So that’s where Becky headed. It was warm all right, but they didn’t allow dogs. It was the same with the museum. No dogs. She didn’t even get through the front door there. She went and sat in a launderette for a while, but they kicked her out because she hadn’t brought any washing to do. The waiting room at the bus station was empty and it was warm. She lay down on the bench with Brighteyes beside her and just hoped no one would come. She was half asleep when a bus inspector came in, and asked her which bus she was waiting for. She was too dozy to make up a credible story. She just couldn’t think fast enough. So she told him the truth.

“I just wanted to stay in the warm,” she said, “that’s all. Got nowhere else to go.”

“That’s not my fault, is it?” he said, holding the door open. “Out, or I’ll call the police.”

Becky knew she had no choice, that it was no use arguing with a man like that. But all the same she took her time, very deliberately walking around the waiting room, looking at all the posters on the wall, studying the timetables and the maps, before sauntering past him without even an acknowledgment that he was there. She enjoyed her little show of defiance – it made her feel a little better about facing the dark, cold streets.

The rain had stopped by now, but the wind was icy. There seemed nowhere left to hide from it. All she could do was walk. It was already night before Becky came across the only refuge she could find, a disused multi-story car park with a high chain link fence all around, and a sign up outside: KEEP OUT. SECURITY PATROLLED She was desperate by now. She had to find some shelter, any shelter. So when she spotted a hole in the fence just about big enough to squeeze through, she didn’t hesitate.

The place was filled with a hollow, eerie silence that frightened her, but it looked and sounded deserted. And most importantly it was dry and out of the wind. She found a tucked away corner down in the basement. Others had clearly discovered it before her. The place was littered with cardboard and plastic bags, and bottles, lots of bottles. Someone had lit a fire there too at one time or another, because there was a heap of ashes nearby. Brighteyes went to lie down at once on the cardboard and began cleaning himself. “That’s what I like about you,” Becky said. “Wherever you are, you just make the best of it, make yourself at home. But you’re right: home is where you are, however horrible it is. So we’ll make the best of it. Tomorrow I’ll get some money, somehow. Then we can get a proper place and proper food.” She went to sit down beside him, drew up her legs and hugged them to her. “I can do waitress work. Or kitchen work, washing-up and stuff like that. We’ll go looking tomorrow. We’ll be all right. We’ll be fine, you’ll see.” She lay down then and pulled him close, her head against his chest. She felt the warmth of sleep coming over her and let herself drift with it.