Glassy eyed smiles for the wind...

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...

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

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...

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...

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...

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

The first day is a Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

This man lied. This man was Steve

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

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

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

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


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

Day Two.

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

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

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

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

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

The third day is a Thursday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case.

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

Night came and went.

The fourth day is a Friday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Merlin was my first.' She said.

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

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

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

'Merlin? You fucked Merlin.'

Shit.

I had fucked him and I had lied.

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

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

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

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

Where now?

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

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

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

I laughed, 'Waiting for you!'

Bertie sat down beside me.

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

'Would you believe I'm playing squash?'

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

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

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

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

'And if I did live here?'

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

'And bow...' He bowed .

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

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

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

'Who the fuck is Zebedee?' I asked.

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

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

The fifth day is a Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'You should come.' Said Neil.

'Maybe we will.' I winked.

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

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

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

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

Choices.

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

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

'I am comfortable here thanks' I said.

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

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

Because I did stay.

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

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

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

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

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

The sixth day is the Lord's Day.

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

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

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

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

And Bertie shot me a look that said it all.

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

Two more coaches. Back to the Roman City.

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

Robert held my hand but did not look at me.

The seventh Day.

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

Morning broke.

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

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

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

I continued tidying.

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

Zebedee rolled his eyes.

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

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

'You have us.' I said.

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

'A spectaculator.' I laughed.

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

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

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

We left Zebedee there.

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

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

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

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

A five pound note!

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

'Lets go get beer.' Robert had cried.

'And cigarettes!' I added, hopefully.

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

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

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

Bertie checked his pocket.

'No' he said, producing the original.

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

Some days I feel like a queen!

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

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

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

But surely not.

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

It was fucking money.

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

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

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

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

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

There was no box. No Zebedee. No home.

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

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

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

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

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

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


The Eighth day is a Tuesday.

Love. I question it in all its representations.

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

'How are you?' She asks.

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

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

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

'How's Mum?' I asked her.

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

'You too.' I smiled.

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

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

I thought of my sister.

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

I would go and see Vicky!

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

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

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

The ninth day is the Eve of Days

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

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

'Contemplating Quantum Physics.' I had answered.

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

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

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

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

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

'Why are you here?' I asked.

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

'Why did you talk to me?'

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

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

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

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

'Go ask her.' He said to me.

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

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

She frowned and scurried off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'If you want a dress?'

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

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

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

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

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

'Yes. I believe I am.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have found it.

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

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

But I never had the courage to ask.

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

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

I walked again.

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

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

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

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

But he closed the window and left me there.

Back to the car park.

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

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

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

Day of the Deadly sins...

5AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

'No.'

'Bleached blond hair. Wears bike leathers?'

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

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

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

'Can you show me the house?'

I figured that I could.

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

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

11:50AM

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


1:40PM

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

'So why do you need the violin?'

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

4:28PM

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

There could never again be a yesterday.

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

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

8PM.

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

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

Bring it on Jesus Lady. Bring it on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are graves in my garden.

Continued...

Papa on a stick...

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 2000

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

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

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

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

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

I had just tried to hang myself.

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

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

The person knocked again.

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

More knocking and raised voices.

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

Then the door flew open with a huge crash.

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

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

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

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

Pretty? I could not see it anymore.

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

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

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

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

Would it be today?

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

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

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

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

Memories.

How much make up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What are you going to the cross for?'

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

'Oh' she had muttered.

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

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

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

I thought of Jake and shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

I wanted to fucking kill him.

'Looking for business Sir?' I asked.

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

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

But he laughed and walked off.

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

"You working?' He asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I simply stood there. In the queue .

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

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

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

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

'Is it you?'

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

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

'You know.' He had answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still I held on to my top.

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

'You make it hard'

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

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

Everything moved faster now.

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

Breathing.

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

I dressed and waited.

But no one came.

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

'The Holloway, yes?'

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

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

'Twenty minute walk' She had answered.

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

_________________________________________________________________________________

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

'I still want to be like her.'

I never ever wanted that film to end.


Continued...