sadly. It was important that I didn't forget this, this was my life, my destiny, my shame.

That night I slept without dreams. I had never slept so well in my life it seemed and I would wake with a rested soul.

Continued...

Little pig, little pig, let me come in...

2007-04-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

Will somebody stop the tape?

I cannot bear to post this next part without initially offering up an explanation for my actions. It is sometimes so difficult to type these words as I feel so deeply the pain of judgment, mostly my own, but I know that often it will be the judgment of others. I want you all to know that this story appalls me. That I hate both what I was and all I did. Fear is something that accompanies almost every night when you are homeless. I was terrified to think of what might happen when the darkness fell each night and I learned fast that 'a quick fuck' was small price to pay for warmth, a bed or even a simple cuddle. I would pay the price again and again in a desperate attempt to feel some worth, to glean some level of acceptance in the void of the every day. I was desperate on so many levels and I was aware how dangerously close to suicide I floated.

Press Play

If someone were to say to me right now,

'Claire, you're not human. Life as you knew it, has all been a lie. You are a Wolf. You are part of an elite species that exists alongside and above human beings and it is your duty in life to live as part of our pack and have sex with casual abandon'...

Now if I heard that today then I would probably need clean underwear for all the laughter. Back then though, with my mind muddled by a cocktail of drugs and living in a constant state of desire for emotional comfort - I listened intently to Gypsy's words and wondered how much of them had truth. Andy sat with me and squeezed my hand tight as she spoke to us. He seemed unphased by the revelation and nodded as Gypsy assigned him as a Protector to me.

Protector. I liked the sound of that word.

'Wow' I said in response. Then for want of anything better to say. 'Fucking hell!'
'You've always been part of our family.' Said Gypsy. 'I've been looking after you for a long while. Remember many years ago, the house on the hill in Longwell Green? The one with the painted concrete boulders out the front. The one at the end of your road. I was there, looking out for you, checking that they took care of you properly.' Something clicked in my brain. I remembered the house. Squatters had taken over a mansion at the end of my parents street back in the very early 80's. The locals had been up in arms at the dirty travelers that brought filth and drugs to the quiet community and violated this beautiful home. It seemed impossible to believe what Gypsy was saying to me, but how did she know of my home and my father?
Nick finished working on his bike and came and sat with us on the bed, unwrapping the fur throw from Gypsy's shoulders, he snuggled up besides her.
'Welcome to the mad house Shebari.' He leaned over and kissed Gypsy, then looked back at Andy and me 'Isn't it time you two kids got off to bed. Gips and I need to catch some shut eye.'

Andy and I left happy and holding hands. The site was dark and mostly quiet, just the faint sound of a radio playing quietly in someones home and the bark of a dog in the distance. I felt more grounded out here, as if the sharpness of the air had dwindled Gypsy's magic. I tried to leave behind Gypsy's words and instead worried about where Andy and I would sleep tonight. I asked Andy where we were heading, after all, Old John had not left for Northampton yet.

'Follow me.' Andy whispered quietly. We walked around the glowing, sparking ashes of the fire and headed downwards, to the front of the site. Andy stopped by a big bender with a heavily smoking chimney. He called out 'It's Andy, can I come in?' I recognised this place as Blackum's. The tarp was suddenly pulled sharply back allowing a glimpse of the inside. This bender was more homely than the others, a woman's touch noticeable in the shelving and decoration.

Little pig, little pig, let us come in

Blackum smiled, 'Sure you can.'

Inside the bender, Andy positioned me on a rug in front of the wood burner and headed to the back to talk to Blackum who was sat on the bed. I caught most of what they said. Blackum was to put me up for the night. Andy would pay him with drugs. Andy was leaving now. I looked up at Andy with confusion as he went towards the door. 'Sleep here. Blackum's family to us. You'll be safe here Claire. I'll come and get you tomorrow morning. Ok?'
Blackum threw a pile of blankets down beside me.
'Ok.' I said to Andy, then I watched him leave 'Should I sleep here on the rug?' I asked Blackum.
'If you like. I'll throw you a pillow.' And he did 'Do you mind if I blow the candle out? I'm tired.'
'No, that's fine. I'm tired too' The fire left enough light for me to get comfortable and then I lay there wishing sleep would come. It didn't. I hated lying there alone. I wondered for the first time in a long time what my sister might be doing. I longed for a clean bed and the smell of soapy detergent on my sheets, for the little things that marked a life as normal. I longed for more than this.
'Blackum, can I sleep up there with you? I don't like it down here.' I wanted to be back with Andy, maybe back with Gypsy and Nick, perhaps back even further, back in Robert's arms.
'Nicky wouldn't like it.' Blackum mumbled.
I pushed my covers aside and crawled over to the side of the bed where I knelt sobbing on my knees, 'Please?'
'Oh for fuck's sake. I'm going to kill Andy for this. Get in.' And he lifted the covers, moving aside to make room in the bed. 'No sex though. I need to bloody sleep.'
'No sex.' I whispered back in agreement cuddling into the back which he promptly turned to me.

We lay there like that for about an hour. Neither of us any closer to sleep, but me much happier now I had a body to lie beside for comfort, I thought perhaps I would never get used to the loneliness I felt. Some days the loneliness consumed me.

I lay my arm over Blackum's side, rested a hand gently between his legs.

Blackum spoke first. 'I'm a good fucking man ya know. This doesn't mean anything. I love Nicky, always will.' And he slid his hand up my skirt and kissed me.

I felt sorry for Blackum in the morning. He looked sad and that made me sad too. I left him there in bed, unwilling to look at his guilt any longer.
Polly joined me by the fire. 'You still here young lady?'
'Where else would I go?' I laughed.
'I don't know. Where did you come from?' She had a calm and matter of fact tone to her voice.
'I came from there' I said. Pointing a shameful finger at Blackum's bender.
'Ahhhhhh,' Said Polly 'You'd better come with me.'

Polly's bender stood just beside the main fire, it was a small round dome with just enough room for a single mattress, a chest and a wood burner. The sides of her bender were tied up on the frame leaving a gap of about a foot around the base, 'To let it breathe' She pointed out when she saw me staring. 'A home needs to breathe.' Polly sat on the bed with me and looked intently in my eyes, 'How's Gypsy?'
'Oh fuck!' I held my head at the insanity of it all 'She's fucking crazy. She thinks she's a wolf you know.' I laughed at the memory of last night.
'That's right.' Said Polly quietly, 'Her, me, you. All wolves. Does that bother you?'
There was something in that sentence. Something that happened when Polly spoke those words. It all became glassy clear. Gypsy was speaking the truth, I had always felt different and now I knew why. I was different.
'What of Blackum?' Asked Polly 'It's not like him to fuck around on his woman.'
'Maybe I made him.' I answered. Looking at her with a streak of defiance in my eyes.
'Maybe,' said Polly smiling 'Maybe you didn't.' She threw me a package wrapped in brown paper, 'You can cook the sausages.'
'But I don't eat meat Polly.'
'Yes you do.' She said.

The meat and bread sat heavy in my guts after so long without. I felt like I was evolving completely, nothing about me felt the same as yesterday. Chillums smoked with Polly and Old John after the food pushed me up so high I was carried by Angels to bed. There was whispering. Someone mentioned the words 'white death' and wiped the sick from my mouth and clothes. I was so out of it that I had no clue where I was laying. Guilt was the first thing that came back to me. Guilt as I remembered the flatness in Blackum's muddy eyes that morning. I had never felt such regret for someone else before. They must all hate me now. I was sure of that. I was the girl that came to this site, to these homes and prayed on their men like a desperate Lolita.

I even felt sorry for Ian.

I was in a terrible state by the time Andy returned to me.
He listened to my fears and embraced me 'You're just paranoid. It's the drugs talking. Just calm down and I'll get you something to help.' He lit me a cigarette and placed it in my quivering mouth. I realised for the first time that I was in Gypsy's bed. I heard her voice over my shoulder but couldn't understand her words. Moments later I felt the roughness of her scarred hand on my forehead.
'I'm going to give you a Valium. Take it and get some more sleep. You'll wake up in a bit and feel much better. Andy will stay with you and make sure that you're ok.'

Soon enough sleep found me. I remember nothing until evening time, when I finally stirred proper from the coma that they gifted me.
'Andy?' I shook him awake.
He stretched the sleep from his bones 'You feeling better girl?'
I gave him the biggest hug then sprung up to my hands and knees and bounced on the mattress beside him.
'I feel great.'
'Hey lie down and check out the new mirror!'
I lay beside Andy and looked up at the canopy of the four poster bed. A huge mirror now hung between the posts.
'Cool! I feel like a queen lying in Gypsy's bed. I wish we could sleep here always. Imagine if this place was ours! I'd never get out of bed.'
'Yes you would.' Giggled Andy 'To make my dinner.'
'We make a very handsome couple. Sort of like Sid & Nancy, don't you think?' I smiled at the Andy in the mirror. 'Did they tell you about Blackum?'
'Blackum told me about Blackum. Don't let it bug you. It's not your sin, it's his.'
'I feel bad though. He didn't want to touch me, it was my fault, I made him.' Andy tilted my face away from the 'him' in the mirror to the 'him' beside me.
'That's not what Blackum says. He thinks you are a beautiful girl. He feels bad that he took advantage of you. Don't ever feel sorry for Blackum, I know that I bloody don't.'
I moved to kiss Andy but he turned his face away.
'Now you and I, we'll be friends for a long time I reckon.' He said. Again we stared at each other in the mirror and I worked a hand under the covers to his warm belly. He pushed my hand away, 'Friends. Not lovers. But good friends.'

My Protector.

'We need drugs!' I shouted. And the Andy in the mirror nodded in agreement.

