3. Ali

I couldn’t believe the bloody view out of the window. Stone bridge, river, ducks, a green hill rising behind the town, tended flower beds. There were cobbled streets for fuck’s sake. Even the people were bearded, be-hatted and grizzled in their wellies and flowered skirts. I shouldn’t have come here. I was a city girl and this picture-book England made me sick. There was probably even a shop called the Olde Worlde Something Shoppe. It’s the sort of place you’d want to come to with a machine gun. And so tiny. I’d only been there two hours and I’d probably walked every street. How could you get lost in a place like that? How could you hide?

The coffee was all right though. Fuck, I needed it. I hadn’t slept for over thirty-two hours, and then it wasn’t for long. I’d gone to bed around midnight, and it was just after two when the police came banging on the door downstairs and I had to grab my stuff and get out the back window as quickly as I could. There’s a jump from the first floor window down to the old garage roof, which is none too steady, but it was that or a night in the cells. ‘Cos, even though it’s not me they want, they’d throw us all in the slammer for the night. They think we’re all addicts and it’s really cool to keep us away from our stuff, stress us out for a while. I’m not an addict. I’ve tried most stuff, and sometimes a white-out is what the doctor ordered. But I can take it or leave it. Not like some of the others.

It was Smith they were after. Last night he and Jeannie were out the window and gone before I’d even worked out what the noise was. Some of the others were doped up and took a bit longer, but they were all away before the police decided to break the door down. The way it works, everyone lays low for a few days, then we start creeping back to the squat one by one. If the police have caught Smith by then, they leave us alone. But if he comes back so do they, every night until they catch him or give up. They never keep him for long.

I went down to the arches. There were always a few people hanging around there. New kids who’d arrived in Leeds with a sleeping bag and couldn’t think of anywhere better to curl up than fifty yards from the station they’d come in at. And some nutters too, who no one would have living in a squat with them. Someone would have a bottle of vodka I could share, or something else to keep me awake through the night. The next morning I’d go up to the square and find someone who’d let me have a corner for a night or two until it was safe to go back to the squat.

That was the plan. I was on my way down there, quite pleased with myself for getting out so quickly, carrying all my stuff in my back pack. I don’t own much – a spare pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, a toothbrush. Usually a book that I’ve picked up somewhere. And my gran’s ring which I wear on a piece of leather around my neck, under my clothes so no one can see. Walking down to the arches, I put my hand into the neck of my shirt and I realised it was gone. That’s when the shit kicked off.

Now I was sitting in this cosy fucking café in Cutesville, West Yorkshire, with a cup of rocket-strength coffee and no idea what to do next. I couldn’t see the locals letting people sleep under bridges round here. Anyway, there was only fucking water under all the bridges I’d seen. I may have slept in some unsavoury places in my time, but I didn’t fancy a raging river.

There wouldn’t be any squats. Probably no homeless people at all. Here everyone would be accounted for and wrapped up soundly in their beds by ten thirty. Maybe I could sleep in the park, in one of those flowerbeds covered with bark chippings; it might be quite cosy if it doesn’t rain.

Two women were sitting by the window gossiping about people going by in the street. They knew all their names. It reminded me of when I was a kid. When we went out shopping my mum knew everyone she saw, stopped and chatted on street corners. That’s what I love about cities, no one knows you. Often as not, no one even sees you.

These two were shameless.

‘Look, there’s Sally Lumb. I haven’t seen her in ages.’

‘That’s because you’re never out this early. I often see her when I drop the kids off at school.’

‘I don’t know how she manages, living up there on her own. It must be so lonely. I’d be scared stiff. There’s no streetlights or anything. It must be pitch black at night.’

‘I don’t think Sally is the nervous type. Not about things like that. She’d be much more bothered by neighbours dropping in. I think she just wants to be left alone.’

‘I walked past Old Barn a couple of weeks ago. We’d been for a walk up on the tops. All those outbuildings as well as the enormous house, just for her! It’s the sort of place a family should live in.’

Nosy cows. I looked out of the window and saw a woman leaving the butchers. She stopped outside, took her pack off her back and opened it to put in the parcel she’d just bought. She was wearing denim dungarees, a dirty anorak and a red cap which looked like it came from a Dickens film.

‘I don’t know why she doesn’t get a bike. It’s a long slog up to Old Barn carrying your shopping.’

‘At least she doesn’t drive everywhere, like you.’

