The bus rattles along through the last few stops before coming to a halt outside the stop in the centre of town. Well, that’s what we call it; it’s not really a centre. There are a few shops, a pub and a couple of places for food. At the moment, it’s lit up with all the ‘adult massage’ centres in dingy side streets. It’s not a great place to be, admittedly.
Maeve and I step off the bus together, thankfully without her making any more jokes about being my carer. Still, she catches my eye, and I manage a small smile back.
As the bus makes its quiet way along, I look around aimlessly. I’m not sure what I had intended to do once we got here. Part of me still wants to take Maeve to the nearest police station, where she can talk to someone about why she’s run away. She’s not safe wandering around a dodgy town like this one. Is she even safe with me here?
But before I can make any decisions, I spot a police car coming down the coastal road that the bus has just driven down. There are no sirens, but I panic. Instinctively, I grab Maeve and pull her down with me as I duck quickly behind a low wall. We stay frozen there as the car drives on and gradually goes off into the distance.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I finally let go of Maeve and pull myself up to sit on the low wall. I rub the bridge of my nose. Taking a young girl to a police station where she can be looked after and I can then leave is one thing; I may want the safety of the police for Maeve, but not for me.
Of course, she is looking at me slightly uneasily. “What was that about?” she asks, a little tentative.
I sigh as she cautiously sits next to me on the wall. “I’m sectioned,” I tell her tiredly. “For my mental health. The hospital will call the police when they realise I’m missing and then the police have the power to take me back.” I pause. “I’m not ready to go back,” I add, and I can hear the strain in my voice.
Maeve gives me a scared look. “Is it horrible, there?” she asks, her eyes wide.
Shaking my head, I pick at a piece of fluff on my jeans. “No,” I tell her weakly. Am I reassuring her, or myself? “No, it’s not horrible. It’s just… a hard place to be. And I just want it to end.”
I regret that last sentence as soon as it’s out of my mouth. I can’t help but notice the shift in Maeve’s expression. She understands what I mean. Of course she understands what I mean. We’ve only met each other tonight but I feel oddly strongly that Maeve understands me.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask suddenly, trying to change the subject. “I mean, I know you’re a bit young – shit, you are young – but we could have one? From the dodgy newsagent across the road?”
To my relief, Maeve’s concerned expression mellows a little. I can tell she’s pleased I want to keep her nearby. “Yeah,” she answers me, more cheerfully.
“Great,” I say, trying to match her tone. “Look, I’ve got ID, and I’m guessing you don’t. So I’ll nip in by myself if you wait here. What do you want?”
Maeve’s eyes look caught in the headlights for a split second, and it hits me hard just how young she actually is. Should I be buying her alcohol? Probably not. Oh well. One drink can’t hurt.
“Smirnoff Ice,” she says, looking slightly proud that she’s managed to name an alcoholic drink off the top of her head. I can tell she’s not an experienced drinker. That being said, neither am I; but even I know what a shit drink she’s picked.
“OK,” I say, resisting the urge to laugh. “I’ll see if they’ve got one.”
I check my pockets: change, a few bank notes, my room key from the hospital, my ID and my phone (turned off, of course). All set.
“See you in a minute,” I tell Maeve, and she beams. For some reason, this makes my heart ache a little bit.
I half-walk, half-jog over the road to the dodgy newsagent opposite. It’s the kind of newsagent that smells ever so slightly of damp and more strongly of incense, and rather than selling the crisps and chocolate that all normal newsagents sell, they instead sell the most obscure flavours and brands that you don’t find elsewhere. I’m always surprised it doesn’t shut down, but somehow it manages to keep going.
They do have a good selection of alcopops though; I easily find a Smirnoff Ice for Maeve, and I barely have to venture further into the shop to find a little bottle of cider for me. Keeping my expression neutral, I approach the counter where a man sits, watching me.
“ID?” he asks immediately, clocking my slight frame and baby face.
I dig in my pocket and pull out my ID to show him, praying that the name doesn’t stick in his mind. I’m probably being paranoid, but I don’t want to leave a trace for the police.
I’m just handing over the cash for the drinks when I hear a bottle smashing outside. It should be a commonplace noise, in town, at night, but I feel panic rise up. It’s silly, it’s probably just someone too drunk to hold on to their beer bottle – but what if it’s not? I force myself to keep calm as the man hands over my change. I stuff it into my pocket quickly as I flash him a quick smile in thanks. Breathe, breathe, breathe…
Just as I’m coming out of the shop, though, I hear another smash. What shakes me even more is that – once again – this is louder and more violent a sound than someone just dropping their drink. This is the sound of a bottle being hurled with considerable force.
And my worst fear is realised as I spin to face the direction the noise came from. Cowering, crouching, squeezing herself down to be as small a target as possible, is Maeve.
My fight-or-flight instinct kicks in instantly. I run towards the fracas at full speed, barely aware of what I’m doing as I shout at the men cornering Maeve: “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Maeve doesn’t surface from her ball, but the men turn to look at me. To my surprise, the expressions on their faces aren’t jubilant, as if it’s fun for them to throw bottles at a young girl. Nor do they seem to be getting off at frightening someone who can’t fight back. Instead, they turn to me looking uneasy, or even, maybe, frightened. I’m confused. What could Maeve have done to scare four fully grown men?
