As I went through the swing doors of the restaurant into the cold night air, it hit me. I was homeless again and I didn’t have a clue as to what I could do about it.

********************************************************************

I was out on the pavement. It was cold and quite dark.

I knew that I had a long walk home, so I started down the road. As usual, I was in a panic over whether anyone would see me, realise that I was not all girl and shout for the police.

I could hear the clatter of my heals, striking the pavement. The noise was almost as loud as my heart, which was thumping away as if I had done a marathon or something. I had done it again. I regretted poring lager over the head of the hated Davis. Not because he didn’t deserve it, in fact I really enjoyed doing it and seeing the look on his pock marked face, but because I was now without a home. I was deep in the doo doo surely; things couldn’t get much worse, could they?

The wind blew up my skirt and I screeched out a little ‘eak’ as I tried to keep my Marilyn Monroe impression to the minimum. As I carried on I noticed that the streetlights were well spaced out and for a lot of the time it was quite dark.

A stone or something had somehow gotten into my shoe, God knows how, as I felt as if I was on stilts in these things.

I stopped by a lamppost, put one hand up against it and using the other one; I took my shoe off and emptied it of the offending object. It was a tiny bit of stone but had felt like a boulder.

I gratefully put my shoe back on and was just about to move off when a car drew up.

I looked over thinking that it might be a taxi or something. It was a man in a black BMW.

The window silently swished down and the man leaned over to me and said in a whisper ‘How much?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How much?’

‘Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Are you up for anything.’ He whispered. Perhaps he had a sore throat.

‘I’m on my way home.’

He smiled, ‘Is it far, sweetheart?’

‘Um, no it’s about a mile down the road.’

‘Do you want to get in then? We’ll go to your place and talk prices as we go.’

‘Ah,’ I thought, ‘it must be a taxi then. Funny, no signs up. It must be a posh one if it’s a BMW.’

I got in the car and we were off.

‘You look nice, love.’ Said the man in a normal if a bit smarmy way.

‘Erm thanks, I said as I attempted to do up my seat belt.

I swear I could smell whisky or something on his breath. Getting in this car was looking like not one of my brightest ideas to date.

‘So you been doing this long?’

‘Doing what?’

‘You know, the streets.’

‘Oh no, I’ve just left the restaurant.’

‘Used to be a waitress eh? You will make more money doing this.’

‘What, taxi driving?’

‘Eh?’

My skirt had ridden up my legs a bit and I was in danger of showing a bit too much of my panties, so I wriggled my bottom a bit in a vain attempt to pull my skirt down. The man couldn’t keep his eyes off me for some reason and the next thing I knew, he put a hand on my leg and was pushing his hand up my skirt!

I screamed and to be honest it did sound a bit girly.

Out of the blue, there was a crash and the sound of tinkling glass and I went forward against the seat belt. There were another two banging noises and all of a sudden a balloon surrounded me. For some reason I thought of the number six, but in a flash, that thought was swallowed up as I struggled to release myself from the belt and the cloying plastic of the erupted airbag.

Eventually I struggled out of the car and I sort of fell onto the pavement landing heavily on my botty. The man was still trying to untangle himself from the seat belt and airbag in a vain attempt to get out of the car as I heard the now all too familiar sound of a police car, eee ooring its way towards the stricken car. The flashing blue lights shone brightly as the police car screeched to a halt behind the badly dented BMW.

I knew it, just knew that the policemen were the same ones that had pulled Sheila and me over. You know, Mick and Dave I think their names were.

Anyway, they were in full, save that man mode as they pulled the car driver’s door open and helped untangle the man from his seat belt and airbag.

Once they had managed to untangle the man the policemen started asking questions.

‘Right sir can I see your licence,’

‘Er, sorry officer, it’s in my other wallet.’

‘Can you tell us what happened?’

‘Um a cat ran across the road and I swerved to avoid it.’

I couldn’t help it. I should have kept my mouth shut. But remember, I had just a very fraught day. I opened my big mouth and said, ‘You bloody liar, you were touching me up!’

Both Mick and Dave’s eyes swivelled towards me. I had made a boo boo. I realised that.

‘Don’t I know you, Miss?’ said Dave.

I stepped back slightly, into the gloom.

‘Erm, I don’t think so, officer.’

‘Can you substantiate your statement, Miss?’

‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘Have you any witnesses to your alleged assault.’

Why do policemen have to talk like that? Can’t they just speak plain English?

‘How could I have a witness, he was going about 50 miles an hour, when he groped me!’ |I was getting angry now at how stupid these coppers were being. I was forgetting that I was a girl with extra baggage as it were.

‘Are you sure that we haven’t met,’ said Dave to me, frowning.

‘She’sh talking rubbish,’ said BMW man, suddenly.

Mick and Dave turned back to the man and Mick said, ‘have you been drinking sir?’

‘Coursh not.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t mind blowing into this little bag then,’

‘I don’t need to do that Shargeant. I’m perfectly shober.’

‘Its constable, sir and I think that you should just blow into the bag, just to confirm what you have just said.’

The man looked like a rabbit, caught in the headlights of an approaching car. He did a very stupid thing, he ran for it. The two policemen immediately gave chase, leaving me, for the moment, alone.


At this point, I showed a rare bit of intelligence as I quietly slunk (is that a proper word?) away before Starsky and Hutch got back.

I took my shoes off to avoid breaking my ankles and ran around the corner as fast as I could in my stocking feet.

As I ran, the damned skirt kept lifting up, so I had to use one hand to hold it down. With my other hand holding my shoes and me trying to run in virtually bare feet, I must have looked a bit of a strange sight.

