‘I hear you gave that nosy bloke a dog biscuit to chew on. Have you had a chance to think about why you would do that, especially as the poor man has already had to handle your piss?’

‘Just me getting my own back on a world of my own making.’

‘So how did it go with the girl? Did you get her name? Are you an item for ever and ever now?’

‘Shit, no, I didn’t get her name, but I’ve kind of made my pitch and handed the decision over to her. Told her to get in touch if she ever fancied a chat and she said she might just do that.’

‘Maybe she just wanted to get rid of you, have you thought about that for at least a moment?’

‘Of course I have, but I’m choosing to ignore that possibility at least until I get home.’

‘Maybe she’s breadcrumbing you. You know, giving you a little morsel to keep you hanging on like a little puppy.’

‘No, she’s not that kind of girl.’

‘Oh, isn’t she? Well, what kind of girl is she, then?’

‘A fucking wonderful one.’

The squirrel gave me a sympathetic series of blinks and then darted away into the distance.

PART TWO

12

Emily

My name is Emily. I live in a two-bedroom flat on the Grange estate in Walworth, south-east London. I am twenty-five years old with dark brown hair and a daft button nose. I style my hair with a straight temple-to-temple fringe. I was recently told that it makes me look like Jane Brurier, whoever that is. I’m about to do a runner. Let me tell you how I arrived at this decision.

I am an only child and grew up with my parents in the bed-and-breakfast hotel that they owned on the outskirts of Brighton. Mum didn’t like Dad much. In later years she described him variously as ‘an ignorant shit’, ‘a cold ham’, ‘a farting donkey’ and – my personal favourite – ‘a bongo-playing snake’. She left him when I moved out. I think she only stayed with him for my sake and I often feel guilty about that. She became a different person after she left him – a happy person.