I just knew it was going to be a good day after all!

Continued...

Wolves at my door...

2007-03-25T17:39:00.000-07:00

This place looked different in the light of day. My perception must have been warped last night indeed as my memory of the site was almost entirely back to front. I had thought that Gypsy's bender was to the right of the site, but it stood at the back on the far left, just beyond the fence line. A bell hung at the entrance and a painted sign 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here' was placed above the door. I rang the bell as it seemed like the polite thing to do, 'Gypsy - it's Claire.'
Silence, they were either out or sleeping. I sat for a while on a large stone nearby until I was aware of footsteps coming up the path towards me. It was Nick.
'Claire' he said 'I hope you slept well. Gypsy's gone to town.' Then he added with a cheeky smile 'You can light the fire and make me a tea if you like.' Nick was younger than I had thought last night, I asked him how old 'Nineteen' He'd said. He had to light the fire for me as my attempts resulted in little more than acrid smoke. With the flames now roaring he passed me a blackened kettle then fetched a box containing cups, sugar, coffee and tea. I did my best to make something passable as a hot drink.

Nick had shoulder length blond hair, a goatee beard and biker clothing. He seemed shy and awkward around me and I was curious, yet wary of him.
'You must feel like shit after last night.' He offered me a roll up, 'Keep that up and you'll fit in down here. Anyhow Shebari, Gypsy likes you and that will mean a lot to the others.'
'How long have you been with Gypsy?'
'Never you mind. Long enough to fuck me up though!' And he laughed raucously at his own joke. 'I won't be around for ever', he said, suddenly serious. 'I'm just hanging around to fix my bike and then I'll be off again. Gypsy will either come or stay. I'll never pin her down for long.'
'Nick, what does Shebari mean?'
'It means you're fresh meat down here sweetheart, potential new blood. I mean that in the nicest way of course.' I heard voices approaching, it was Gypsy and Andy, a young punk that hung around the bender site, one of Gypsy's young side kicks. He and I were soon to become the firmest of friends.
'You survived the night with Ian then?' Said Gypsy, with a look on her face like she knew more than I would like her to.
'Slept like a baby Gypsy Lee. Thought I'd come and see what you were up to this fine afternoon.' I looked her in the eyes and tested the water 'Nick has been entertaining me whilst I waited for you.' I wanted to see how possessive she was of her man.
She flicked a glance from him to me, 'You better have looked after her good Nick.' Nick's turn now, his eyes followed, from me to her, but he said nothing. Just nodded. She trusted him more than me, I could tell.
'Come inside.' She gestured at Andy and me. 'Nick, that wood needs chopping before you start work on the bike today.'
Once inside the bender, Gypsy lit some candles and busied herself cutting up speed once more. This time there was a heap of it on the mirror. I had never seen such a large amount of drugs before. She cooked some up in a spoon again and offered Andy a syringe of sticky white fluid. I didn't like to ask for some, but eventually she offered me a line and a tube.
'How come I don't get to inject?'
'Cause I don't want you fucked up like him.'
'I'm not a kid.' I protested.
'You're somebody's kid, remember that. It's a fool that forgets it's origins. Your Father would want me to look after you.'
I took the tube and snorted up the speed, shaking my head in surprise at the burning sensation. 'You don't know my Dad. So you can't say that'.
She ignored my comment. 'Hey, you wanna speak to Old John. He's going away to a festival for a few weeks. You could look after his bender. You and Andy. It's the one nearest mine, I could take care of you then.' Gypsy was becoming animated by the drugs. She moved around the bender with a fueled purpose, tidying and sorting. But always watching us.

I swear that woman had more than one set of eyes.

'How about it new friend?' Andy threw me a cigarette 'Fancy being house mates? I'll bet Old John says yes if you ask him!'
'Sure. I could use a place to stay for a week or two.'
'And you,' said Gypsy waving a finger in Andy's face, 'Keep your cock in your trousers. She's not a present I'm giving you.' I laughed at her outburst. 'Now fuck off, both of you. Go and earn some money or something. I ain't paying for all the drugs in this house.' Andy shuffled out first with me close behind him. I was just about to leave when I heard her speak again.
'And I do know your Father. His name's Ernest. Black hair, dark skin. Smokes the one's without filters.'
I froze at the correctness of her words. 'How do you know that?'
She laughed in response and shook her head as if to say 'I'm not telling'
The speed raced my heart 'Do you know my family?'
'Fifiki, I am family. Now go find Old John and go ask him about that festival'.

'Come on.' Called Andy from outside. I pushed my way through the tarpaulin door, momentarily fazed by the bright sun, I was aware of the silhouette of Nick chopping wood on the horizon and Andy's smiling face.
'Let's go make some money girl. Old John will need a few of the cold ones to warm him up to our suggestion.'
'Begging?'
'Unless you know a better way!' Andy started walking back to the site 'Watch out for the shit' he called, gesturing at a pile of excrement lying beside the fence. I followed excited. I liked that Gypsy was paying me so much attention. I was fucking freaked about some of the things that she was saying but I tried not to think too much about that, I sensed she would be a powerful friend but a dangerous enemy. Andy and I took the long way back to the town and we begged on the way.

'Spare a bit of change sir?'
'Could you help us out with some money for food Sir?'

The repetitive call of the desperate, now slid off my lips without shame.

By the time we got to the town we had enough for a beer each, so we sat down on the steps and chatted away whilst Andy rolled and knotted my hair into dredlocks.

I spotted Robert coming before he saw me. I laughed false laughter as if I had never had such fun in my life and I pretended that I hadn't seen him. I hated him for all he did to me. I hated him for loving Polly more.

But loved him so.

Had he seen us? It had only been days since our split but already I had forgotten the Claire of then and it seemed like years had passed since he held me tight and loved me true.

Two hours more of begging and we headed back to the bender site with enough money in our pockets for some vegetables to make soup, some rolling tobacco and twelve beers.
'We should make enough to buy some speed.' I suggested.
'What the fuck for?' Laughed Andy 'Gypsy's got a bloody mountain of the stuff and we're practically family after all.'
'But Gypsy said...'
'Don't worry about Gypsy. By the time we get back to site she'll be off her tits on speed and she won't even remember this morning.'
'She talks weird sometimes. She freaks me out a bit.'
'She thinks that you're like her daughter, that's why. I mean, she knows you're not her daughter, not really, but she still thinks it. She's fucked up' And he tapped the side of his head with an outstretched finger 'Up here. But she means well. Don't let her bother you any.'

Old John was sat outside his bender talking to a small group. He introduced everyone to me.
'Claire. This is Polly, an old friend of mine,' I flinched at the name but smiled at the lady with graying hair 'And this is Blackum, and Dean.' Blackum had the look of Jesus about him. Goatee beard, long straight hair and eyes like puddles of black coffee. He intrigued me to the point of flirting. Dean was another crusty punk. Dirty, tattooed, dressed in combat clothing.
'You all off to Northampton with John?' Probed Andy.
'I'm going' Answered Dean 'But Blackum's gotta stay to sort some shit out. How about you two?'
'Nah.' Andy elbowed me in the ribs gently.
'Hey John. If you're going away. Any chance that I could stay in your bender? I'm fucked for a place at the moment.' I offered John a beer from the bag, smiling hopefully.
'Don't see why not. You staying too?' He looked at Andy.
'I guess. If I'm not at Gypsy's.'
'Well wash the sheets if you get em dirty.' Said John jokingly. 'And don't burn the bloody place down.'
We signed the deal with a round of beers and then Polly helped me cut up the vegetables and prepare the soup. Polly was in her late forties. Graceful, slim and well spoken, she did not seem like the other travelers.
'I've got some chicken we can use too.' She offered.
I pulled a face, 'I don't eat meat. I'm vegan'.
'Wolves eat meat.' Was her rather strange response. 'But I can cook it separately for the men. I'll eat vegan with you this time.' She pinned a loose grey curl behind her ear with a pretty jeweled clip before gesturing to help her lift the heavy pot to the fire. 'You'll need meat to keep your strength up. Blood's part of woman's soul.' We all ate together around the fire as the sunset burnt red the sky above us. I listened once more to Old John's tales of traveling and learned that he and Polly had once been a couple, that Blackum had a wife called Nicky who was away at the moment and that Gypsy's burns were from a motorcycle accident, not a fire as I had thought.
'She skidded her bike. Came off and took the skin off her left side completely. She was just wearing a skirt and vest. Those aren't burns. They're grafts.' John told me.
We finished eating and the men cleaned the pots and plates whilst Polly and I lay back and counted stars.
'It's so beautiful down here.' I said to Polly. She reached out and grabbed my hand.
'Then stay.'

I figured I would. For a while at least.

Eventually, Andy and I headed over to Gypsy's bender. He thought that if we could get some speed inside us now, we would come down enough before it was time to sleep. It sounded like a good plan.

Gypsy was home and the fire was roaring. It seemed welcoming and cozy inside. Nick was pottering with his bike at the back and Gypsy was lying on the bed wrapped in furs. I thought that I would ask Gypsy if she could get me any Rohynol. I had liked my first taste of this drug and wanted more, but I immediately regretted mentioning this to Gypsy.
'Stay away from that shit. It's for fucking Junkies.' She looked angry. 'If anyone offers you any more of that crap, then you fucking tell me, you hear.'
I nodded.
'Nick, you go tell Old John that I won't have that shit on this site. I know it's him dishing it out. Old fool should know better. He's been thrown off more than one site for less.'

I had never heard anyone talk bad of Old John before. It surprised me. I couldn't comprehend why one drug was worse than another. It tasted of hypocrisy to me.
But this seemed like a good moment to ask 'Can we have some speed then?' And I watched as Gypsy cut and cooked her powder once more, then offered me a tube. I felt like a part of something as I choked back the bitter taste of white again.

