‘Bold as fucking brass, he was.’
‘Fuck.’
Her room is trashed and smashed, her clothes and make-up lost among bottles and cans, papers and bags; wind howling around hostel, up stairs and down corridors, under doors and into room, rain hard against window -
This is Preston, Lancashire.
‘How did they find us, BJ?’ she cries. ‘How the fucking hell did they find us?’
BJ look up from floor: ‘Be kids.’
Clare is screaming.
BJ been up and down for days, Clare drunk for same -
Drunk and down since day BJ and Clare got here -
But never this down, never this drunk -
BJ a mess and Clare a mess -
BJ fucked, Clare fucked -
Fucked and now found.
‘What we going to do?’
‘Run,’ BJ say.
‘No fucking point,’ she sighs. ‘They’ll find us.’
‘Not if -’
‘If what? They’re fucking watching us!’
‘So what else we going to do?’ BJ cry. ‘Meet him?’
‘What he wants.’
‘Fuck off,’ BJ sob. ‘It’s a fucking trap.’
‘I don’t give a shit,’ she shouts. ‘I’ll not keep running all my fucking life.’
‘They’ll kill us.’
‘Good,’ she mutters.
BJ under covers. BJ hiding. BJ weeping.
There’s a knock on door -
BJ out from covers. Clare staring at door.
‘Clare?’ comes a man’s voice. ‘It’s me.’
‘Fuck, it’s only Roger,’ whispers Clare. ‘Let him in.’
BJ get out of her bed. BJ open her door. BJ let Roger Kennedy in. BJ go down corridor. BJ get in a cold bed. BJ lie under covers. BJ peep up at cracks in ceiling.
BJ wonder what mum is doing today -
Today is BJ’s seventeenth birthday.
BJ start to cry again.
BJ walk to other end of corridor. BJ knock on door.
‘Come in.’
BJ step into Old Walter’s room.
It’s still raining outside. It’s still cold inside.
Walter Kendall is sat at a table by only window. He is cutting something out of a newspaper. He sticks it into an old red exercise book.
‘You’re late,’ he smiles.
‘I’m sorry.’
He closes book: ‘How’s my Clare today?’
‘Busy.’
He laughs. He comes across his tiny room to sit beside BJ on bed.
Outside a train goes past. Window shakes.
‘Your eyes are red,’ he says and takes BJ’s hand. ‘What is it?’
‘They’ve found us.’
He lets go of BJ’s hand. He turns BJ’s face into his: ‘How could they have?’
‘Be her kids,’ BJ say.
‘How?’
‘When you all went to Blackpool.’
‘But how?’
BJ pull away from his grip: ‘If they were watching her kids in Glasgow, they could have easy followed her Suzie when she brought them down.’
‘But that was August. Why wait till now?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘What you going to do?’
‘Clare wants to meet them.’
‘No?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t let her,’ he says.
‘I can’t stop her.’
‘They’ll kill her.’
‘I know.’
‘Kill you both,’ he says.
BJ nod.
‘What did she say?’
‘Good.’
BJ lying in Walter’s arms, BJ’s head on his chest, listening to his heart. BJ remembering when mum and BJ drank a whole bottle of dandelion and burdock and ate two big boxes of chocolates for BJ’s seventh birthday. BJ wondering if she remembers it too, but -
BJ wake up. BJ sweating. BJ crying -
Walter gone.
BJ run down corridor. BJ push open her door -
Clare is lying on her bed in Walter’s arms. Her eyes closed -
Walter is stroking her hair -
Pair of them covered in sweat. Pair of them covered in tears.
‘What happened?’
‘Bad dream,’ whispers Walter.
‘Same dream?’
Walter nods.
‘Did you look?’
Walter raises her sweater and bra, more words there written in blood:
