running away 2

Once we got off at Baker Street we weren’t totally sure how to get to Trafalgar Square. There was no station of that name on the map and neither of us had been there without our parents before. We couldn’t see anyone who looked suitable to ask, so we took the little red Bakerloo Line train in what we thought was the right direction.

One of the things we’d discussed was how to avoid arousing people’s suspicions, so we kept ourselves to ourselves. We’d also read that helpful people patrolled Victoria Station day and night, looking out for runaways, so we knew where not to go. We didn’t want to be helped in the slightest.

We got off at Charing Cross. It was March, and a thin drizzle was steadily falling

“Oh god the coats will start to smell”

“If we stay in the open air, people might not notice. Let’s try this way shall we?”

We wandered along, revelling in our freedom. The coats were getting a little smelly - it was the only downside with afghans – something to do with the way the leather was treated. I remembered how my father wouldn’t actually let me in his car when I was wearing mine. Thank goodness I would never have to go through that argument again.

“What shall we do first then?”

“Buy cigarettes I think. How much money have we got?”

We opened our bags and counted. We’d both emptied our post office savings accounts the weekend before. Once we’d pooled the money, we found we had a very satisfying amount .

“Fifteen pounds – that sounds ok doesn’t it?”

“Oh absolutely. Let’s find a shop”

“This is so much more fun than school isn’t it?”

“What’s the time?”

“Quarter past eleven’

“They’re changing for games now”

We both laughed at the thought.

We bought ten number six, and wandered around, smoking them. I looked at the grimy buildings, the discarded tube tickets floating in the puddles, and felt exactly as I’d hoped I would. This was so much more beautiful and exciting. No large well-tended gardens here. No quiet streets or clipped hedges. No rules.

We meandered down to the Embankment and watched the dirty grey river for a while, looking at all the different boats going to and fro – it was almost as busy as the road. Then we turned, and strolled slowly back up towards the tube.

I breathed in the traffic fumes and watched people hurrying from their offices to lunch, trying to avoid the rain. I didn’t understand why they all looked so miserable – they obviously had no idea how lucky they were.

The rain stopped, and as we got nearer the tube, we heard guitars and singing and saw some buskers, surrounded by a little group of people laughing and fooling around. At last – someone who looked like us, happy and not in suits. We gravitated towards them and stood at the edge of the crowd, watching.

Passers-by stopped to listen on their way to and from the sandwich bars that lined the little street. At the end of each song, one of the group would go round the crowd, shaking a hat, trying to cajole money from their audience.

They didn’t look like the kind of people who might offer to help runaways, so we edged a little closer. There must have been about ten of them altogether – four singing and playing guitars, and the others taking it in turns to pass the hat, joking with each other, smiling at the office workers. From time to time one of the girls would get up and dance.

They all looked really impressive to us; the girls wore cloaks and love beads and colourful boots laced up to the knee – like the ones we’d seen in the back of the NME, and the men had long hair, and hats, and coats made of tapestry, or afghans like us, only full length ones.

I looked at Imogen.

“We could ask them - don’t you think?”

“Go on then – you do it”

I waited until the hat came round again, and took a deep breath.

“Excuse me – could you possibly tell us how to get to Trafalgar Square?”

The man looked us over and smiled. He had long brown hair and a beard, and wore an earring.

‘We’re going there in a while – come with us! You get a good crowd there in the afternoons. I think we’re eating first though – want something? Here - rattle the hat – I’ll be back soon.”

I looked the hat he’d given me. They were just finishing off “Where Do You Go To My Lovely”. I felt very awkward, but I didn’t want to let him down, so I went over to a group of young women who were swaying along to the music, eating their sandwiches, and I rattled the hat so the coins inside jingled together – tentatively at first, then louder as I got the hang of it. One of them fished in her handbag, threw ten pence in, and smiled at me.

“Gosh! Thank you very much”

I was stunned, and very pleased. I obviously made a convincing busker. I’d been right all along – everything was falling into place. I looked at Imogen and I could see she felt the same way. She was chatting with one of the men; he had long blonde hair and he was making her a roll-up.

The man with the beard was soon back. I gave him the hat and he looked inside.

“Hey – well done! Here – share this with your friend”

I took the paper bag over to Imogen and we opened it and peered inside . It looked like some kind of pie, in a foil container. I took a bite and whatever was inside was burning hot and burnt my tongue. I’d never eaten anything like that before. At home we didn’t eat much English food, and although I’d been taken to restaurants all my life, to learn how to behave in one, I’d certainly never been allowed to eat things in the street before. I passed the rest to Imogen. It had been an interesting experience, but I was far too excited to be hungry.

We spent the rest of that day tagging along with the buskers. The hangers-on came and went with a casual wave to us. We did get to Trafalgar Square in the end. The sun had come out, and we took our turn at shaking the hat – anxious to do all we could to repay their generosity.

We were soon friends and we felt as if we’d been there forever. They told us they came from the North somewhere – I didn’t catch the name – and they spent each day making just enough to get by. They lived in a squat just across the river in Waterloo. It sounded so glamourous – just the kind of carefree life we were aiming for.

I took Imogen off to one side

“Do you think they’d let us go back with them?’

It was getting a little colder now, and I was beginning to wonder where we would sleep. Imogen smiled.

“I already asked.”

She looked at the blonde man.

“He isn’t sure yet. He’s going to see what the others think. He says we’re jailbait – you know – when you’re…”

“ I know what it means. When do you think he’ll say?”

It was starting to get dark.

“Well I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Who’s going to find out? Do you think that means they want to have sex with us?”

I was very curious. We knew all abut sex of course. At school we had one copy of The Little Red Schoolbook in our class, and it had spent the last six months being passed around under the desks until it was battered around the edges and automatically fell open at the chapter on sex.

No one had actually had sex, but we were all dying to lose our virginity since it would obviously mean that we were finally grown up. After music it was the subject we discussed most during breaks – it seemed like an odd thing to do, from the pictures, but after the first time I thought I would probably get the hang of it and see the point.

It hadn’t occured to me until then that we might actually lose our virginity as well as run away, but now that I thought about it, I felt it would make a perfect end to a perfect day, and so did Imogen.

We waited anxiously for their decision.