Part of what, I didn't yet know , but part of something - for sure.

Continued...

Meeting the coincidence of cult...

2007-03-25T14:50:00.000-07:00

We climbed over the stile and I felt the cold dampness of Spring grass beneath my feet. Down here, where the street lights couldn't catch us, the stars and moon were the new focus to our waking dream.

They had to carry me piggy-back across the field as I became petrified at the thought of standing on a slug in my bare feet. Tabbitha was tiny, almost a foot shorter than me. She gave carrying me a good try though, despite us toppling over more than once. We sang Janis Joplin sangs at the top of our voices. The forest heard us coming, that's for sure.

"Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town?
I’m counting on you, Lord, please don’t let me down.
Prove that you love me and buy the next round,
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town ?"

The path into the woods was narrow and flanked by brambles and nettles. There was much laughter as I tried to hold my legs and feet clear of the dangers. It was so dark down here. Black as the devil's pupils to a girl in the midst of a colourful trip. I heard the site before I saw it. A blend of music, instruments and voices now told me that we were really close. I will never forget to this day my first view of this place. This paradise was nothing like the cold and solitary frame that Ian had took me too. I had never seen such beauty in my life. A huge bonfire burnt at the centre of this hippy Utopia. It was surrounded by travelers that sang with voices of angels and that ate food from God's own pantry. It seemed everyone had a smile for me. Some already knew me - 'Claire, welcome to our world' and some didn't 'John, where did you find the Shebari?'. Candle lanterns hung in the trees illuminating the paths between the benders and teepee's, puppies and dogs frolicked playfully around the feet of their owners and sweet music - music poured from everywhere. Then there were the colours, 'Oh the colours'. Hair dyed every accent of the rainbow, bodies draped in a myriad of patterns and hues, tattoos, blankets, piercings and jewelery, everywhere my eyes fell was enchanting to my soul. John dropped me carefully near the fire on a cushion. 'Claire's on a wonderful trip my Pralas. I want everyone to look after her and treat her well.' A chillum was passed to me by a smiling lady whose face was unfamiliar to me.
'Light, inhale, hold. Bon Shiva my friend.' She said. I did as she instructed then sat there for a while watching the raw beauty of the flames. The woman stared at me often during my time by the fire, I was too happy and drugged though to feel discomfort at this.

I started to feel very tired now.
The pill must have started to overtake the amphetamines as all I wanted to do was was curl up tight in paradise and sleep with my new found friends. Tabbitha shook me back to this place.
'Come Claire, wake up. Gypsy wants to meet you. I'll take you there.'
I was pulled passively to standing and held upright by Tabbitha and a man who I didn't know. We passed between two benders, smoke streaming from the chimneys, and climbed a small fence at the back of the site. This bender, looming in front of us was not like the others.
'Yo, Gypsy.' Called out the unknown male 'I'm here with the girls.' He pulled aside the tarpaulin and entered. This bender was so big that you could enter it standing. There was a corridor of sorts, then a doorway into the main room where Gypsy sat.
'Oh - my - God.' I was quite taken aback by this place 'It's beautiful'. I realised that Gypsy was the woman from the fire. The one that stared.
'What's your name Shebari?' As she turned to me this time I saw that much of her face was burnt and scarred.
'My name's Claire, Gypsy queen.' I smiled 'I'm Tabbitha's friend.' I could not stop staring around this room. A four poster bed stood in the middle, supporting the massive frame and a huge fire burnt at the back next to a Harley Davidson bike. It reminded me of a medieval castle with it's ornate hangings and candelabras. True magic was found here, of that I was sure.
'Well, Claire, I'm Gypsy Lee and that's my man, Nick. We are the reason that you are here.' She reached out and grabbed my hand affectionately 'Only you don't know it yet. But that's ok. Sit down. I have some speed for you and Tabbitha. You look sleepy Shebari.' I realised that her hand and arm were badly scarred too. I watched as Gypsy pulled out a mirror and cut lines of speed with a small knife. By now, my body did not know whether to run, fly or sleep, but I felt that I would not be able to say 'no' to this particular lady. She was Romany through and through form her accent to her attitude. She wore big leather bike boots, a leather waistcoat and a very short skirt. Her hair was cropped short and bleached white with a purple fringe and she had a confidence about her that I had never seen before. I saw her pull a spoon from the bedside table and scrape two of the lines of speed into its silver curve. When she turned to face me next she had a syringe held between her teeth. I had never seen anyone inject before and it fascinated me. Maybe it was the acid, maybe it was this strange and curious lady, or maybe it was something more. As she finished a small trickle of scarlet ran from her hand and spilled onto the animal skin rug on the floor. I fell to my knees to watch, saw another drop fall.
'What's she doing?' Asked Nick.
'Learning.' Said Gypsy 'She's been away for so long that she has forgotten all there is to know.' And she patted my head with her non-bloodied hand.
'Can I try that?' I asked, gesturing towards the syringe on the table.
'Not yet old friend. Your day will come. Tabbitha, you'll look after my She'enedra won't you?' Tabbitha took the tube and snorted a line.
'She can sleep in with us tonight Gypsy. Unless you need her here of course?'
Gypsy laughed the cackle of a woman that smoked too much tobacco 'Not tonight Tabbs. I think for Fifika, tomorrow will be a better time.' I took my line of speed and chattered away until the Rohypnol finally won the war and sank me back into subservient sleep.

The next thing that I was aware of was being carried by two men, out of the bender, out into the cold of the early morning. I heard Tabbitha's voice too, but seemed unable to open my eyes. I must have passed out again for I have no memory of my arrival to this next place.

Ian's Place.

I slept nearest the bender wall, with Tabbitha between myself and Ian. I was worried about my rats, I wondered where they were. My emotions still too muted by the drugs to worry about my companions. I awoke to the hushed voices of Tabbitha and Ian talking outside. They were saying goodbye. Tabbitha had to go to work. I pretended to still be asleep when Ian came back inside. There was that smell again, the smell of must and patchouli. I felt a hand work its way under the blankets and between my legs. 'Fuck off Ian' I turned to face him. 'I'm not going to fuck you today.'
'Shut up. Course you are.' His hand moved again so I kicked out at his arm 'I said no Ian.' And with that I left his place, never to return again. I felt liberated, but also like shit as I walked back to the main site. I was so thirsty I would have killed for a drink and my head throbbed with the acid memory of the night before. I wanted to see Gypsy again. See if the magic had been in the drugs or in her veins. I was soon to have my very perception of being, smashed and warped by this woman. Things were on the change again.

Continued...

Cocktails with the Gentry...

2007-03-16T12:07:00.000-07:00

Robert found me just as the sun was finding a place in the sky. Curled up in the empty space where the box once was, shaking with fear and cold. He hugged me and placed his coat around my legs for warmth. 'I was so worried about you. We looked around for hours last night.' He bent over and kissed my hair. 'Blimey girl, you stink of beer, we need to get you washed up, come back with me.'
I can't recall a single step of that journey up the hill. My next memory is of sitting in the bath at Pugs, with Robert washing my hair. There was so much unsaid in that room. Robert helped me out, sat me on the toilet, eyed the blood and passed me a tampon from the box on the shelf. For a moment I felt like dying. He dried me off and pulled a jumper over my head, then took me to our room. I slept fitfully for the next few hours. Every time I woke I had the devastation of remembering the day before. When I finally turned back to face Robert I saw him staring at me.
'I've got to go Claire.'
I smiled and stroked his face. 'OK' Was the best I could muster.
'Claire. You know I'm not coming back. You know I'm leaving, don't you. You'll be alright. You always are.' I heard someone shuffling about in the hallway. 'Happy Birthday Claire.'

That day I turned seventeen years old. As I turned my head away from the door, I placed my hands over my ears, as if not hearing him leave could prevent it happening. I hummed a quiet song again. The last bastion of my sanity had just fallen to the wayside. There was nothing now that he had gone.

The doorbell went. It might have been just as Robert left, it might have been hours later, who knows. It was two men wearing serious faces and serious black suits.
'Hello Love. Pack your stuff and get the fuck out.' I went to push the door shut but a well placed foot prevented me. The taller man spoke again 'I said - get the fuck out, didn't you hear me? This isn't your flat and the nutcase that owns it isn't in a position to pick his house guests. You've got ten minutes. Then we come in and take you out.' As he said the words 'Take you out' he flexed his fist.

Shit.

What was I going to do?

I lit a cigarette and grabbed a bag. Threw in it everything that I could fit, then I grabbed the rat's cage and headed back to the door.

'Pug will be mad at you for this.' I spat.
'Mark's always mad you dumb bitch. Now go.' I walked fast, looking behind me only once to see the men fitting new locks onto Pug's front door. I left the rats behind some bins at the top of town, then wandered down towards the Abbey. I think the thing that most tangibly demonstrates my state of mind at this point is that I hoped to find Ian and ask him if I could stay. I needed someone's arms around me and I cared not whose arm's they were. Comfort, however, came in a different form that day.

'Happy Birthday!' shouted Merlin waving a ten pound note 'Breakfast at the Central Cafe?'
'Merlin.' I smiled 'You're a life saver.' And I gave him a huge hug.