The woman slung the pack onto her back and walked off down the street. My coffee was just about gone. I slipped out of my seat and down the stairs and when I got outside the woman was just turning right into the main street.

She was easy to follow. I left a distance, but her red hat stood out. When she went into the health food shop I stopped and looked in the window of the bookshop. It was tiny. I couldn’t see it being very easy to nick books in there. I’d have to find the library and see if that was any better.

The woman’s back pack looked heavy when she came out. She’d finished shopping and she headed out of town, crossed at some lights and walked up a hill past a church. The road was steep and she walked fast. Even though I wasn’t carrying the weight she was, it was hard to keep up.

At the top of the hill the road bent to the left and there was no sign of her. There were rows of stone terraces on both sides, with pots of flowers by the doors and no gardens. She could have gone into one of them, but I didn’t think so, not from what those women in the café said. There was a track on the right, potholed and full of puddles, leading off into some woods. I hurried up it. After a few minutes I could see her red hat up ahead, appearing every now and then through the branches of the trees.

We kept going up. On the right there was a drop down to the river in the valley bottom, and it got steeper and steeper. I wondered what would happen if you slipped and fell down there, if the roots and shrubs would save you or if they would scratch and gouge at you as you fell to your death.

We passed a couple of houses with 4x4s parked outside, and a dog rushed out barking. I like dogs, but I didn’t stop to talk to it as Sally Lumb was speeding ahead. The trees were thick further up and I couldn’t see her any more.

Then the track split. One fork went down to the river, over a bridge where there were a couple more houses. The other went up through the trees. I thought I’d be able to see her if she’d gone down to the river, so I kept going up.

After about ten minutes I came out above the woods onto open hillside. I could see her ahead. She’d left the track and was heading across a field towards a farmhouse. I sat down by the wall and waited. I was breathing hard. That was a steep fucking climb.

The sun was shining and it was quite warm. I got my book out of my bag and read for a bit. Now I knew where the house was there was no rush. Best to wait ‘til dark and she was tucked up inside her house, then I’d go and have a good explore, find a cosy spot in a barn. If anyone came to Hawden looking for me, they weren’t going to find me up here.

I’d read about ten pages when I looked up and she was standing there in front of me.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi.’

She was wearing muddy walking boots and she’d taken off her anorak.

‘I’m making some lunch. Do you want to come in?’

I stared at her.

‘I know you’ve followed me up here. I don’t know if you want to steal from me, or what you’re after. But it’s a steep walk and you must be hungry. Come in and have some food and we can talk about it.’

She was smiling. She didn’t look scared. And for some reason I didn’t think she was about to phone the police. What harm could it do?

I smiled back at her and it felt weird.

‘Ok,’ I said.

She’d made soup and it had some sort of meat in it, and other bits too. I poked at them with my spoon.

‘It’s mutton broth, with barley and lentils.’

I took a spoonful and it tasted fantastic. My gran used to cook – I mean really cook, from things she chopped up and did stuff to. Not like my mum. My mum’s idea of cooking was to open the packet and put the contents in the oven. The only soup we ever had came out of tins.

They gave me a sandwich at the police station, but that’s all I’d eaten since leaving the squat. I hadn’t had time to think about food. Though with the money I had, I could have had a slap-up meal. Could have had breakfast at that café. I didn’t think of that. I finished the bowl of soup and she ladled some more in, giving me bread and butter to go with it.

‘My name’s Sally,’ she said.

‘Ali,’ I said through a mouthful of bread.

She laughed. ‘We rhyme.’

‘I wasn’t going to steal from you.’

She didn’t answer. Just looked at me as she ate her soup.

‘I need somewhere to stay. I was going to sleep in your barn.’

Still nothing. But she didn’t take her eyes off me. I wondered how she did that, eat soup without looking at it. I’m sure I’d spill it or miss the bowl or something.

‘I suppose I might have stolen some food. But only what I need. Not money or anything.’

‘Have you run away from home?’

This time I laughed. ‘Home! No, I haven’t got a home. I left that years ago.’

‘But you want somewhere to hide.’

‘Yes. I guess I do.’ She probably thought I was on the run from the police. I almost wished I was.

We both finished our soup and I waited. I didn’t want to tell her any more. She stacked the bowls and took them over to the sink, put the bread back in the bread bin, the butter in the fridge. Then she lit the stove and put the kettle on, took cups out of the cupboard.

