What would you have done? Back in London my bed awaited me, but I felt too poorly to drive. So I steered the coach into the Texas Homecare car park, got out and peed in some bushes, got back in and pulled all the curtains closed, with my trembling hands. I pulled every curtain, all down the coach. My whole body was burning. Inside my clothes, insects were crawling over my skin.

I bundled myself up in the back seat—it felt cosier, with the curtains drawn, it felt more like my place. Sooner or later I fell asleep.

‘Des darling!’

I jerked awake. Beside me, a woman was speaking to me. She was close and loving. All down the coach there were bright needles of light; at the far end, the windscreen blazed. My head throbbed and my limbs felt like lead.

She wanted me; I scrambled to my feet. For a moment I thought my mother had come to look after me, in my illness, but then I realized this couldn’t be possible. It was Eleni; she had found me at last. No wonder there had been no reply to the phone.

I parted the curtain. The light blinded me.

‘Les darling, have you got the keys?’

I blinked. The sun was so bright, it took me a moment to focus. Then I looked down and saw a woman standing beside a car. She was speaking to this person called Les, who was walking across the car park, carrying a kitchen sink wrapped in plastic. My eyeballs ached.

The car park was full; it was a beautiful day. Couples were going to their vehicles carrying pieces of homes—a flat-packed table, a bed headboard. They looked purposeful, as if they all knew they were going to somewhere safe. I’m all right Jack, they said. They all had homes to go to. It must be Saturday, DIY day. I had once been one of these people, but how quickly they had become an alien species! Unwashed, with my stubbly chin, I was a vagrant now. I felt as separate as an animal in the zoo.

I had no idea of the time—11.00? 4.00? Even guessing hurt my head and I looked at my watch. 1.30. I tried to calculate the day of the week: Monday, the motel. Tuesday, Thing’s couch. Robbie. Wednesday? Where had I slept then? The beginning of my long drive seemed clearer than the last few days. I looked longingly at the bushes where sometime this morning, in the dark, I had peed in privacy.

I climbed down from the coach, on bendy legs, and steadied myself against it. The metal was warm, it was a gorgeous day for October. No, November. Remember remember the fifth of November. My Dad, bending down to put a rocket in a bottle and straightening up, coughing. He had died of lung cancer.

I made my way, slowly, to the car park exit, pausing to let a loaded estate car pass me. I felt even worse today. If I leant against the wall, people might think I was just enjoying the sun. I closed my eyes and smelt frying; it made me nauseous but I walked around the corner and into the fish and chip shop. The vinegar made my eyes sting. Friday, that’s right. It was Friday.