‘Me too,’ I say.
9
‘That’s a heavy rucksack you’ve got there, Lauren,’ says Angus, as we’re walking her back to the night-shelter. She brings it to the café each week and hides it in the office, behind the printer. ‘Want me to carry it?’
She shakes her head.
After lunch, Nina had asked Angus and me if we could spend some time with Lauren, before dropping her back at the shelter at six. So, we ventured to a café close to Ravenscourt Park. Angus and I attempted to talk to her, but she was lost in her own world, a world which seemed dark and lonely.
‘What’s in there?’ I can’t help asking.
‘This and that,’ she says. ‘You can go now,’ she adds, when we arrive at the shelter’s front door, as if we’re her embarrassing parents.
A member of staff greets us by the door. He’s slight in build, wearing loose jeans which reveal Calvin Klein pants and his dark hair is tied up in a short ponytail. He’s called Phil. We introduce ourselves. ‘Oh yeah, you’re the guys she’s doing work experience with,’ he replies. ‘Jane filled me in. Everything all right, Lauren?’ he asks, as she breathes into a machine with a tube, a machine that looks exactly like the ones the police use when stopping drivers. He turns to us. ‘We have to do this with everyone, even though we know Lozza doesn’t touch alcohol.’
Lozza?
‘Yep, all good.’
‘Can we see your bedroom quickly?’ I ask.
‘We don’t allow anyone in except residents.’ He hesitates. ‘Look, as you work with her, and if Lauren is cool?’ Lauren nods before Phil empties the contents of Lauren’s rucksack on to the table outside the office, no doubt to make sure she hasn’t snuck in any drugs. Again, Phil apologises, saying he knows Lauren doesn’t take drugs but he has to do his job. Angus and I can’t help but stare at the packets of crisps, cheese straws, a tube of Pringles, a half-eaten chocolate bar, flapjack and a bumper pack of Jelly Babies that are tipped upon the table, along with a scruffy teddy bear with only one eye. I sense Lauren’s shame as she shoves the sweets and chocolates back into her rucksack, unable to look at us. Is she comfort eating at the café? Is this why she disappears into the bathroom many times during our shifts, and has no appetite for lunch?
‘You joining us for tea tonight?’ Phil asks Lauren as she grabs her rucksack and heads down a narrow corridor, with closed doors on either side. The rock band Muse plays through one. We follow, walking past a store cupboard, filled with packets of cereal, tinned fruit and vegetables. Her bedroom is at the end. ‘It’s pasta!’ he calls out.
Lauren leads us into her bedroom. It’s fairly stark, a bed, a Harry Potter cushion, and a heap of clothes on one chair, but it’s clean, the room carpeted, the blinds floral. ‘This is cosy,’ I say, wishing I could stop putting on this overly cheerful voice to overcompensate when I’m not sure what to say. Lauren lies down on her bed, crossing her arms in a way that tells me she doesn’t want to talk.
‘It’s great,’ Angus says, looking around the room. ‘Well, we’ll get out of your hair then. See you next weekend?’ She doesn’t reply. ‘Bye then, Lauren. Have a good night.’
‘Thanks for all your help today,’ I add.
Reluctantly we close the door behind us. Angus leans against it. ‘Do you think we stirred things up too much? With Pat? Too many questions?’
I’m more concerned about all the food in her rucksack. The look of mortification on her face. No wonder she wanted us to go. ‘Shh,’ Angus says, leaning against the door. I lean in too, our faces almost touching. Lauren is crying.
‘What do we do?’ he whispers.
‘Lauren?’ Gently I knock again. ‘Lauren, are you OK?’
It’s such a stupid question when I know she’s not. We wait. Nothing.
‘We can’t leave her like this,’ Angus mutters before he enters her room. She’s now sitting on her bed, clutching the teddy bear with one eye. Angus sits beside her, is about to place an arm around her shoulder, but then thinks better of it. I glance at the chair, covered in clothes, so kneel on the floor beside her bed instead. I capture the protective father in Angus when he says, gently, ‘Was it sad talking about Pat today? Or your step-mum? Or your mum dying?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are they treating you OK in here?’ he continues. ‘You’re not scared of anyone?’
‘No.’ She rubs her thigh repeatedly with the palm of her hand. ‘They’re all right here. They’re good.’
Angus clears his throat. ‘Lauren, you can trust Holly and me, anything you say will remain between us, right Holly?’
I nod.
‘I’m tired,’ she confesses, still not looking at us.
‘You’re tired,’ he repeats. ‘You’re not sleeping?’
She turns her face to the wall. ‘The world would be better off without me.’
