I meant to go back to Barbara after, but I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face Hannah, either, or Sue and Jane or anyone, so I spent the night in a derri on Charles Street hiding out in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I’d been there before with some friends. It was crap; we only did it just to see. But on my own it was really miserable. In the night, some guys turned up, dead drunk. Homeless. Four or five dirty old drunks and me on my own? They could do anything. I just kept as quiet as I could and hoped no one would come upstairs. They fell asleep in the end, but I didn’t dare leave in the dark, I was that scared.
That was my lowest night ever, lying up in that room listening to those down-and-outs, after Mum said no to me again. There was a woman with them, out of her head, cursing and shouting. I think some of the guys had a go at her in the night. It was, like, that was me. I was listening in on what I had to come. I thought about Hannah. I thought about Barbara too, and how I could have been tucked up safe in that silly little room. If I’d had my phone with me, I might have rung one of them, but what for? I’d run out of options.
I got out in the morning once the cars started up outside. I didn’t see any of the drunks. I just pushed open the front door and ran out. I wasn’t planning on spending another night like that. No way, but I wasn’t ready to go back to Barbara’s, either. They want to lock me up, let them catch me.
I went round to see Cookie instead.
It was early. He was still in bed, I had to go round and rap on the window. And rap. And rap and rap and rap.
‘Come on, you bastard, wake up,’ I was hissing. Then his face loomed up in the window and he staggered off to open the door.
Cookie, he’s an ugly bugger at the best of times. He stood there at the door in his boxers like something that had just crawled out of the dog’s nose.
‘What?’
‘Can I come in?’
He hobbled to one side. I went to the kitchen. He shut the door and followed me through.
‘What?’ he said again.
‘Can you put me up for a few days?’
‘What?’
‘Just a few days. I got a spot of bother. I put this lad in hospital.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Just for a few days.’
Cookie shook his head. ‘… Back to bed,’ he muttered. He staggered off, leaving me standing there.
‘Thanks – thanks!’ I called after him. He waved a hand and disappeared towards the bedroom.
Somewhere to stay.
I went straight to the fridge. Nothing there, but I found burgers in the freezer and a load of buns he’d nicked from work. Burgers and Cookie. He works with them, he eats them, he smells like them, he even tastes like them. I got a couple out and stuck them in the microwave. I looked around while I waited. It was a shithole. Grease everywhere, sink clogged up with paper plates – he nicks them from work too – and fag ends and beer cans. It smelled of rotting meat. He’d had a heavy night.
Cookie called out from the bedroom.
‘Billie!’
‘What?’
‘Come here.’
‘What?’
‘No, come here.’
I went through. He was lying under the duvet, no cover on it, just this cheap duvet.
He didn’t look good. He didn’t smell good, either.
He lifted up the duvet.
‘I got …’
‘Gerrin!’
‘But …’
‘Gerrin!’
Yeah, well. You got to pay your rent. I got in, but it wasn’t that. He lay on his stomach and turned his face away, maybe so I wouldn’t have to smell his breath, and he put an arm round my neck and hoiked me up to him. That was all. I put my arm over his shoulders and my leg over his bum and closed my eyes. I was starving. I heard the burgers ping in the microwave, but I didn’t move. I just lay there, feeling his warmth, until I fell asleep.