When the tea was made she put a mug in front of me and sat back down at the table.

‘Ok,’ she said. ‘You can stay here. But there’s no need to sleep in the barn, there are lots of spare bedrooms.’

The house was enormous – there were five bedrooms including hers. They all had beds in, carpets and curtains, furniture. More people must have lived here once. She let me choose my own room and I chose one at the front of the house with a window facing out onto the valley. You could see the track, and you’d see anyone coming as soon as they left the cover of the trees.

I’d landed on my feet. How good was this? Maybe she’d want me to earn my keep – do some work about the place or something. But I didn’t mind that. It was so out of the way, no one was going to find me here.

It was when I went to the bathroom that that things started to seem a bit weird. I asked her where the loo was and she sent me upstairs.

There was a piece of string tied up above the bath, like a little washing line. And tied to it a whole row of tampons, tied on by their string. About twenty or so, and they’d all been used. The first ones hadn’t got much blood on, only patches. But they got darker and bloodier along the line, until those in the middle were fat and bloated and had blood right up the string. Then they got lighter again, and more brown. The bathroom smelled of old seaweed.

When I went downstairs she didn’t say anything about them and neither did I.

I remembered taking the ring off. I sleep on my front and the stone was digging into me. If I’ve had a lot to drink or I’m stoned I don’t always bother, but that night I was sober and straight and I put the ring on the floor at the side of my mattress before I went to sleep. You might think when the police came knocking on the door downstairs I was in such a hurry I just forgot. But that’s not the case. Gran’s ring is the first thing I put on when I wake up. The reason I didn’t this time is because someone had taken it. And the only people to come through my room and out the window before I got out myself were Smith and Jeannie.

Down at the arches I sat with a group of winos and had a swig from the bottle they were handing round. When there was a police raid there were unspoken rules. We kept apart and said nothing, even if the police caught us. We left it a few days before we returned to the squat. Most of all, we denied all knowledge of Smith – not just his business, but his very existence. And if shit kicked off for us, we could expect Smith to do the same.

But this was different. This was something outside of squatters’ rules. I used to go and see Gran every day after school until she died when I was twelve. She gave me this ring herself. She probably knew that if she put it in her will then mum would never let me keep it. It was her engagement ring and it had real diamonds and sapphires in it. It was worth money. It was also beautiful. I couldn’t see Smith taking it. I think Jeannie saw it as they dashed past and found it irresistible.

There was this straight guy Smith knew from when he was at school. Worked in an office, had a car and a girlfriend. Every now and then he and Smith met up and got drunk together. I saw them once, when Smith was hiding out. He was scrubbed up, wearing the other guy’s jeans and a jumper he’d never normally be seen dead in. He could have walked right past the police and they’d’ve not looked twice. He was hiding out in full daylight.

The guy had a place out near the university.

It got light pretty early although summer was nearly over. It was the best time in the city, when everyone was still asleep: no one about, just the street cleaners with their trucks. You could walk in the middle of the road, even the main roads. The few cars were going north, south, hoping to reach their destinations by breakfast time. This city was just part of their early morning dream. Later on, they’d look back at it, barely remember passing through, wonder if the ring road bypassed the city completely.

I walked up through the streets to the area around the university. Watched the day as it began to wake up. First a few joggers and dog walkers. Then people started to leave for work, just a few to begin with. No students yet. They would appear later, in a mad scramble to get to lectures on time with clothes askew, bags dangling, books, pens and coffee.

Smith’s friend wasn’t a student.

I knew where he lived. When I saw him with Smith that time, I followed them. You never know when that sort of information might be useful. There was a boy delivering papers and he shoved a copy of The Guardian through the guy’s letterbox. A few minutes later someone pulled it through.

I hung about for a bit, wondering what to do, but decided that upfront was the best way. When the paper boy had left the street I went up and knocked on the front door.

A woman answered, dressed ready for work in smart grey trousers, shiny black shoes, navy jumper. She was Asian, with long straight black hair and a stud in her nose. Really beautiful.

‘Hiya, are Smith and Jeannie here? I need to talk to them.’

There were tell-tale smudges under her eyes, suggesting a night of lost sleep, but she was good at hiding it. Didn’t flicker.

‘I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong address.’

The straight guy appeared behind her in the hallway, a piece of half-eaten toast in his hand.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘This girl, she’s looking for someone…’

‘Smith and Jeannie. I know they’re here. I just need to talk to them for a minute. Only a minute, then I’ll go away. Promise.’

