by Susan Lewis
She couldn’t stay here any longer. She was under a lamp post, might already have been noticed without realizing it and she was afraid that someone desperate for cover might try to force their way into the van.
Her fingers were stiff as she restarted the engine; not even her thick down coat and woollen gloves were enough to keep out the bitter cold tonight. Her feet were numb, and almost slipped off the pedals as she started to pull away.
Just a few more hours and she’d be able to return to Em’s.
Wishing she could afford the petrol to drive around for all that time with the heater going and the van keeping her safe and dry, she turned back along the Promenade towards the Royal Hotel. It was laughable to imagine she could book in there for the night – she couldn’t spare the money for even the cheapest B & B when she needed every last penny for the children – but it was a pleasant fantasy for a moment as she passed.
The red-brick building of the station soon loomed up in front of her, familiar turrets and grey slate roofs, yet it seemed eerily different with no lights on inside. Opposite the locked, arched doors of the entrance, next to the beach, a kids’ carousel was bundled up inside thick tarpaulins; close to it was Merry Mick’s hot-dog stall shuttered up against the wind. Litter skidded across the pavement towards the wet sand; against a front wall a lone rough sleeper was tucked in under a bench where an iron grille presumably leaked a residue of warmth from the waiting room the other side; it was a shapeless, hopeless bundle of rags that made her heart twist with pity and fear.
Going past the station, she turned into the car park behind it. Five vehicles were sitting motionless in the dim glow of a single lamp post, waiting, presumably, for their owners to return. Whether these were people overnighting in other cities, or in one of the B & Bs close by, was impossible to tell. She only knew that their cars were going to keep her company for the next few hours while she waited out the night, and maybe even attempted to sleep.
After reversing the van into a space at the back of the car park, manoeuvring it so she was facing the ticket office across the black expanse of tarmac, she closed her fingers round the ignition keys, not quite able to turn the engine off. The rear-view mirror was an oblong of black, but she knew that a high, thorny hedge was behind her, creating a barrier between her and a sprawling scrapyard of decrepit caravans and rusting fairground rides. She was partly in light, but mostly in shadow, and hopefully in view of a CCTV camera that was keeping watch on proceedings, presuming it was working.
When she finally turned off the engine she felt an unnerving silence creeping in through the clicks of cooling metal and seeming to bind her more tightly in this frightening nether world. There was no sign of anyone; nothing moved apart from skittering rubbish and stray dead leaves picked up by swirls of wind from the sea. When she’d come here two days ago to assess this spot as a possible place to hide away during the early hours, she’d had no idea it would feel so lonely or sinister in the dead of night.
After making doubly sure the driver’s and passenger doors were locked, she removed her seat belt and reached for the pillow she’d stored behind her seat. She’d also brought a duvet, a holdall full of clean clothes to change into, a bottle of tap water and a toilet roll, but she couldn’t find the she-pee Steve had bought her a few years ago at the Glastonbury festival. She could do with using it now, but she was too afraid someone would notice the van moving if she climbed into the back. She couldn’t even summon the nerve to lie across the front seats; she would feel so vulnerable and exposed if she did; faces could loom up to the windows looking in …
She sat silently, rigidly, staring out at the night, heart thudding erratically as she gave up all hope of sleep; it would never be possible while she was so taut with fear. Not for a single moment had she considered how terrifying it might be to spend a night in the van, and realizing how much worse it must be with no shelter at all wasn’t helping her to feel any better.
