CHAPTER ONE
The Bus Stop
It was freezing cold, but my legs burned as I trudged along the street, desperate to try to waste the rest of the day. Countless windows stared down at me and I felt like a specimen underneath the intense lens of a microscope. The street was far too public; there was a risk of being spotted ā I had to hide. Iād been walking for most of the day and my body felt numbed by the cold air. Mum had been on the wrong shift that day, so my stint indoors had been temporarily scuppered. I strolled a little further along before slipping sideways, diverting away from the main road, into a maze of smaller cut-through paths that linked the estate. The narrow flagstone paths spread like feathery veins, which made it much easier to blend in. To the outside world, I was just another girl making her way home early from school. School. I hated it with a passion. My life had been almost unbearable since Iād started at the new secondary. Iād always been a real bookworm ā naturally academic ā which had made me unpopular in class; that, and the fact that I wanted to become a teacher. Once my passion for books became general knowledge, I became a prime target for bullies. I decided that the easiest way to swerve them would be to avoid school and vanish from lessons altogether. My first escape had been easy, thanks to a torn piece of fencing that Iād discovered in the bottom right-hand corner of the playing field. The broken fence had been my get-out-of-jail-free card; out of sight, out of mind. It had been so easy that soon I began to bunk off every day, and Iād got away with it for six long weeks until parentsā evening. I refused to go to school that night, but Mum and Dad went and, as soon as they came in through the door, they demanded answers.
āWhy the hell havenāt you been going to school?ā Mum asked.
She stood there, annoyed and hovering over me, waiting for an answer. Dad flopped down in an armchair opposite. The disappointment on his face was unbearable. I wasnāt sure what to do. I refused to say Iād been bullied because I knew it would only make things ten times worse, so instead I shrugged my shoulders with typical teenage nonchalance. But my indifference seemed to enrage Mum more.
āWell,ā she huffed, clearly exasperated, āif you canāt be trusted to go there then weāre going to have to start taking you ourselves.ā
The thought of being dropped off at school by my parents left me mortified. If anything, I knew it would only give the bullies more ammunition to fire back. However, I had no plans to stay in school, so I knew that it really wouldnāt make much difference. Instead, I would go along to the morning register, then leave through the broken fence. The school was on my case, of course. Even though I was thirteen and pretty clever, my constant absence affected my schoolwork. The next time I was confronted, I had no other option than to come clean, especially as Iād been summoned to the headmasterās office, along with my parents.
āItās these three girls ā¦ theyāre really nasty to me,ā I began to explain, my legs swinging below me and the chair. The blunt edge of the cheap grey plastic seat bit against the backs of my knees.
The headmaster sighed as though heād heard it all before. He knew Iād already missed far too much schoolwork to try to catch up, and besides, Iād continue to bolt if he forced me to go back. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and considered my options. Finally, he sat forward and rested both his elbows on his mahogany desk.
āItās imperative that Elizabeth keeps up with her maths, English and science ā¦ā he explained as Mum and Dad nodded along in agreement. āSo, I suggest we give her a timetable that works around these subjects. If Elizabeth comes into school to complete these lessons ā say, one lesson a day ā then I would allow her to return home afterwards.ā
My folks didnāt seem exactly thrilled with his solution, but if it meant the difference between getting an education or not, they had no choice.
āOkay,ā Mum agreed.
Initially, I had stuck to the headmasterās plan, but my heart wasnāt really in it, and it wasnāt very long before I slipped back into my old ways. Iād already had a taste of freedom and now I craved it ā my own space to do whatever I wanted. I couldnāt return to school, not now, not ever.
My behaviour continued unchanged and unchallenged until a year later. With a shocking attendance record behind me, I turned fifteen. By this time, I was adept at prowling the streets to kill time. No one seemed to care. My parents, who had always taken my education seriously, werenāt aware that I was still bunking off, and my teachersā indifference made me despise school even more. The comprehensive school itself was lax and the teachers adopted a very laid-back approach when dealing with students. They certainly werenāt going to miss me. In fact, one less child to teach would have been considered a bit of a blessing.
Itās a total waste of time. What do I need maths or science for? I thought as I took the long way home along my usual street of choice.
I mulled it over, trying to justify it to myself, but I was a typical teenager, and right then it felt like me against the rest of the world.
Mum and Dad worked at a local supermarket, so they would leave at the same time. However, some days their shift patterns would change and give me a small window of opportunity ā the chance to nip home late morning or early afternoon. Whenever this happened, I would sit and watch TV for a few hours, sneak back out and retrace my route before pretending to return to our semi-detached council house for the very first time. However, their shifts werenāt set in stone and often differed week to week, leaving my days unpredictable. Soon, I seemed to be dodging everyone: the bullies, my parents and the teachers. My truancy meant that I was always alone and, as a result, I felt adrift. I didnāt realise it then, but this made me extremely vulnerable.
One day in autumn 2003, Iād been through the usual motions of trying to kill time and was walking along a small pathway ā one I knew like the back of my hand ā that eventually re-joined the main road. There was a bus stop up ahead and a small queue of people standing by it. My eyes quickly scanned the blur of faces, but no one looked remotely familiar. Still, I bowed my head. As I passed the queue, I felt a pair of eyes following me. A flash of white cloth billowed out like a freshly laundered sheet on a washing line, catching in my peripheral vision. I noticed it but I didnāt turn around. Instead, I carried on walking, but someone was watching me, I could just sense it. Tilting my face upwards, I scoured the dozens of windows that overlooked me. Iād expected to see someone standing there, monitoring me, but all the windows were empty. Baffled, I shook the thought from my head and pressed further on along the road.