The Central Cafe was a squat in the basement of a building in the centre of town. The squatters sold extremely cheap hot and cold meals and provided a place to hang out and to socialise. I felt exhausted and confused, but I was grateful for this moment of friendship. We ordered two plates of vegetable lasagne and two cups of tea, then we took a table at the back of the cafe where a woman with pink hair played a flute in the corner.
'Robert left me Merlin.' I couldn't help but cry at the speaking of those words 'And some bastards came and kicked me out of Pugs. What the fuck am I going to do?'
'First,' said Merlin 'We'll eat. Then we will visit a magic glue tree. Then perhaps, we'll go to the Hat & Feather, where we will drink beer and rejoice our friendship. Then you will say to me 'Well done Merlin for scoring a job at The Hat' and 'Thank you merlin for letting me stay in your new room tonight despite the fact that there is every possibility that I could get laid by someone else.'.' My eyes widened.
'You've got a job in the Hat & Feather?'
'Darn tooting I have, I'm the new cellar boy. Room comes with the job. I'll sneak you in and call in sick for tonight. We'll spend the evening tucked up in bed watching old films and eating crisps. Marvelous idea for a birthday celebration.'
Marvelous indeed.
Merlin was a well known character around the streets of Bath. He was thirty years old and the 'Peter Pan of punk'. Merlin had absolutely no intention of ever growing up and for this I loved him. The child in me had died so long ago that I adored to be around the child in him. After a good feed and some idle chatter we strolled down the London Road towards the pub.

Merlin stopped suddenly.

He bent forward and began sniffing at a large pot planted with a small tree. He then started digging in the soil with his hands. 'It's the magic glue tree!' he cried, then returned to his digging. Suddenly he pulled out a small red metal pot shrieking 'Eureka!' And he held aloft the tin of Evostick glue for all to see. I had to laugh. Only Merlin would have pots of glue stashed in pot plants around the town.
It felt so good to be climbing the stairway of the pub. I followed Merlin into a tiny room containing a bed, a TV and video, a fridge and some old bags of clothes. The room was decorated with posters of punk bands and smelt of old socks and men, despite the fact that Merlin had only lived there a couple of days. Today, it smelt like a home. I threw my bag down in the corner and myself on his bed.
'Merlin. It's a bloody palace!' He opened the fridge and passed me a beer.
'Get yer laughing gear around that one. I'm going to run a bath and have a shave. Make yourself at home Bubs.'

Home. A tenuous word.

I turned on the TV and put my feet up on the bed. With Merlin gone I thought of Robert once more. I wondered if he was happy. Was he lying in Polly's arms? Was he getting drunk with Nick? It made me sick to think of him. Merlin returned smelling of lavender soap and with a freshly shaved Mohican, dyed pillar box red. He was totally naked, which I ignored, and he played the guitar for me sitting cross legged on the battered old carpet. He made me laugh, making up silly songs about me, him and the people we knew. We drank more beers and cuddled in the bed. At lunchtime, as promised, he raided the pub's crisp stash and we waited for the afternoon matinée to start, snacking on salt & vinegar and smokey bacon treats. At one point he looked at me with an amorous glint in his eye.
'Fancy having birthday sex?'
I looked at him with more truth than I had ever mustered. 'I've just about had all the fucking that I can take, Merlin. I'd rather not.' I had never said no to a man before.

There was more sleeping that afternoon. More sleep, some drugs, lot's of beer and innocent cuddles. He was my King. I remember him fond and dear for all he offered me and for all he left me with on this tainted birthday.

Monday.

The next day started with a spliff and a new hairstyle. I raided Merlins shelves and found a pot of Alpine green hair dye. With some scissors I hacked off the sides of my hair, then I got Merlin to shave it into a Mohican and spike it for me. We stood there grinning in the mirror at each other, 'Like Twins' I laughed.

My plan for the day was to beg some money and to get very drunk. 'Always nice to have an ambition', I thought. I found begging much harder with my new look though. People seemed intimidated by me and no longer saw me as quaint and pitiable. Eventually I made enough money for some bright pink footless fishnets, twenty Benson & Hedges and a visit to the pub. Any pub would do. The question of which pub was answered when I bumped into Old John and the Spaceman at the newsagents. They were off to The Beehive. Would I like to join them for a round or two?
'Most definitely I would kind Sirs.' And I looped an arm through each of their's for the journey down The Belvedere Road.

Old John was a traveler from the bender site. Tall and slim he wore a patterned waistcoat and big boots. His wiry, grey hair danced unmanageably around a weather worn face. I liked John. He was an honest man of simple tastes. The spaceman was so called because he was mentally fucked up after taking too much acid in the 60's and 70's. He had gotten so high that he had never quite come back down to earth. He was plump and unhealthy looking, red of complexion and with a peculiar sheen to his skin. I noted that he had the same silver moon boots as Pug.
At the pub we were joined by Tabbitha, a plump and shy girl of about nineteen. She lived with her mother in a council house down in Bath Easton, and was often to be seen hanging out with the travelers around the town. I ordered the first four glasses of cloudy cider and we all sat down to smoke cherry flavoured pipe tobacco and tell a yarn or two. I liked listening to Old John's stories. He had seen the world and then some and picked up a few good tales on the way. Old John bought the second round and he popped a special treat into each of our hands to wash down with the scrumpy. Two tiny black flecks were stuck inside a piece of sticky tape, nestled in the palm of my hand. 'Black Micro Dots' he told me 'Good acid that'. I took the micro dots and chewed on them as instructed. It seemed only minutes later that something else was pressed into my hand.
'Speed' said Old John 'A gram for you and Tabbitha to share. Let's see if that doesn't put a smile on your face.' Tabbitha tugged on my arm and gestured at the toilet, so I followed her there and squeezed into the tiny cubicle to examine the gift. It was a fold of paper, about one centimeter by two centimeters, and inside was a small mound of white crystallized powder. I watched interested as Tabbitha rolled up a bank note and used a beer mat to chop the speed and shape it into four lines. 'Two each' she smiled and offered me the tube.
'You first.' I replied nervously. Watching every move she made, I drank the whole thing in. I didn't want to look an inexperienced fool. When my turn came, the speed tasted bitter sweet as it hit the back of my throat. My nose burned and my nerves were on edge. I wondered if this would be like the acid, if I would have ages to wait before I felt the effects come on. We returned to the bar and settled back to our drinks and the laughing men. The conversation continued and we giggled and drank as the drugs began to take hold. First the speed made my heart race and my mouth feel funny. I chewed endlessly on the skin inside my cheek and talked and talked and talked like I had never talked before. My two rats popped out of my coat and ran around the table merrily, glad to be free of that stupid cage for a time. I felt a hand in mine again.
'Rohypnol.' Said Old John slipping a third thing into my hand. 'You save that one for tomorrow. When you feel like shit, it makes that shit smell of roses!'
'True. Shit smells like roses when the Pinks are in town.' Said the Spaceman. Offering up some conversation for the first time since our arrival at the pub. As soon as Old John loked the other way I popped the little purple pill into my mouth and swallowed it down. Why wait? It sounded like just the thing to help me forget and I was having so much fun today. Our laughter became raucous and insane as the acid muddled our brains. I remember the fire looking like the most beautiful jewels that I had ever seen and that the eyes of my companions glinted and shone with the flickering light in a most enchanting way. Everything about that afternoon was perfect. Outside the pub, when we eventually giggled too much to stay, we amused ourselves with the beauty of the spring flowers and the dusty glamour of the old black stage coach that sat in an antique shop window. It was like magic ran through our veins and each and every thing my eyes fell upon verged true perfection that day.
'I never want this to end!' I cried hugging John, Tabbitha and the Spaceman in turn.
'Then come back with us.' Laughed Old John 'Come back to the site. There's plenty of drugs and plenty of beds to be found there.'
I held Tabbitha's hand 'Are you coming Miss Tabbitha?'
'Of course I am. My boyfriend, Ian, lives down there. You can stay the night with us if you like. I'm sure that he won't mind'
'Not Welsh Ian?' I burst. Wide eyed and curious at her words.
'Do you know him?' She asked.

I wondered if I did.

Continued...

The Hat & Feather Pub

Rehearsal...

2007-03-13T13:25:00.000-07:00

'I'm off out. Catch you later.' I called, slamming the door quickly before anyone questioned where. It was a short walk down the hill to the town centre and it was already bustling with people, eager and ready for whatever the evening would bring.

I was ready.

I met Liam, a 17 year old traveler and Ian sitting on the steps near the Roman Baths.
'It's the fucking freak.' Shouted Ian 'Hey, freak, wash that stupid paint off your face. You'd be prettier without it.'
' Buy me a beer Ian and I'll wash my face.'
'Where's that weirdo boyfriend of yours? Can't he buy you a beer? I know it's his fucking Giro day.'
'I'll buy you a beer Claire.' Offered Liam. An offer too good to refuse?

I didn't know much about Liam. He was Irish and from one of the big traveler families that worked the fairgrounds. He wore dirty army combats and his hair bleached blond, was shaved into a wide Mohawk. We walked to the off-license together.

'You shouldn't let Ian talk to you like that. He's a tosser when he's drunk.' Liam smiled at me with a gappy grin as he paid for the beers. 'Why don't we go down the weir. Fuck Ian. I'll buy you a drink in The Boater. They won't serve us if Ian comes anyhow.'
'Alright' I said. And I felt closer to wherever it was I was heading as the word left my lips.
I took the can that Liam offered and cracked it open, lighting a cigarette for each of us from the box in my pocket.
'Hey, do you still live in that car park?'
'No. I've got a place at the top of town now. Live with some mad bloke called Pug.' I wasn't sure that Liam was going to be the right person for today. He seemed too nice. 'Robert lives there too.' I said as an afterthought.
'You're fucking crazy you are. When you said that you lived in a carpark, I thought you meant that you lived in a converted garage or something. Ian took me down to your box once when you weren't there. What the fuck were you living down there for! You should have come down the traveler site, I'd have looked after you.'
I threw my arms around his neck, 'Awww, thanks Liam. But I'm a big girl, I can look after myself you know.' Liam went to kiss me, but I laughed and pulled him by the hand down the stone steps of Pulteney Bridge. The rush of water from the weir was percussion to the music blaring from the pub and the lights of the canal boats danced along in appreciation, reminding me of happier days. The Boater garden was nearly empty and we picked a bench with a view of the river, hiding our private stash of beer under the table.
'Here's a fiver. Get a couple of Gold Labels beautiful.' Liam passed me the note. I pushed my way up the crowded stairway of the pub, nodding to the many people I knew, people that had coloured my life. Merlin was there, smelling of glue and snogging some middle aged hippy chick. The young Goths that had once been my peer group, long before I left their world and propelled myself to this one, each of them waved hello and smiled to see me. Sarah was there too, sat with the Goths. We had once worked at the same riding stables and had gone to the same school.