Her mind wandered back across town to Emma and the children, and how she was going to explain asking to use the shower in the morning. Emma would know that Brenda Crompton would never deny her such a basic need, but maybe she could say that she hadn’t wanted to use up Brenda’s hot water. She couldn’t use up Emma’s either, not when her sister was already on a plan with British Gas to help meet her bills. This left Angie with the problem of where to shower, where even to clean her teeth – and what was she going to do in the coming days when she needed to wash her hair? She couldn’t do it in the public toilets next to the beach, it was banned, or in the ladies’ room of a department store, it was banned there too. She thought of the day shelter over on City Walk; it had a female-only space providing hot showers, a change of clothes, even a launderette and nourishing meals – but it was for women at risk of being forced into sex work or trying to escape domestic abuse. She hardly qualified on either count, but even if she did she’d almost certainly know one of the support workers there and she simply couldn’t bear for anyone to find out just how bad things had got for her.
She was so caught up in the horror of her future that it took a moment for the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel outside to reach her. She tensed so tightly it hurt, and pushed herself so hard into the seat she felt she might disappear right through it. A man laughed, and she almost whimpered, as though he was laughing at her. Then she heard the electronic beep of a car unlocking. A few minutes later a middle-aged, well-dressed couple drove off in an Audi, leaving her looking after the tail lights and feeling more alone and more wretched than she would have believed possible.
Eventually, telling herself she might feel safer if she weren’t visible to any chance passer-by, she climbed over the seat into the back of the van, moving slowly in an effort not to rock it. After scrambling through the bags she had stored there, she covered herself with the small duvet and used her holdall as a pillow while clutching the real thing to her chest for extra warmth. She had no idea what time it was now, or if she’d be able to catch an hour or two of sleep, she only knew that if she thought about Steve it seemed to calm her.
After a while it began to feel as though he wasn’t just with her, but that he was holding her close, breathing warmth and comfort into the icy air. She kept her eyes closed, not moving a muscle in case it made him go away. But he stayed and she could feel his arms around her, his body melding into hers as though they were becoming one. Dimly she was aware of the need to pee increasing, until it grew so intense that she had to find the she-pee. She scrabbled around for it, feeling sure she’d brought it. She found the toaster and vacuum cleaner, a pair of Steve’s shoes and oddly a birthday card for Zac with a unicorn on the front. Her bladder felt as though it was ready to burst. She had no choice but to sneak out of the back of the van and hide under the hedge while she relieved herself.
It wasn’t easy when she was wearing a thick coat with several layers underneath; it was soon a frustrating pantomime of tugging and pushing, with her woollen hat becoming entangled in spiked branches and her bare skin flinching at the cold as she was finally able to let go.
She was still going when she realized that the van was rocking. She could hear voices and saw dark figures crawling in through the open back doors. She was too terrified even to breathe; what if they found her with her jeans around her ankles, what would they do?
They were taking her purse and her phone; her sleeping bag; her van keys – and as the driver’s door was wrenched open she tried to scream. No sound came out. She tried again and again, until finally she woke, trembling and sobbing and unable to stop even when she realized it was a dream.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Angie? Could I have a word?’
Turning from the boisterous game that was rolling up and down the football pitch with small-boy exuberance making up for skill, Angie felt herself blanch even as she smiled. It was Bob Collins, the neighbour who’d taken over Steve’s role as Santa last year, and who’d also stepped in to coach the Fairweather under-eights football team
– a job Steve had loved with a passion. She’d always liked Bob, so had Steve; certainly she’d never detected any harm in him, and she was trying not to now, but it was proving hard.
She’d brought Zac here this morning, to the playing fields above Kesterly, to take up his usual right-wing position for a match against the West Common under-eights – always a big event in the local fixture list. On arriving they’d been informed that Zac had been relegated to the subs’ bench today, in spite of being the team’s highest scorer. His mates even called him the Egyptian King, after Mohamed Salah, his favourite Liverpool player. She’d told herself it was probably tiredness and the after-effects of such a stressful first night without a home that were making her want to recoil from Bob Collins now, or even punch him for doing this to Zac …
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Bob said, a gentle hand on her elbow as he turned her away from the other spectators, walking her into the wind that scudded across the open fields, ‘if everything’s all right with you?’
