CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A gang of boys skateboarded past Mia as she stood on the pavement in the crowded bus station, wondering which way to go. One young boy deliberately shoved into Mia as he went by and knocked her bag off her shoulder. Her purse spilled out of the half-zipped top and coins rolled into the gutter.

‘Slag!’

The other boys laughed as Mia huddled over, gathering up the scattered coins.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ An elderly woman in a grey coat tutted and patted Mia’s arm kindly.

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

Only a few months ago and she would have shouted back at boys like that. Stupid prats. They couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. She would have been rude to the old lady too. For speaking to her. For interfering. For noticing.

Now, she was just grateful for the tiny bit of kindness in this desolate place. ‘Do you know where I can find out –’ Mia started asking the woman, but she’d already walked on out of earshot.

Mia made her way towards the concrete buildings in the centre of the bus-station concourse. From a seedy cafe wafted the smell of hot fat, chips, coffee. Eventually she found a departures board nailed to a wall next to the toilets. Lists of buses going to places she’d never heard of. Finally she managed to work out where to go. Two changes, a long wait in the middle. But she should get there before dark.

She was dying for a pee. Just enough time.

The floor was wet and stank of disinfectant. Only a couple of the toilets were working. Neither had seats or paper. A used syringe and a blood-stained roll of tissue poked out of the bin.

Mia stared at her own face in the chipped mirror above the handbasin as she rinsed her hands under the cold tap. She hardly recognized it: the dark shadows, uncombed hair.

Over the shoulder of her reflection a second pale face peered into the mirror.

‘Spare any change? So I can get into the night shelter? I need a couple of quid.’ The voice was slurred.

Mia dropped her gaze, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve only just got enough to get home myself.’

Her voice sounded too posh. She wanted the girl to know it’s true, I really haven’t. The girl seemed to crumple down on to the wet floor and started to rock back and forth, mumbling under her breath. Her eyes were wild, crazy. But what could Mia do? She edged out of the loos again.

As she came back out she noticed the ticket inspector near the departures board. Perhaps he could help the girl? The man was trying without success to calm down an angry woman who’d waited nearly an hour for a bus. He waved his hands in despair. ‘What can I do? So many drivers off sick.’

‘Excuse me,’ Mia interrupted, ‘but there’s a young girl in the loos, collapsed on the floor. I think she needs help.’

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. She repeated her words. He looked more closely at her then, as if she were the one who needed help. But not with pity or compassion. A sort of contempt crawled over his mouth.

‘What’s new? She’s always in there. What do you expect me to do?’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a job to do and it’s not cleaning filth out of toilets.’ He turned his back on her and she shrank back, shocked at his outburst.

Mia felt utterly exhausted. It was too much, all this on top of the horror of the fire and then the hospital. All she wanted was to be somewhere safe, and kind, where she could sleep without looking over her shoulder. She’d uncovered too much – this dark underbelly of life; kids without hope, or dignity, or anything; adults grey with disappointment, numbed out and without heart. Whitecross might be boring, and school a dreary, soul-destroying waste of time, but this – this half life, underground life, was much, much worse. She suddenly longed to be back home. She’d had enough of the greyness, the cold and dirt, the hopelessness, the loneliness of it all. The thought of hot water, clean clothes, a kitchen with food in the cupboard – Dad.

It wasn’t running back, was it? Whatever Evie and Shannon had said. Not a giving up of anything? Mia half remembered something Mum had written in that letter. Something about spreading wings, flying free. There was nothing free about this life on the streets, on the move. Not really. And she had to think of a baby now, not just herself. Little bean needed somewhere safe and warm and loving. Not this sort of no-man’s land she’d wandered into. You could get lost in this and never find a way out.

Mia put her hand into her fleece pocket and her fingers closed around a small pebble. Will had picked it up on the beach at Whitecross. ‘Look… Mottled blue, just like a blackbird’s egg.’ His gift to her. She cradled the pebble in her palm and felt the smooth surface begin to warm.

When the bus drew into Bay Fourteen Mia stepped on.