Emily snatched the bag. ‘Ta!’
They dodged bins and rubbish down a narrow alley, Megan following close behind Emily.
‘In here,’ Emily said, with her shoulder against a graffiti-covered door. ‘Help me push it open.’
Inside, the building was dark and quiet as death.
‘Wait – leave the door open while I find my light.’ Emily scrabbled in her rucksack and yanked out a pocket torch and a six-inch knife.
A police siren drifted in from the street. Emily shone the torch, and Megan recognised the place as an abandoned office. Partition walls had gone. Rubbish, empty bottles and rotting office furniture littered the floor.
At the back of the space, Emily illuminated a crumbling staircase.
‘Is anyone here?’ she yelled. ‘I’ve got a knife!’ Her voice echoed.
‘Seems we’re alone,’ Megan whispered. ‘Let’s shut the door. It’s great to be out of the rain.’
It was odd that their friendship had started with an argument over a pitch outside Debenhams and ended in a double act. Megan juggled while Emily rapped and mimicked her idol, LP. Emily also had a whistle that hit the notes and turned heads. They took advantage of the fact that they looked so alike – both skinny with a great mop of dark curls. They almost looked like twins.
Megan had made more money busking with Emily than she had for weeks before, and after they’d split their profits, they decided to try and perform together every Friday and Saturday afternoon.
The door dragged, seeming heavier than it was. The top hinge hung loose. They shoved together and then pushed an old desk against it.
Megan rubbed the wet sleeves of her denim jacket and nodded at a drum half full of burned rubbish. ‘Look at that. Let’s light a fire.’
Emily shook her head. ‘The ground floor’s not safe. I’ve dossed here before. Pissheads and druggies use it at night. Let’s get to the top floor. There’s a mattress there.’
The torch beam turned orange, barely lighting the way.
Emily swore. ‘Bloody batteries! Only put them in yesterday. Just shows you can’t trust nothin’ these days. We’ll nick a new pack tomorrow.’
They picked their way up the dilapidated stairway to the third floor. The torch died as they reached the top of the stairs, but they managed to find the room by the light of a street lamp through the grimy windows.
‘Quick, let’s shut the door.’
The room was littered with ripped-out fittings. A mouldering mattress lay in the corner on the bare floorboards. Crumpled at the foot rested a ragged duvet.
‘Let’s get the food inside us,’ Emily said, as she pushed the door closed and jammed half a dozen abandoned fluorescent light fittings against it. ‘We’re safe here if we’re quiet. If you need to squeeze ya lemon, go in the far corner, okay?’
Megan frowned, then laughed. ‘Okay. Never heard it called that before!’
‘There’s a bathroom on the next floor down. We can use it in the morning.’ Emily pulled the food bag open. ‘Four dogs, two buns and a pile of onions – I should have nicked his mustard.’
‘Ha! He wanted to give you more than his mustard,’ Megan said, pulling off her damp jacket. She hadn’t felt so good in ages. It was great to share with a friend. To have a friend. They sat beside each other, shoulder to shoulder on the mattress, and ate everything.
Grease from the fried onions ran down Megan’s arm. She licked it off and sighed.
‘God, that was good. Now I’m thirsty.’
‘Tough,’ Emily said. ‘There’s water in the bathroom, but best not go there now.’
‘You mean the tramps might get us?’
‘It’s not the dossers, it’s the pimps. They come like rats in the night, searching for the likes of us. Before you know it, they’ll have you drugged up and sucking dick.’
Megan recoiled, and glanced at Emily. ‘That’s why I left London.’
Emily’s eyes widened. ‘What? You had a pimp?’
Megan heard the shock in her friend’s voice and for a moment enjoyed it.
‘No, not really. I was with this guy, Simon. I stayed at his flat and everything, but he was an arse. Started usin’. He brought this bloke round one night, tried to get me to snort stuff. Things got nasty. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Well, stick with me and you’ll survive. How long you been juggling then?’
‘Six months. Started while I was living with Simon.’
‘I got some balls, too. Shacked up with this guy who dealt in this and that, a bit fishy, but he always had loads of dosh. He got a consignment of juggling balls from China, so I helped myself to a set and scarpered. Never got the hang of it though.’
‘You got them now? It’s just a knack – I’ll teach you.’
‘Cool!’ Emily pulled the knife out of her bag and fingered the point, then produced a set of three juggling balls. ‘How much did you get today?’
‘Fifteen quid, outside Deansgate Station,’ Megan said. ‘Took the entire day. It’s much better in London. I could get nearly double that in a couple of hours.’ She pulled her own juggling balls from the long pocket of her camo trousers. ‘Look, first you have to get used to the rhythm of throw and catch. Here we go. Do what I do.’ She threw a ball in the air and caught it, again and again. Emily did the same with hers – and then dropped it. The room was too dark to see it among the rubbish.
‘Don’t fret, I’ll find it in the morning,’ Emily said. ‘Fifteen quid’s good.’
She slid the knife under the edge of the mattress, and yanked the duvet over them.
‘I’m saving to go to Greece,’ Megan said. ‘I’ll be going any day now. Just waiting for the ticket prices to drop. My gran’s from there. What about you, how much d’you get?’
‘Six quid altogether, rapping in the doorway next to Boots, but I spent three on a McDonald’s. Where’s your nan live then?’
‘She was a refugee from Athens when my mum was a kid, but she was actually born in Crete.’
Emily’s face blanked.
‘It’s a Greek island. My brother told me she went back there just after I left home. We went there on holiday lots of times when I was little – I’d kick up a right fuss when we had to leave for home.’ Megan smiled, remembering how it became the family joke. Then she shook her head. No point thinking about her parents now. ‘Granny Anna’s amazing. You ever been to Greece?’
Emily shook her head.
‘It’s just pure magic. I love it.’
‘What makes it so special?’
Megan thought for a moment. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Look, remember when you were a kid and you had a doll’s house?’
Emily stared, but said nothing.
‘You know, you move things around and imagine you’re inside, living there, and you have this great feeling of control, like with juggling. When you look out, you don’t see the bedroom carpet, you see groves of beautiful lemon trees, colourful butterflies and birds, and everything is zippadee-doo-dah. Well, that’s Crete – magical. You feel anything’s possible, and my Granny Anna is a hundred per cent fairy godmother.’ She paused for a moment, and realised she was grinning. She loved her grandmother so much. ‘She has a little stone cottage in a fishing village. I don’t think she’s ever bought a packet of biscuits from a supermarket. She bakes every day and the house always has that lovely honey-herby smell.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll tell you something mad. She’s not just this cute old lady – she’s sort of sexy, too. I was at a bus stop with her once and I saw this old geezer wink at her, and she stuck her chest out and grinned. I mean! She’s got plastic teeth and everything . . . unbelievable! She’s like the queen of our family. I’m going to go there and live with her for a bit. She’s cool – she won’t tell my parents if I ask her not to.’ She paused, knowing that was a hope rather than a certainty. ‘What about you?’