Certain she could hear whispering coming from the other parents, those who’d no doubt sucked up Amy Cutler’s gossip and were eager to find out more, Angie said, too brightly, ‘Of course it is. Why do you ask?’
Bob gave a curious little grimace that came with a shrug. ‘It’s just that someone mentioned you moved out of number fourteen yesterday, and when Candy and I went over to check up on you we saw that the letter box had been sealed up.’
‘We did that,’ Angie said hastily, ‘because the landlord asked us to. He wants to make sure no one, no hooligans I mean, can post anything through while the place is empty.’
Though Bob clearly didn’t believe her, his tone remained gentle as he said, ‘So you have moved out? I wish you’d said something, we’d have given you a hand.’
‘That’s very kind of you, thank you.’
‘So where are you living now?’
‘We’re … The kids are staying with Emma, and I’m with a friend until our new place is ready. We’re getting it fixed up a little before we move in.’ She smiled again, and wondered where the lies were coming from. She’d had no idea they were even there, yet apparently they were having no problem spilling out of her.
With a glimmer of relief showing through his concern, Bob said, ‘We’re going to miss you on Willow Close. It won’t be the same without you guys. I do hope you’ll let us have your new address before you disappear altogether.’
Certain he must know her departure was an eviction, she said, ‘Of course,’ and they both turned around as a raucous cheer went up. Bob ran to the touchline to congratulate his boys, who’d just equalized. Angie looked across to Zac and saw that he was on his feet, waving his arms and yelling ‘brilliant’, ‘nice one’ to the scorer, which was so typical of her boy; no one would know how crushed he was not to be on the field.
He was so like Liam in that aspect of his personality.
Earlier, at Emma’s, when she’d woken Zac with a kiss, he’d come alive so suddenly when he’d realized it was her that he’d rolled them both off his mattress on to the floor with the joy of his embrace. He’d been so relieved to see her that he’d clasped her with his arms and legs, and not even when she’d whispered, ‘OK, I submit,’ would he let her go.
‘Football today, you need to get ready,’ she’d reminded him, hands pinned to the floor either side of her head as he grinned triumphantly down at her.
He looked instantly worried. ‘Did we remember to bring my kit and boots?’ he asked.
‘Of course. I’ve just checked your bag and they’re definitely there.’
He grinned all over his dear freckled face. ‘I’m going to score ten million goals today,’ he’d told her, ‘and if a scout is watching he’ll sign me up and make me a professional, then I’ll be able to buy our house.’
When they’d arrived for the game and he’d found out he wasn’t on the first team today he’d said, ‘Sorry, Mum,’ as if it were his fault and he was letting her down, ‘but they might put me on at half-time and if they do I’ll definitely score.’
Now, as Bob Collins jogged back to her, flushed and windswept, she wanted to turn away, put a stop to where this little chat was going, but there was no escaping him.
‘Angie, I’m really sorry about this,’ he began awkwardly, ‘but I’ve got to mention Zac’s football dues. As you know, Amy Cutler does the accounts, and she’s mentioned they’re quite behind … You know how everyone wants their boy on the first team, and there’s a tournament coming up that we’d love Zac to play in, but if you’re finding it difficult …’
‘It’s OK,’ she said shortly, ‘you’ll get the outstanding dues, and his fee for the tournament by the end of the week.’ Her smile was glacial as violence burned in her heart. Is that what you were hoping to hear? Or were you waiting for me to confirm what Amy Cutler’s already told you, that we’ve got nowhere to live, no money in our pockets and sod all hope for the future?
His eyes were still on hers. ‘Marvellous,’ he said, seeming lost for any other word. ‘Marvellous.’
Glancing back to the subs’ bench, she said, ‘So now, does Zac get to play today?’
Zac did play and he scored a goal, and his teammates were clearly so thrilled to have him on the pitch that they kept hugging him, even when he didn’t hit the back of the net. By the time they came off it was hard to recognize one player from the next, they were so caked in mud, but Angie soon found her boy, happier and dirtier than everyone else, and after wrapping him in the old towels she kept in the van for this very purpose she plonked him into the passenger seat to take him back to Emma’s.