A few days later, I retraced my way along the same route through the estate. My steps weaved in and out from the main road like a zig-zag stitch, trying to avoid detection. The familiar bus stop was up ahead on the right at the top of a slight hill. There were a few people waiting for the bus, including a woman wearing a white hijab. The wind blew and caught against it and the hijab billowed out like a small, white sail. I didnāt tend to see many people wearing traditional Pakistani clothing, so I found the woman fascinating. As I drew near, I averted my eyes and tried to focus on the chewing-gum-splattered pavement. I counted the grey-white misshapen splodges on the tarmac for something to do.
Five ā¦ six ā¦ seven ā¦
As I approached, I momentarily glanced up and the woman in the hijab did something quite unexpected: her face broke into a large, warm smile, as though she recognised me. Her reaction left me completely stumped.
Do I know her? I wondered, trying not to look but now unable to stop myself. I decided that I didnāt.
But why is she still staring?
A sudden thought flashed across my mind.
Does she know Mum or Dad?
I couldnāt be sure, so I glanced back at her. The womanās eyes locked with mine; her gaze was so intense that it felt rude to look away.
āHello,ā she said, still smiling.
āHi,ā I mumbled, half smiling back at her.
The whole encounter felt awkward, but when my eyes looked back at her a few seconds later I noticed that she was laughing.
Is she laughing at me? I thought, feeling slightly annoyed.
The woman was rather large ā around a size 18 or 20 ā and so quite conspicuous, even in a crowd. Once I had noticed her, I was intrigued.
Maybe weāve passed each other in the street before.
Although I very much doubted that because I was certain I wouldāve remembered. I had grown up and lived in Rotherham, South Yorkshire, with my parents and younger sister, Claire. She was three years younger than me and we got on well. The council estate that I lived on was populated by predominantly white, working-class families, so it was unusual to see a woman dressed like that around there. I couldnāt work out how or where I knew her from, and I couldnāt explain it but upon seeing her, an uneasy feeling flooded through me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and prickled against my skin. The strange woman was acting as though she knew me, but she also seemed a little overfamiliar.
My stomach growled loudly, interrupting my thoughts and reminding me that I hadnāt eaten since breakfast. I was absolutely starving! I inched up the sleeve of my jumper so that I could check the time. I groaned.
Still another hour to kill!
My eyes rolled in annoyance. The minutes seemed to drag by, and I found myself walking in circles until eventually it was time to go home. As soon as I bounded in through the back door I headed straight for the fridge. My hands were still searching for something quick to eat when Mum walked into the kitchen.
āDonāt go stuffing yourself; youāll ruin your appetite,ā she said, as she went over to the worktop and began to peel some potatoes. The sharp knife sliced the skins quickly, removing them within seconds. Satisfied, she placed the last peeled spud in the colander and turned to face me.
āHave you got any homework?ā
But I wasnāt really listening. I had sat down at the kitchen table and was absentmindedly flicking through a TV listings magazine. I turned the page with one hand and buried the other inside a packet of crisps.
āHmm?ā I mumbled.
āHomework?ā Mum repeated.
I shook my head.
āNo, not tonight.ā
She nodded, satisfied by my answer.
The school doesnāt give a shit ā they obviously havenāt told her Iāve havenāt even been there.
āMake yourself useful and set the table, will you?ā she said, calling over her shoulder.
I groaned but stood up and did as she said; I couldnāt be bothered to argue. Not tonight.
A few days later, I was walking along the street when I stopped to check the time.
Half past two.
I had recently fallen into a pattern of treading the same route almost every day, more through familiarity than anything else. I knew exactly how long each street, each avenue and each estate would take me to walk. Eventually, I re-joined the main road with the familiar bus stop just up ahead. Once again, I noticed the strange woman ā the one who had spoken to me. My stomach clenched with anxiety. She was wearing the same patterned tunic, and her black leggings strained at the seams as though fighting to keep her legs hidden inside. The hijab draped down both sides of her face and over her shoulders, making her look a little like a nun, its white fabric reflected in the weak spring sunshine. As I climbed the small hill, I realised that she was doing it again ā she was staring at me. By size alone, I found her quite intimidating.
āHello,ā she said, her face breaking into a wide smile.
āHi,ā I replied, only this time I didnāt look away. I was trying to figure out where I knew her from.
āYou seem a bit lost,ā she remarked as her forehead creased and furrowed with worry. āAre you lost?ā
She took a step forward and was now standing directly in front of me, blocking my path. The whole situation felt a little odd, as though she wanted to stop and chat.
Maybe sheās lonely.
Even though she was the only person at the bus stop, the pavement was narrow, so it was impossible to try to push past. For now, I was trapped; as I glanced up, I realised that she was still waiting for an answer.
āYou seem a little lost ā¦ā she repeated in case I hadnāt heard the first time.
āNo, Iām fine. Iām just on my way home ā¦ā I insisted. I lifted a hand and gestured off into the middle-distance.
However, the woman didnāt seem convinced.
āWell, you donāt look it; in fact, you look really miserable.ā
My stomach clenched.
Who is she? Is she something to do with the school? Is she going to report me?
I was just wondering how to respond when she added: āWhat is it? Boy trouble?ā
My face burned as my face blu...