Unfortunately, since I was a child, I had suffered a bit from asthma and as such unless I used my inhaler, I run out of breath very quickly.

Eventually, I ran out of steam and I slowed to a walk. I sat down by the edge of the curb, gasping for breath and put my shoes back on.

There was a call box on the next corner so I wheezed over, put 20p in the slot and rang Sheila.

After a few rings, Sheila answered.

‘Hello?’

I still couldn’t catch my breath properly and I just wheezed into the mouthpiece.

‘Sheila.’ I croaked.

‘Sorry, who is this? Hello?’

‘It’s me.’ I gasped.

‘Who is this? Look I hate you dirty, filthy heavy breathers. If I catch you, I will put your tackle into a mangle and turn the handle real slow. Now get lost pervert, before I ring the police.’

The phone went dead.

I looked though my purse for more change and realised that I didn’t have any more cash.

I slammed the phone down in frustration and wondered why I was being picked on like this. Perhaps God had a sense of humour, but if he had, I didn’t think it was a very good one.

Just then I could hear sirens coming my way. I hid behind the phone box, just in time to see Mick and Dave flash by in their police car and I swear that I saw the man who owned the BMW in the back, gesticulating wildly and shouting something.

I carried on down the road as my breathing slowly returned to normal. The clouds had parted and it was now a clear evening. The stars were shining and it was a full moon.

The roads were quiet and thankfully free of dirty old men, women and children.

I was now about a 20-minute walk away from home and I went as fast as I could in my heels. How women could wear these damned items of torture regularly, I would never know. They should get medals for endurance above and beyond the call of duty.

Anyway, I had to cross the road. I didn’t see the drain cover. My foot landed in one of the slits and with a loud bang, one of my heels broke off.

‘****!’ I said loudly.

This was definitely not one of my best days.

I hobbled on, listing to starboard and contemplating whether I should break the other heel to even things up when, just then in the distance, I heard engine sounds. It was a… no two motorbikes.

In seconds, I was bathed in the glow of headlights as the bikes roared up to me.


The bikers took their helmets off and to my surprise, (not really, after all that had happened!) it was Ronald and Derek.


‘Ullo luv, got problems again?’ said Derek eloquently, his chains clinking melodiously.

‘Yus, I mean yes. I’ve broken my heel and I’m trying to get home.’

‘Wot’s a loverly gal like you doin out alone?’ said Ronald, scratching his armpit.

‘Um, I had a row with my date.’

‘Won us to go an sort im out luv? Said Derek, grinning evilly.

‘Um…no thanks, I just want to go home.’

‘Yer shouldn’t be out ere, all alone like this, at night, luv. There’s a lot of strange people about.

Looking at Derek and Ronald, in their black leather, chains and wild hair, I wondered what they considered was strange. I was brought out of my musings by Derek.

‘Got a spare lid wiv yer, Ronald?’

‘Yus, Derek. We’ll give you a lift home, ducks.’

I looked at the big throbbing machines and the quaked slightly.

‘No, that’s OK, I can walk from here.’

‘Don’t worry, love. You’ll be home before you know it.’

In seconds I was hoisted behind Ronald, wearing a crash helmet, which had seen better days, smelling slightly of stale sweat and something else not very nice.

I found myself clinging on to dear life as we roared down the road. My skirt was up around my face and my delicate regions were getting the full force of a 60mph gale. I was glad that Mick and Dave were not around to nick me for indecent exposure. Now that would have been fun!

True to there word, I was outside my place in no time.

Ronald lifted me bodily off the bike.

‘There you go, luv, nice and safe. Now remember, a nice girl like you shouldn’t be out alone.’

‘That’s right, Ronald, you tell er.’

‘Um, I’ll remember, thanks for the lift boys.’

I handed the helmet back to Ronald who attached it to his bike.

The two bikers roared off and as they went, I noticed that they had different leather jackets on this time. One said in studs, ‘I Luv Sex’ the other one said ‘I’ve got a headache.’

I limped up the steps, opened the peeling front door and went in the house. I wondered what the hell I was to do now, as I walked up the tastefully uncarpeted staircase to my room.

I went in, shut the door with a bang and went to sit on the bed and put my head in my hands.

Just then there was a quiet knock on the door.

I wearily got up and opened the door. It was Sheila standing there with a quizzical look on her face.

‘Well, you’re back quick. How did you get on?’

‘Come in,’

Sheila sat on the bed next to me and looked at me hard.

‘Rough was it?’

‘Rough isn’t the word. Disastrous would be nearer.’

‘Tell Auntie Sheila then.’

I proceeded to tell Sheila all that had happened. For some reason, she got a smirk on her face when I told her of the incident with the BMW man, sniggered when I told her that I had rung her and laughed out loud when she was told about Derek and Ronald.

‘The long and short of it,’ I said rather testily, ‘Is that I am being chucked out tomorrow and I have nowhere to go.’

‘Now don’t worry about that, I….’

Just then there was a series of loud bangs on my door.

I opened the door and there in all his splendid finery, his lime green shirt and orange spotted tie stained with beer and looking like murder, was Davis.

He looked angry, very angry. His little piggy eyes were puffed out. His face was redder than beetroot. The veins on his bulbous nose seemed to stand out more than usual and his hands were clenching and unclenching like he wanted to do serious damage to someone’s neck, probably mine.

In a flash of intuition, I realised that he was not happy with me and that I would not be on his Christmas card list.

‘YOU BITCH!’


Copyright Susan Brown 2005