That was how she managed to get a bath that day, quickly slipping into the murky water after she’d hauled him out of it and sent him off in a big blue towel to dry down.
Not long after Angie had wiped the muddy water from herself Emma returned from dropping her boys at their dad’s for the weekend, and setting a large white box in the middle of the kitchen table she busied herself with the kettle.
Recognizing the box as one of Fliss’s from the Seafront Café, Angie regarded it curiously. ‘Can I ask what’s inside?’ she ventured, not wanting to remove the neatly tied blue ribbon to take a look for herself.
Emma flushed slightly as she said, ‘I thought I’d take something over to Melvin’s to say thank you for yesterday, and given that he has kids a cake seemed like a good idea.’
Wishing she could have done this herself, Angie fought her helplessness and said, ‘It’s a lovely thought. Would you mind saying it’s from both of us?’
Surprised, Emma said, ‘Of course it’s from both of us … Oh Angie,’ she murmured, going to wrap her sister in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, if I’d known it would upset you …’
‘It’s not the cake,’ Angie wept. ‘It’s everything, but it’s OK, I’ll be fine in a minute.’ Ripping off a sheet of kitchen roll, she dabbed her eyes and allowed Emma to push her into a chair.
‘Here we are,’ Emma said a few minutes later, as she brought mugs of tea and a couple of biscuits to the table. ‘This should cheer you up a bit.’
Angie tried not to grab one of the Hobnobs; she didn’t want Emma to suspect this might be the first thing she’d had to eat since last night.
Emma apparently did suspect it. ‘So what did Brenda give you for breakfast?’ she asked, as she sipped her tea.
Angie grimaced. ‘I left so early that I didn’t want to bother her,’ she replied.
‘And did you get a hot dog after football?’
‘Yes, of course we did,’ Angie lied. ‘What is this? Do I look hungry, or something?’
Emma regarded her carefully. ‘I think you probably do,’ she admitted. ‘And it’s my guess that you bought a hot dog for Zac, but didn’t have one yourself. Am I right?’
Angie gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I honestly didn’t fancy one,’ another lie, for the way her mouth had watered when Zac had bitten into his had been nothing short of painful. ‘So I’m a bit peckish now …’
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‘How much money do you have in your purse?’ Emma asked bluntly.
Angie shook her head. ‘I’m not sure, but if you need more for the kids …’
‘That’s not what I mean, you’ve given me plenty for them, it’s you I’m worried about. You can’t go starving yourself, Angie …’
‘How can you say that after the slap-up meal you served us last night? In case you didn’t notice, there wasn’t a scrap left on my plate.’
‘I did notice, and I think it was probably the first food you’d had all day, and now I’m wondering what you ate the day before.’
Angie’s eyes closed as she let her head fall back, trying to sink the tears before Emma spotted them. ‘With all that’s been going on,’ she said, ‘I haven’t had much of an appetite.’
Emma continued to watch her. ‘You still haven’t told me how much you have in your purse,’ she prompted.
‘I have enough.’
‘Enough for what?’
Angie put out a hand, palm forward. ‘Will you stop with the mothering,’ she scolded. ‘I’m fine, honestly, well, not fine, obviously, but it’ll be OK.’ Please don’t ask how, she silently willed. She had less than ten pounds in her purse, no cash due from covering various shifts and nothing left on her credit card to last the rest of the month. This meant she’d have to be sparing with the near-full tank of petrol she had, so tomorrow morning she’d leave it in the station car park and get the bus back here. God bless the old mayor who’d brought in the one-pound fare … Thoughts of the old mayor took her straight to Martin, and how his playful text the other day had lifted her spirits. Just a few short words that had probably meant nothing to him, but she’d read them again a few times since, and each time they made her smile.