At least I think we had. The girl I was seemed so different to the girl in this bar.

I purchased the drinks and made my way back to the garden, flirting with some bikers on the way. Liam and I were halfway through our second drinks when Ian appeared.
'What the fuck happened to you two losers? And you...' he threw me a glare 'Bertie fucking Bassett is in town looking for you. He looks pissed with you too.'
'Fuck off Ian. Aren't you banned from here anyhow?'
'You shagged her yet Liam?' Liam pulled a face of distaste
'I have.' Ian continued 'She fucking loved it too. Didn't you girl?'
Liam stood up and pushed a hand into Ian's chest shouting 'Get out of here. Just leave her alone.'
I looked up at the two of them. At Ian with the laughter on his lips and at Liam with the fury in his eyes but all I saw was Robert and Polly and hatred.

I smiled at Ian.

Ian pushed Liam away to one side and held out a hand to me.
'I'm off. Coming with me?' He knew you see. He had always seen it in my eyes and he had waited for today because he always knew that it would come. I took his hand and off we ran laughing through the tunnel.

I didn't laugh for long. By the time that we reached the lane that cut through to the field I wanted to be back in Robert's arms, safe and warm and familiar was not going to be found at the end of this path. I found enough strength to speak an excuse.
'Shit, Ian, I'm supposed to be in town. I forgot, I am meeting up with Merlin.' I hoped the mention of Merlin, someone that Ian liked would save me from this fate.
'Merlin won't mind.' Retorted Ian, holding out a hand again, this time to help pull me over the stile.
'No, I really should go. I can catch up with you tomorrow. I'll buy you a beer.'
Ian pulled me roughly down to the other side where I fell into the damp, dewy grass on my hands and knees.
'Come back to the bender for a joint then I'll walk you back to Merlin's afterwards.'
I could feel myself starting to cry. Ian wiped away a tear with the cuff of his sleeve 'Sit down girl.' He took off his shirt and poured some of the beer from his can onto the fabric, than he proceeded to wipe my face clean from the makeup I was wearing. I was still crying helplessly. 'See, I was right.' he smiled 'You look much prettier without that shit on your face.' And with a finger under my chin he tilted my face up to look at his.
I found my words again 'I better go now Ian.' and I waited for permission but instead I was pulled up to standing and onwards through the field. By the time we reached the canal I was shaking with fear and sobbing loudly. I hoped desperately that Robert would appear from the bushes and save me. My bare feet hurt as I was dragged over the stoney ground, further into the darkness and then down deeper into the woods. My sobs became silent and my wrist hurt where Ian held me firm. His words were nice enough, mostly he spoke of the everyday, sometimes he spoke with frustration, but never did he let on as to what his intentions were with any more than the grip on my arm and an angry flash of his eyes. I had never been to a Bender Site before. This site was set aside from the main camp, I had heard rumors. Patch, Andy and Ian were not permitted to live with the other's but people were too scared of Andy to say why. There was only one bender here. An intricately woven dome of willow branches, shielded from the weather by tarpaulins on the outside and wrapped for warmth and decoration by brightly coloured cloths within. The bender had two rooms. The main room contained a bed, a wood burner, a food locker and a chest and the front room, from which you entered, stored the rest of their possessions and a pile of boots. It smelt heavily of cannabis. You had to crawl to enter the bender. Ian went first, feeling around for a torch in the entranceway he flicked it on illuminating this colourful little cave.
'Come on in.' He called.
I could have ran away. Fled to the darkness of the woods whilst he searched for the torch. I could have.

But I didn't.

Instead I hummed. Sang my little song, bent down on my hands and knees and crawled into the deep unknown. Ian lit candles and a fire whilst I sat on the mattress and snuggled in the blankets that smelt strongly of must and patchouli.
'There, that's better!' He said with a comforting smile. The fire flared, turning this filthy, cold hole into a place of colour, magic and safety inside my head. I still hummed.

SILENCE...

Just breathing and grunting and sometimes me humming to break the silence for the longest time. Until he broke it all with the words 'Now fuck off. Patch is due back any time soon.' So I pulled out the screwdriver, dressed and crawled back into the woods.

If I could have crashed through time and left that wood. If I could have jumped forward twelve years to the new millennium, to September, sharp and cold - I would have seen to what extent this day was a rehearsal of things that would come to pass. 9/17/2000. I will be taken from the Easy Internet Cafe in the West End of London at around four o'clock in the morning. I will be led by the hand once more, to a place that is built on the inevitable. This time the hand would be a much more sinister one. This hand would belong to Kam.

Closer...

Bender photos and build instructions
Pulteney Bridge The Boater pub was up behind the tree on the right and The Cactus Club was under the arch at the base of the bridge tower
Some things never change!

Continued...

Black & Decker

2007-03-12T20:45:00.000-07:00

Pug's place was a change indeed. High ceilings, open fireplaces, cornices and picture rails, I felt like I was living in a stately palace. There were only two main rooms, Pug's and the one he let us move into, then a bathroom, a small kitchen and the hall completed the flat. Our room was empty but we brought the mattress from the box with us, which made me feel strangely better at leaving my home.

Pug was in fact clinically mad. He had been released back into the community after the government downsized the institutionalized population in the eighties. His parents had given him the flat to live in and he coped as well as your average insane perosn would given the same set of circumstances. Most of his friends were also mad. It would be delving deep indeed to tell you how mad but seeing as most of my friends were pretty crazy too I guess I shouldn't judge. It is estimated that as much as half of the 400,000 homeless population of England suffer from severe mental illness. Pug, I guess, was the lucky one, he at least had a place to live.

I did my best to make this space mine. I painted a giant monopoly board on one wall (I can't quite remember why but I think that it speaks of the child I still was) and I would cuddle with Robert on the mattress in the pretense of bliss. We would listen to music and experiment with make up on each other. This room felt impossibly big as we had so little stuff to fill it. Nick, the sandy haired boy from the cafe, started sleeping over. He would lie to his parents about his plans, then crash on the mattress with Robert and I after a night fueled by drinking and laughter. It felt like a family of sorts. I would stare at Robert for hours at night, often fighting sleep to watch him silently. I loved every line of his body and forgave him all his failings. There were failings too. Sometimes he would shout at me and send me to the streets to beg him money for cider. Once he drank aftershave as it was the only alcohol that he could source in the middle of the night when the shakes took over him. The only other pain that struck me at this time was when he talked of Polly.

Polly was Robert's ex partner and the mention of her always caused me suffering.

I had been at Pugs for about a week when we were woken by a knock on the door during the night. Robert went to answer it in only a t-shirt and I heard whispered voices in the hall. I crept towards the door to listen but couldn't make out much except that the other person was a woman.

Robert hurried back to the room and grabbed his jeans. 'Babe I got to go. Polly is having some problems. Her Mum says she needs to see me.'
'Don't go Bertie.' I pleaded. 'You can go tomorrow. We'll go together.' Robert threw me a pitiful look and grabbed his coat and cigarettes.
'I've got to go. Hey Nick, wake up. Look after Claire for me, I'll be back in a few hours.'

I threw myself at his feet, terrified of something, I didn't know what.

'Robert, please don't go.' I couldn't bear it 'Come back to bed with me.' But he was mentally out of that door before he even touched it. I didn't sleep after that and I jumped at every footstep in the street. Somehow I knew that this night would change everything.

Robert returned about 10:30 the next morning. I was in the bathroom dying Nick's hair and I pretended not to care.
'The forager returns.' Shouted Robert, holding up a four pack of beer and a packet of pills. 'Nick you look like a wanker with black hair.' And he threw Nick a can.
He walked over and kissed me on the neck. 'Aren't you going to ask me what happened?' I squeezed the last of the dye onto Nick's head and ignored the question. 'Oh well. Those beers are for you. Nick and I will go and pick up my Giro. We'll get some more drinks in, do a bit of shopping too. Merlin lent me a tenner so I'll catch up with him then I'll come back and give my baby a good seeing to'. Nick groaned.

