Gordy Onslow sat on the edge of his squeaky bed and pulled on his socks. His twisted toes were crippled with arthritis, but it was his hands that worried him the most. They were white from the centre joint to the tips  – and some days purple too. They ached constantly. His back ached as well, although that was more likely from the lumpy mattress, but at least it was thicker than the one he’d had previously.

The furnace had been on the blink again last night, but it must have fired up just now  – he could feel a faint breath of warm air and the icicles inside the window were beginning to melt, dripping onto  the bare boards. Gordy stood up and peered through the grimy window pane into the street below. He liked being up high. You could see things. He’d seen a lot of things in his life  – some he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He watched a couple, wrapped in their woollen coats, arm in arm, tripping along the cobble stones, a lightness in their steps that was reserved for the young. They had the world at their feet, gazing into a future of endless possibilities. Until life gets in their way. Until there are jobs to be done and bills to be paid and people who won’t leave you alone. Until the pressure builds like a cooker and there’s no release  – or is there? And the path you’ve chosen destroys every good thing you have ever known.

Gordy’s breath caught in his throat. A tear trickled  down his lined cheek and he wept for the things he’d lost. For his girl. For the shame. For  the  lost opportunities and wasted years. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, then grabbed his beanie and gloves and the overcoat that hung on the hook on the back of the door. He picked up the huge bag of plastic bottles that was sitting in the corner of the tiny room beside the washbasin. He’d take the bus to the recycling centre first thing and then get out collecting again. Winter was always harder than summer. The tourists weren’t nearly as thirsty but at thirty pence per return he could still make a few quid each day. Not that he needed much money. His pension paid for the bedsit and there was nothing else to spend it on.

Gordy opened the door and turned to look back at the room. Who would have thought he’d have ended up here? He brushed aside the thought and stepped into the cold. There was nothing to be gained from living in the past.