The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Come on, man. I know they’re here. I’m not the police. I only need a moment.’

The woman spoke again. ‘Look, we’re very sorry. Your friends aren’t here. There must be a mistake. We don’t know anyone like…’ She looked me up and down, making her meaning obvious. ‘We’re running late and need to get on. I’m sorry.’

She started to close the door, but I stuck my foot out.

‘They have something of mine. It’s a misunderstanding, they wouldn’t have taken it if they knew. But I need it back.’

‘Please will you remove your foot?’

‘Just let me speak to them.’

The man said ‘If you don’t leave immediately we will be forced to call the police.’

I laughed. ‘You won’t be calling no police. Not when you’ve got that pair stashed inside.’

He pulled a phone out of his jacket pocket and held it poised like a weapon.

‘Get away from our door now or I will call the police. What will it be?’

For the first time, I doubted. Maybe they had them hidden away somewhere else. I could be banged up for harassment or something, and there’d be no chance of getting the ring back.

‘Ok,’ I said. ‘I’ll go now, but I’ll be back. Like I said, I just want my property back.’

I moved my foot and the woman slammed the door in my face.

I opened my eyes and saw flowers. Closed them again. I was in bed but I had all my clothes on and it was really warm. The sun was shining right on my head, I could feel it. I opened my eyes again. The flowers were on wallpaper. It came back to me. Sally’s house, Old Barn. This was my new bedroom.

But when I went to sleep the sun wasn’t shining through the window. I threw off the covers. The curtains were thin cotton and didn’t fit the window very well, so the sun could get through them and round the edges too. I pulled them back and look out. It looked different. I couldn’t quite work out what it was, but supposed it must be the sun making everything look fresher and brighter.

When I went downstairs I realised it was because it was morning. I went up for a nap yesterday after lunch and the sun was behind the house, casting shadows across the fields. I had slept right through, afternoon, evening, night and now it was the next day and the sun was shining from the other side of the valley.

‘Good morning.’ Sally was in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up. Her arms were in a big bowl next to the sink.

‘Sorry. I must have been beat.’

‘You look refreshed. You have colour in your cheeks.’

I put my hands to my face, not sure what to say.

‘Would you like some coffee and toast?’

I nodded.

The coffee was made from fresh beans that Sally had ground herself, and the toast was rye bread. I ate it with butter and ginger marmalade. I’d not eaten food like this since Gran died.

Sally went back to the bowl by the sink. I couldn’t see over the rim, but it sounded like there was water in it. From the way her arms moved, squeezing and kneading, I thought she was washing something.

‘Yesterday I wondered if you were running away from love,’ she said after a minute.

‘Maybe I am.’

‘No. Whatever’s the matter with you, food and sleep are working wonders. You look like a different person.’

I didn’t know what she was on about, so I stuffed more toast and marmalade into my mouth and kept chewing.

‘You’re a very pretty girl. Lost love takes all your colour away, and no amount of sleep can bring it back.’

She was quite pale. I supposed someone must have dumped her and she hadn’t got over it. Confused it with anaemia.

‘What are you doing in that bowl?’

‘It’s time to feed the roses,’ she said.

I went over and looked in the bowl and nearly spat my toast back out again.

They were in there, all those tampons from the upstairs bathroom, and she was squeezing them in the water, which was getting redder and redder.

I could smell it now as well.

‘Love takes away all your colour, but I like to give some back to my roses. I don’t want them to start fading like me.’

I watched fascinated as she took the tampons out of the water one at a time, squeezing them hard over the bowl before dropping them in the bin.

‘Come and see,’ she said when she’d finished.

I followed her out of the back door. The garden went back a long way, and I could see trellises and rows of vegetables further away from the house. But this bottom bit, the nearest bit, was a rose garden. There were beds around the edges, and a round one in the middle, all crammed with rose bushes. I don’t know anything about that sort of thing, but they looked pretty well looked after, neat, bushy, healthy. They were all covered in red blooms – no other colours, just red. And the smell of the bloody water disappeared into the sweet smell of thousands of flowers in the sunshine.

Sally carefully poured the contents of the bowl into a watering can, then she started watering all the rose bushes with her menstrual blood.

‘If you’re going to stay for a bit, maybe you’d like to help with the garden,’ she said.

And I thought, no bloody way am I helping with that.