When they left I went and knocked on the door to Pugs room. No answer but I heard music so I entered anyhow. Pug was sat on the bed with headphones on. He didn't need headphones as the music was coming out of the speakers but Pug liked to wear them anyhow.
'Hey Pug.' He looked up at me. 'What you up to?'
'Listening.' He answered. I stroked the head of the Buddha statue on his bedside table and breathed in the heavy scent of essential oils burning in the room.
'Pug. Do you know Polly?'
Pug took off the headphones and draped them on the Buddha. 'No. Who's Polly'
'She's Bertie's ex.'
'Is she pretty?' Pug put the headphones back on but turned the music off.
'I guess. Fat though. Bertie says that when we both have make-up on, we are both equally pretty. But that without make-up on, he says that I look much nicer.'
'Well she's fat Poppet so it doesn't really matter.'
'Bertie says I am perfect apart from my upper lip. He says it should be bigger, like Polly's. What do you think?' I jumped from the bed besides Pug and knelt on the floor to look in the mirror. I smiled at my reflection, then back at Pug. 'I might be fat soon anyhow.'
'Why's that Poppet?'
'I might be pregnant. Bertie doesn't know, but I haven't had a period in weeks. 'Maybe Bertie will like it if I get fat like Polly.'
'You know that I wank on the tea towels. It's probably my baby.'
'Fuck off Pug.' I screamed, laughing at the same time 'I know you don't. Sometimes I think that you put on all this crazy shit. You want us to think you're mad'
'Nah, I don't put it on. I know it's stupid, but I just can't stop myself. If you are pregnant Poppet then you need to take better care of yourself. That wanker doesn't look after you right. You've always got beer and cigarettes, but you've never got any food. You're wasting away.' He started to roll a joint 'And I like your upper lip plenty, but you're definitely wasting away.'
'Who's that?' I pointed to a large bulge in the bed clothes next to Pug that appeared to be a man with a big bandage on his head.
'That's Nigel. He's mad.' Pug shook the bulge awake. 'Nigel, what do you think of Claire's upper lip?'
'Very nice.' Said the bulge with a yawn before going back to sleep.
'But he hasn't seen Polly. So her lip could still be nicer. And what's with his head.' I said pointing to the bandage.
'He drilled a hole. It helps him think.'
'How did he do that?'
'With my Black and Decker Electric. We tried a hand drill but he wasn't strong enough and I don't like the hand drill.'
'Are you telling me that you drilled a hole in his head?'
'Well somebody did. I can't remember if it was him or me.' Pug slapped his forehead hard with the flat of his hand.' Fuck. Sometimes I hate being crazy. I can't remember things properly.'
I jumped up, kissed Pug on the cheek and then climbed into the bed between them both. It was warm there.

We smoked joints and giggled whilst I waited for Robert and Nick. When they returned it felt like the whole dynamic in the house had changed. Pug and I had a secret but I had the weirdest feeling that so did Robert and Nick.

By evening time I knew that Robert had fucked Polly. He didn't tell me, I just knew. I tried not to think about it but it made me want to do something crazy. I could feel the pressure building in me once again. Just like on the day that I left my parent's home. Of one thing I could be certain. That I would do something before nightfall, it was just a matter of what I would find to do.

Continued...

Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

2007-02-04T16:49:00.001-08:00

I met Robert at the Cactus club. I had just turned sixteen.

The Cactus Club was effectively my 'local'. If you leave the Sport's Center by the riverside exit and wander down past the bobbing canal boats to the famous Pulteney Bridge; there, in the base of the bridge's foundations in the cool damp dark and slippery stone - that's where you'll find the entrance to the Cactus Club. And on this particular Saturday night that's where you'd have found me.

My night began in the public toilet of the Sports Centre. My hair was crimped and back combed, my elaborate black makeup was carefully applied and my outfit carefully adjusted - torn black fishnets, short skirt, a ripped black top and a studded dog collar. The club was dark and Gothic inside. The brick walls of the cellar bar pulsated with coloured light and gleamed with sticky moisture. I purchased a pint of Guinness and Black and sat alone on a bench at the back of the room. I already knew Robert by sight, I had seem him around the town, a guitar in one hand, a beer in the other. Face painted white and lips smudged red he reminded me of his namesake Mr Smith. He came up to me, swung his face low whilst hanging from the rail above my head and said,
'Hello'. A simple but perfect beginning.
I smiled and took a long slow draw on my cigarette.
'Robert.' He said, whilst holding out a black gloved hand and landing himself beside me.
'Claire' We shook on that and the look on his face made me smile again.
He could not take his eyes off me nor could I off him. We drank plenty and danced a little until the music faded and our audience dispersed.
''Your place or mine?' he had asked.
'I think perhaps yours, mines complicated.'
He had muttered something back which I thought could have been in Russian, then he took me by the hand and led me up the hill. We talked a little during the walk. He was staying with his Mum and sister Ursula. He was nineteen and between homes. His Mother let out the spare room to lodgers, but the current lodger was away and so we could sleep in that room. He told me to be quiet when we arrived as he would have to sneak me in. When we got to the house I waited in the garden whilst Robert checked if it was safe to go up. I liked him. I sensed that he was different on that very first night. I sensed that he was reckless like me. He led me by the hand again, this time giggling up the stairs and into an old-fashioned dusty room with a large bed. I felt safe in Robert's arms and enjoyed the comfort of the bed as much as the sex. In the morning when his Mum had left for work, he asked about my life and seemed unphased by the story of the girl that slept with cars and begged for food. That day we begged together, we ate pasties and crisps and drank cheap wine from the market. When darkness fell I took him by the hand and led him to my box and so began a new life with Robert. From the very beginning his strangeness fueled my actions. It felt like I was made for him, the crazy girl I was, had found her equal in this intellectual outcast. I would love him with deep intensity. I would also be broken by his words.

If people had thought me odd, then they now thought Robert odder. He moved into my world without pausing for breath, we stood apart from the rest of the homeless with our middle class airs and our educated words. I still danced with the travellers and sometimes when Robert was drunk he would dance by my side. Robert was often drunk. Within months I came to realise that Robert was always drunk. This was to be my first taste of real addiction. The money we made went on cigarettes and alcohol and some days we would buy strange travel sickness pills that made me throw up but kept Robert happy and I really wanted Robert to be happy. The travelers introduced me to Gees Linctus, a brown coloured cough medicine that contained tincture of opium. We would poor it into half finished cans of Special Brew, a syrupy extra strong lager, and drink away all knowledge of what we were. I knew little of the world of real drugs though and that innocence was soon to cause me trouble.
'What's that?' Robert asked as I thumbed the eight dirty patterned squares that lay in the palm of my hand.
'Acid. Old John asked me to get it off the Spaceman and look after it until tomorrow. What does it do?'
'Shall we take one? We can always beg some money tomorrow and get some more. John will never know.'
I looked down at the tiny pieces of blotting paper. What possible harm could they do? I handed one to Robert and popped one into my mouth.
'Do we swallow it?'
'I've swallowed mine' he laughed 'so I hope so'. And then we waited.
Thirty minutes passed and we sat on the mattress in the box anxiously waiting for something to happen.

Nothing. It was about 2am.

'Let's take more. See what happens.' I suggested. So we each took another two and decided to take a walk and see if we could beg some money for cigarettes.
We got to the centre of town and walked past the Abbey. Heavy raindrops started to thump the pavement around us and we scanned the streets looking for someone with money to help us out. Everything around us was bathed in eerie orange street light. It occurred to me that the streetlight wasn't usually so weird looking, I was sure that usually it was less, well less orange . Time seemed to have paused for breath, there was nothing but me, Robert, the rain and the orange light. We had just turned to head up the main street when I heard a noise behind us and as I looked back I could not believe my eyes.

There were fish.

Fish everywhere. Darting through the sea that the pavement had become and jumping high into the orange air where they caught the light and sparkled at my brain. I grabbed Robert's hand. Robert looked at me but suddenly seemed very scared. I was frightened now. 'What's with the fucking fish. What are the fish doing?'
'What's wrong with your skin?' He cried. I felt like screaming. Someone screamed but I wasn't sure if it was Robert or myself. I looked down at my arm and was horrified. I could see the skin falling off my limbs. Robert dropped his hand and pointed. 'Is that a fish?'
For me there were no fish now only strange shapes that terrified me. I took off through the city at full pelt, the orange light searing my thoughts in strobing flashes as I passed under each street lamp. I needed to get back to the box. The box was home. The box would make me safe. We huddled together on the mattress, our pupils dilated wider to let more horrors in. The heater in the box suddenly switched on and both Robert and I almost jumped out of our skins at the noise. I was still screaming when seconds later the lights in the car park clicked off and we were plunged into total darkness.

Nothing now.

Just fear and the hum of the box. I held Robert's hand and gripped it tight. We must have sat like that until morning, whispering to each other of the horrors inside our minds. The Daylight brought with it some courage and a muting of the colors and terrifying shapes. At that point. At that perfectly horrible point in time I could feel and taste the colors. I could hear shapes and see words. Every sense was mixed and morphed with another one. We had taken a huge overdose of very strong homemade acid and it would be days before my world settled to the soft tones of normality once again.

The sandy haired gothic that sat across the cafe table hung on our every word.
'So was it really mad taking LSD?' Nick was 14 years old and keen to learn.
'Fucking hell it was the scariest shit. I'm never taking that stuff again. Honestly, I could see dragons running around the town centre.'
'Looking at Claire was the scariest part.' Piped in Robert 'I was glad when the fucking car park lights went out. She looked like a mad witch with her spikey hair and smudged makeup. At one point she bloody jumped on me and tried to have sex. Fucking hell, it was like having a scary, beetley, witch spider try to fuck you. I threw her off and she started crying. I had to switch the box heater back on to drown her out.'
I laughed at his recollection. Felt so grown up talking about this new bad world of real drugs. Loved Robert even more with this experience we'd shared.
'Would you take it again?' Asked Nick.
Robert and I both looked at each other and answered in unison...'Fuck yeah!'