“What’s going on?” I ask harshly, slightly impressed by the authority in my normally quiet and timid voice. “What are you doing to her?”
“Her?!” shouts one of the men. “It’s not a ‘her’, it’s an ‘it’!”
And the other men are nodding in agreement, squaring their shoulders as if they are fighting an important fight, a crusade. They glare at me and I force myself to glare back, but really, I’m confused. What on Earth is he talking about? For the first time since I ran over, I take a proper look at Maeve. She is crouched down in front of a low wall, her knees to her chest and her face buried in her hands. I want to go to her, but the four burly men block the way.
I decide quickly to ignore his comment, because, frankly, I don’t understand. “I’ll call the police!” I shout at him instead, puffing out my own chest like a pigeon. “I will! Do you want to get done for assault?”
There’s a tiny pause as the men exchange glances and I take the opportunity to go in for the kill. “She’s with me, and she’s underage,” I tell them, my voice dangerous now. “Leave us alone or I swear to God we will both be giving statements.”
“It needs to be dealt with!” shouts one of the men back at me. “I ain’t leaving this… this—”
“She is a kid,” I reply angrily. “There’s nothing to be ‘dealt with’. Leave us the fuck alone.”
The smallest of the men finally pipes up. “What if it hurts someone?”
It bristles that once again, he is referring to my friend as ‘it’. But what really astonishes me is that there’s a clear note of fear in his voice. What on Earth has Maeve done to scare a man twice her size? Once again, I’m confused – but I’m not leaving her.
“She’s with me,” I finally say stubbornly.
One of the men snorts, but another one is looking right at me. “You know what, babe,” he says, a little blearily. “If you want it, yeah? It’s yours.”
I still don’t have a clue what he’s on about, but, narrowing my eyes, I nod fiercely. Regardless of what he’s on about, I do want Maeve. Maeve is, indeed, mine.
The man looks ever so slightly relieved – and to my relief, he beckons to his friends and starts to make off. The other men exchange looks but really, they all seem to be quite thankful to have an excuse to leave. Whether it’s me and my threats, or the fear that Maeve has somehow instilled in them, they are moving away and I’m seriously, seriously relieved.
I let them get ten or fifteen metres away before I rush over to where Maeve is still huddled against the wall. “Are you OK?” I ask urgently, crouching down next to her. Without looking up, she shakes her head fervently.
“I’m scared,” she tells me in a cracked whisper. “They scared me.”
Oh, Maeve.
I move from my crouched pose to sit down next to her, and after a minute, I tentatively take her hand. I can’t quite bring myself to be surprised when she grips my hand back, hard. It’s clear that this kid has been through some stuff. I wonder if anyone has ever bothered to stand up for her before.
“It’s OK,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “I know they scared you. They scared me too. But they’re gone now, OK? It’s just me here. Just me.”
Maeve squeezes my hand harder but nods, and there’s a pause. “I know,” she finally says, the faintness of her voice in sharp contrast to the buoyant kid who was grilling me on the bus. It only makes me sadder when she adds, “Thank you for saving me, Heather.”
I let myself give out a tiny sigh, mostly to try and keep my own tears back. “I didn’t, really,” I tell her. “But it’s OK.”
Maeve nods again, and it’s only a second before she is leaning her head on my shoulder. This kid is definitely getting attached – but somehow it doesn’t worry me as much as it did earlier. I think I’m getting attached to her too.
I let the silence continue for a minute, but even as scared as I can tell Maeve is, I have a niggling desperation to understand what has just happened; I’m itching to know what made the men so frightened. “Why were they scared of you?” I ask, my question direct but my tone gentle. I’m confused, yes – but mostly concerned. Is this something that’s going to happen again? Is this something that’s going to get Maeve hurt?
There’s another short pause, but, finally, Maeve raises her head. “I don’t know,” she says tiredly, her voice still quiet, and her face pale and drawn like she’s recovering from illness. “They just started shouting and I didn’t know what to do, and then they started throwing things, and they were so much bigger than me—”
She’s babbling now, and I squeeze her hand tight to try and calm her down. Finally, she breaks off and turns to look me right in the eye. “Is there something wrong with me, Heather?”
Immediately, in almost a knee-jerk reaction, I’m about to start shaking my head and giving the answer that I know I should be giving. But then – is there something weird about Maeve? I mean, I found her in the middle of the forest, alone, in the middle of the night, when she’s only fourteen… and, of course, there’s the fact that I’m trying to put out of my mind – she was glowing. Can I explain that away? And even if we ignore that, there’s still something about Maeve that makes me feel slightly uneasy. I can’t put my finger on what it is – but there’s just something not quite right.
“Of course not,” I say quietly, soothingly. “Of course not.”
Maeve closes her eyes but nods gently, mollified and reassured. Even as she calms down this little bit, I find myself less worried. I don’t think there’s something wrong with Maeve. I think maybe she is scared, and damaged, and adrift.
I don’t quite know what to say when Maeve next speaks. “Where to now?” she asks, the ghost of a tiny smile returning to her face.