Filming continued with the BBC and I smiled for the cameras and felt happier and more complete than I ever had. I truly loved Robert and could imagine nothing but life with him. Some days were a little more blue than others but most of the time I was content with my lot. I had a mantra 'If you've got nothing in life, then you've got nothing to lose' and I tried not to care about anything, except for him. The traveler men left me alone now that I had Robert and I looked forward to my seventeenth birthday in just a matter of weeks. A year had almost passed on our time together when one day Robert returned to the box with a smile. He had some great news.
'I've just been in the Hat & Feather with Merlin and the Spaceman and I met this bloke 'Pug' who says that he has a spare room at his place where we can crash. Bloke's fucking crazy but he showed me his place and you won't believe it. He owns one of those huge Victorian places up near Royal Crescent. The room he says we can have is bigger than my Mother's whole fucking house! Babe - grab your rats - we're got somewhere to live!'
I had a few worries though. If we left the box then it would be taken over by someone else soon enough. The code of ethics that protected my right to sleep there would be ignored if I chose to go elsewhere. What if 'Pug's Place' didn't work out? I was scared to leave but scared to stay.

Pug, as it turns out was a slightly overweight, tall man with white blond hair. My first sighting of him at the Hat & Feather pub was delicious perfection. He was on top of a table dancing. He wore a white shirt backwards, white trousers and silver moon boots. His face was streaked with black war paint and he had a white pair of men's boxer shorts on his head.
I kissed Merlin on the cheek and watched this strange man dance.
'Meet your landlord.' Laughed Merlin. 'Pug adds new meaning to the phrase 'Care in the community'. He'll probably kill you tonight.'
'What the hell is in your hair Merlin?'
'Chrome. I tired to chrome my Mohican.' He waved a joint at me 'Fuck me babe, I need sex. I'm bored'
I laughed, 'Maybe tomorrow.' and Robert came back from the bar just in time to clout Merlin jokingly around the head.
'If you think Pug's mad, wait 'til you meet his best friend Nigel. Do you know why Pug's wearing his underwear like that?' Merlin took back the joint.
'Enlighten us.'
'Pug thinks it protects him from the Aliens. He wanks on his underwear. Thinks it provides protection from the little green men who try and steal his thoughts.'
'Is that why you chromed your head you dufus!'
'I'm telling you, Pug's weird. He wanks on everything.'
Robert smiled 'So Babe, should I pack my Porsche? Are we moving in?'

Continued...

On the box...

2006-10-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

"Before I begin, I wish to add that I am currently contacting the BBC Archives department to see if I can get hold of a copy of the documentary that they made of my time in the car park. I want to see it for so many reasons. But mostly I just want to remember as I have chose to forget so much. In the meanwhile I will try to recall as much of this time as possible."

There are graves in her garden
Tombs and pits of sulphur dreams
Sarcophagi and catacombs
of septic ulcered child wounds
There are graves in my garden

When you entered the sports center car park at night, it struck you as a quiet, dusty place. It was only as you rounded the corner that you would become aware of the low hum that the box emitted. The box was actually the back of a refrigeration unit. A cooling system for the beer cellar. It blew warm air through a vent into the car park. Warm air is a very exciting thing when you are homeless in a British winter.

The vent was a one metre square cube, its sides wooden, its front a wire grill, placed in a corner against the wall. The first time I saw it I reveled in its comfort. I curled ball like in front of it and worshiped all it had to offer. The next few days saw me build a home. I found two builder's boards and propped them up, one as a roof and one as a side, against an old chair. I hung a piece of fabric as the door (although later I would make one from wood) and I put an old mattress inside it. Within a month I had a home that I was proud of. It had a mirror, my rats in their cage at the back under the chair legs, a stereo, my clothes on a little rail on top of the chair and my Trivial Pursuit game. Tucked inside a slit on the underside of the mattress were the silver goblets that I had meant for my parents anniversary. My most important discovery though was that if I squeezed my fingers into the side of the grill there was a little switch that regulated the vents output. I could make the box hot or cold!

I had thought that Bath was absent of a homeless community. How wrong I was! They did not sleep down here, not in the town like I did, but there was a huge group of homeless travelers that slept in the nearby woods. I listened to their stories of music and friendship and I envied them their companions. When I told them that I lived in a car park, they would simply give a quizzical smile. I was an enigma yet again. Not like the dirty travelers who befriended me, but not like the polished people that passed me by each day. The days were often fun though. I would dance with the travelers and collect money as they played the violin and penny whistles, then i'd drink from gallon drums of scrumpy until the last of the travelers wandered out of the city to their forest homes. At night I would return to my box and play with the rats. Some nights I would pull the side of the box down flat so that people could see me and over the months many passers by became my friends. On Saturday I would play Trivial Pursuit with those that parked their cars nearby and drink home made wine from the local market. On Tuesday's I would buy French bread & Camembert cheese and eat it at the entrance to the shopping arcade. People got to know me for my strange behavior, but my madness got deeper when the night came in.

Sometimes in the evening we would all wander down to the Salvation Army shelter and get warm soup and toast. Sadly the shelter had no spaces for women to sleep as they had no female volunteers to work at night. When they kicked us out I would wander the streets looking for opportunities to drink or eat or talk and ponder on the irony of being gender-homeless.

There were bad nights in the box quite often. Twice my box got rammed by cars, people thought it funny to add to my pain. Once they lifted off the roof and pissed on me whilst I slept - I cannot describe the humiliation of that in words. Often they threw in rubbish or lit cigarettes. My mattress caught on fire several times but I survived all they threw at me. I tried my best to maintain my appearance, showering in the sports center each morning and applying my elaborate Gothic makeup before facing the world each day. I was determined not to lose my self respect but I wonder if I ever had respect to lose.

I'd also like to say a big 'Fuck you' to Ian and Andy (two of the young traveler men), who thought it funny to abuse the absolute of my fear and to take bets on who could 'fuck her first'. I doubt that Ian went on to win much in life so a big fat 'woohoo' to him for winning that one. How nice of him to get me bloodied inside and out, for the next day I was beaten to a pulp by his girlfriend whom he had told of his achievement. It's amazing how complete and utter loneliness leads you to being available to any warm body that will lie with you. One year later Ian dragged me screaming yet silent into the woods. I was close to suicide and desperate to feel life again. Even pain would be better than numbness so I had lain there sobbing whilst he penetrated me with a screw driver and made me feel again. I have spent many a moment trying to define at what point men become culpable in their sexual actions. When is it rape? When is it abuse? When is it ignorance and when is it purely opportunity? With Ian, the first time - when he had come to my box in the still of the night - that was abuse of opportunity. The second time, abuse verging on rape perhaps. 'No' can be expressed in so many ways. It doesn't have to be a verbal communication. When I finally bring myself to tell you of Kam, you can judge for yourself how utterly appalling the male of the species can be. Sometimes there is no blurring of the definitions. Sometimes rape is a whole and brutal being.

Amusingly, all my peers were jealous at my independence. I told them little of my fear and they complained to me of 'stupid rules' and 'boring parents'. I already felt old and weary.

One Sunday afternoon I was hanging around the box with several of my mates when I noticed some of the staff from the Salvation Army walking over, accompanied by a white haired man in a a smart grey suit. The suit stepped forward, 'Claire?' he asked.
'Depends who wants to know.'
'I'm Mike Dornan.' His voice was slick with pretentious concern 'I'm a director for the BBC.' I thought about this for a moment, then smiled.
'In that case Mike, I'm Claire. How can I help you?'
'We are doing a documentary on the different types of community that co-exist within the City of Bath. We would very much like you to be part of our project. To represent the young homeless of the city.' I laughed and shook my head. Merlin, my best friend at the time, came and stood by my side.
'Go on, why not say yes! It'll be fun. What will you pay her Mike?'
'What we are offering is a platform for you to voice what issues currently affect the homeless community. This is a one off opportunity. Financially we pay expenses. There are plenty that would jump at this chance, but you seem exactly what we are looking for. Young, pretty, not the usual face of homeless people. People need to see the reality of the children abandoned on our streets.'
I lit a cigarette and stared deeply at Mike, amused by his attempts to persuade me that his profits would be mine, in an emotional sense at least.
'We will buy your meals too!' Mike added, in a final gesture of deal sealing smarm.
'Ok Mike. I'll do it.' After all, what did I have to lose. 'When do you need me?' Mike produced a contract from his pocket.
'We could start in an hour if you want?'
'Why not!' I laughed. And I reveled in the fact that this would indeed piss my parents off more than any scheme I could have conjured. Their daughter, their shame, plastered all over national TV.

We began filming later that day.

Continued...

Clipping...

2006-10-18T17:01:00.000-07:00

I had changed.

Here I was just days after leaving Barry's house and if you had met me, you would have thought I had been born to live this life. I was surface hard, determined not to break and I had found some allies in my pain. I was in Bristol now. I left the City of Bath, the city that sleeps and I went to a much more seasoned town. In Bristol there were no shortage of people to spend the cold nights with, the homeless community was large and flourishing. Geoff and Steve, two boys that I had met in an underpass the day that I arrived there, took me under their wing and taught me much. I learnt to beg for money in the street, to steal food from shops and to find warm places to bed down for the night. Cardboard was my new best friend, it does much to keep the ice from your skin. I learned quickly and I was an excellent begger. My middle class accent and childlike smile made the business men reach deep in their pockets to heal my pain and maybe mute their guilt. I shared my earnings with the others and I forgot, just a little, about what I could have been. The money was never enough though. They drank it as fast as I could make it and they wanted more. Geoff had become a boyfriend of sorts. He had a pink Mohawk and a tattooed face. He might have been good looking once. He came to me one day and sat beside me. Glue bag, beer and cigarette to hand. 'If I were a girl.' he had said 'I would try Clipping. it makes more money than begging for sure.'

'What's clipping?' I had answered.

The boys waited outside the toilet whilst I washed and dressed. Steve had stolen make-up, Geoff had stolen clothes. I was to be a walking investment for their indulgences. I had forgotten how to say the word 'No'. This all seemed normal now to me and I was fueled by promises of easy work and easy money. Hair tied up & make up piled on, I enjoyed the feeling of shoes on my feet for the first time in a month. As I walked out Steve whistled.

'Oh God. I feel like a prostitute!'

'That's my girl.' laughed Geoff. They deposited me in a suitable place, left me there for bait and went to finalise the deal around the corner. Within minutes I had found the perfect man. Too nervous to haggle I had agreed to everything he asked. I took him, as directed to the house up on the hill and fumbled in my pocket for the keys that we had borrowed. I did everything as I'd been told. An actress in this world of theirs, I kept my cool and spoke my lines. He tried to touch me on the way upstairs but I told him where to go 'You get half an hour in the room. So keep your hands to yourself until we get there.'. At the top of the stairs I took his money, just moments before the violence rained upon him. He left that house with a broken nose and bloodied face,without his wallet and most definitely absent of any good memories of me. I was on a complete high. We had enough money to pay for using the house and to keep us fed and happy for days. A success! We drank the night away and fell satisfied to sleep on a hard squat floor, all three huddled together nice and safe for now.

I can't remember why we got so greedy or when it all began to fall apart. But I will always remember the day that they left me there. It had always been the same. It was different men and different houses, but it was always me as bait, then them, at the top of the stairs with baseball bats and willing smiles. Until today. It started out as normal. Just me and some pathetic soul. John's we used to call them, I felt nothing for their pain. But today, when I got to the top of the stairs and took the money, no one came. I said my line, as always 'You get half an hour in the room for that.' but then there was nothing. No violence, no salvation, no hapless loser leaving with guilt smeared red on his face and his confidence in tatters. Just me and him.

The money bought my fare back to Bath and it would pay for a night of drinking. I threw the stilettos in the bin and padded barefoot, honest once again. This city sleeps but not quite yet, I drank myself complete then left to find a bed. I had heard of a place that I could go here. Of a place that was warm and dry. That night I built the box and I would live there for at least a year. I had a home!

Continued...

The Photographer...

2006-10-18T16:49:00.000-07:00

I am awake now.

Not in the typical sense, but awake to my writing, to this process that I have now begun. I have so much to say that I am finding it hard to structure. I feel like I could burst. And one day, if I ever get to trust in you - in the eyes i'll never meet and in the faces that i'll never know - I'll tell you of the end. Of Cam & Kam & Amsterdam, of being bought and sold, of the Wadhurst Social Club, where the International Hostess sang the loudest; of Betty Blue Day's and maybe bits of him; of broken limbs and battered souls. I'll tell you some of the laughter and all of the tears. But especially of 'Tender Red & Cigarettes', the breaking of my whole.

Before I tell you all there is to tell, before you get to judge me bare - I must tell you a little of why. Of what made me 'do' and 'be' and live this life. I was always thought of as an eccentric and intellectual teen. The girl who played the violin and excelled in all her classes. I was an artist and a Girl Guide who was teased for being 'posh' but I was an enigma too. They couldn't figure why I hated so. Why I came to classes with the smell of drink upon my breath. My friend Francis says that we all choose our destiny, it is in our hands from our very first breath. Because of that I will start by telling you of my first important 'choice' in life. On this day I was just fifteen.

It takes eggs to make an omelet...

When I arrived home from school my house felt wrong. It all felt terribly wrong. As I approached it from the lane I saw a curtain twitching in an upstairs bedroom. Someone was watching me I thought. Then I spotted the car, Dad's car, he should have been at work but his car was parked at home. I didn't even get to knock before the door was opened and I saw Dad standing there, a clip board in his hand and ropey veins bulging from his leather brown head. I cowered and he shouted, 'Sit down we need to talk young lady.' I did not sit because I could not sit. I was confused and uncertain of his words. What had he found?

'SIT FUCKING DOWN' I could not though, I was too scared. I could hear Mum sobbing in the distance from an upstairs room so I sobbed too. There was a list on the clipboard. A list of wrong doings, of mistakes, of truths. Dad read each point on the list with such venom that the spit frothed on his lips. After each point he asked me the same question. 'Will you live by my rules or will you leave this house?'

Choices.

He had found the tape, I could tell. I had stuck it to the underside of a drawer in my bedroom but they must have found it somehow. My face burnt with shame and my mind stung with guilt. Did I dare answer 'yes' when he asked if I would leave this house?

'My rules. You hear me?'

I made eye contact with him for the first time in the longest time. I looked right at him, eyes flared with anger just like his and I spoke slowly, scared of my own pure hatred. 'Fuck - You.' It would be four long years before we spoke again. I ran upstairs and threw some things into a holdall. Clothes, make-up, money and a bag with my parents anniversary present inside - two silver goblets engraved with their names. A bus had taken me into town where I sat shaking. I felt petrified and lonely, what had I done and what would happen now. But on top those emotions. I also felt strong and liberated. I had done it, I was free and it was all better now! I remember that the heel fell off my shoe that day. I discarded them in a nearby bin laughing, not able to afford another pair I faced the world barefoot & honest, it seemed appropriate somehow. I committed to the fact that I would never return home and I tried to guess my future. I didn't get far though as my future started at the top of a glass in a backstreet pub only minutes later. My money bought me three small drinks and the shortness of my skirt bought me several more. I was used to my drink, I often drank alcohol at school and my evenings would sometimes end in a pint of wine or a gin or three. Not much hope here for a young girl about to embark on womanhood. When the pub kicked out at 11:30, I watched as the merry voices and smiling faces shouted their goodbyes and walked away. I didn't like that feeling. I felt myself wishing that I had accepted the offer of a bed. I did not care if that bed had come with a price. I had never felt so small.

Lonely.

I arrived at the sports ground as the drizzly rain dampened the last of my hope. I climbed to the back of the stands and huddled on the concrete ledge between the seats with my jacket wrapped around my shoulders. It felt very cold and quiet here. Some cities never sleep but this one did. Only the sound of a distant car would occasionally break the silence. Other noises, strange noises kept any hope of sleep at bay for me. I was eaten up with fear at the coldness of the night and I longed for the warmness of a bed. Any bed.

By 3am, sleep had still not found me. My legs had cramp from the cold and my jacket was not big enough to cover my mottled blue skin. I decided to walk. To see if I could find a face to share this night time with. I don't know what I expected to find, at this stage I just hoped it would be friendly. I walked for about 15 minutes and found myself at the start of a beautiful Victorian crescent. That's when I heard the footsteps. A man, wrapped warmly in an anorak, umbrella just in front his face, he walked towards me with the tap, tap, tap of someone in a hurry. He passed right by, but I just could not bring myself to ask for help. I crumpled to the ground and cried.

'Hey, are you ok?' He'd seen me, heard me, he cared to ask of me. I turned to face him with desperation on my face.

'I'm just so cold.' I said. He had taken off his anorak and wrapped it round my shoulders. I did not know what I should say so I said nothing more. He asked if I needed money to get home, I shook my head, I had no home. He asked if there was anything that he could do, 'I'll do anything' I begged 'Just take me home'. I saw him ponder that thought for a while. His eyes flitted down to my very short skirt and back up to my tear streaked face. There was the longest silence.

'I have a wife. I've got kids. I'm sorry. I just can't.' he said. I sobbed some more and he looked desperate now. 'But I have a friend. He lives just down the road. I've just been visiting him. Come on, let's see what he says, maybe you can stay the night.' The light was still on at his friends house. The bell rang shrilly in the silent night and footsteps padded to the door. The man was tall and slender. He listened to his friend and nodded lots, looked at me and smiled.

'Ok' He said, 'But only for tonight and you've got to be quiet. I don't want the kids to wake up'. I was so utterly grateful. A bed! An honest bed. One without the pain that I had known so deeply so many times before. Sleep! As the two men said their goodbyes for the second time that night I shuffled to the living room. A glance around told me that this man was poor, but I liked the Bohemian style of this room with it's Indian throws and colorful paintings, it smelt of incense and cats, but most importantly it smelt of family. The tall man shut the door and joined me. 'Barry' he said, holding out an educated hand that quivered slightly. There followed a barrage of questions. 'How old are you? Where are your parents? What will you do? Are you hungry?' I liked Barry. I liked him a lot. I told very little about myself and I lied about my age. I was hungry too. Barry promised an omelet but we fell into easy conversation and that kept us in this room. I no longer felt the need for sleep. 'I'm a single parent.' he said 'I've got two kids. I'm a photographer, or at least I am trying to be.'

'Did you take those?' I asked. Pointing to the portraits of naked women hung upon his walls.
'I did' he answered shyly. We talked and talked and talked. It felt like neither of us would stop.
'You're such a pretty girl' He smiled, 'You're like an Angel. A fallen Angel. I cannot bear to think what brought you here.' I could not bear it either.
'Funny that.' I laughed. 'When I came here I thought you were an Angel, I never thought it could be me.'

It was almost morning. Barry had to leave for work in two hours and soon enough his kids would wake. I felt the fear of coldness creeping back but tried to hide my mind. He fetched his camera and asked if he could take some pictures. I still liked him. He was kind and softly spoken. I nodded yes, stood up and removed my top and bra. I felt the coldness on my skin again.

After the photo's Barry remembered the omelet, 'You must be starving. Let me cook for you!' I dressed and followed to the kitchen where I found him rummaging inside the fridge.

'How's the omelet doing?' I asked and wondered why I liked him still.

Barry looked at me apologetically, although his gaze would never quite meet mine again. 'Um, sorry.' Then he held up the empty carton 'It takes eggs to make an omelet!' I was still laughing as I left that house. I might not have found a bed that night. I might not have filled my belly. But I had learned something huge about myself. I was strong and I would cope with all that life had thrown me. And so began the first of many days that would start and end the same. With the coldness creeping in.

Continued...