‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask, to make sure she’s OK.
She shrugs again, as if to say it’s fine. Turns back to us. ‘I lived in the town centre first, near the cinema. Met a bloke, he took pity ’cos I was young. He gave me a cheese sandwich and a sleeping bag too, it was pink.’
‘Sounds like a decent man,’ I say, praying he was.
‘There were plenty of bad ones…’ She pauses ‘…And women out there, people who’d rob you for their next fix. He was good to me.’
There’s a ‘but’.
‘He wanted sex,’ Laurie admits finally. ‘“It’s ain’t happening mate,” I said.’
We all glance at one another before smiling at the way she said it, with a defiance I’m beginning to notice and admire. With a defiance that helped her to survive.
‘The girls used to say that a lot to me too,’ Angus says.
Ian agrees. ‘All the time.’
‘He’s already tried his luck with me,’ Laurie says, gesturing to Ian, and my heart softens towards him when I see him blush. Nina was right. When you discover what ‘happened’ to people it humanises them. Ian might look tough, and no doubt he is in some situations. If I was walking down a dark alleyway, I’d feel safe in his company. But when it comes to human emotion he’s as vulnerable as the rest of us. Somehow, we are all in it together. Every single one of us walks down the street with a story to tell, some more horrifying than others, but knowing what Ian went through makes me feel far less scared of him and his muscles. If he hadn’t lost his dad, who knows how his life might have ended up?
‘So this guy didn’t hurt you, Laurie?’ Angus wants to know.
‘He was all right,’ she reflects. ‘But I wasn’t having no man near me, ever again, not after…’ She stops. ‘You know.’
The thing is we don’t know. I can’t possibly know or understand what she’s experienced. The mood around the table sobers again, from teasing Ian to now feeling sick to my stomach. I thought it was bad enough knowing Laurie had to step off a train and be in a strange place, alone and at risk. Yet she was safer on that train, and living in London, on the streets, than she was at home. I’m struggling not to hate Laurie’s stepmother, and her dad– how could he have allowed her to treat his daughter so badly? Why didn’t he love her? Protect her? I’m struggling not to feel bitter about people who can have children and then treat them like objects. Mothers and fathers who can’t keep their children safe.
‘I hate her,’ Laurie says, as if she can read my mind. ‘I hope she’s dead. I know that might sound harsh—’
‘No,’ Ian, Angus and I cut in.
‘No one’s entitled to love,’ Angus says. ‘Not even a mother or father. You have to earn it.’
I still need to understand how she survived.
‘I learned tricks,’ she tells us. ‘You get to know who’s good and who’s bad out there. Who will nick money off you. The days were OK. It was the nights I hated. It was cold in my sleeping bag. I used to wonder what the point was, maybe the world was better off without me?’ She shrugs. ‘I’d be lying there thinking no one would care if I was dead or alive. It’s all right, everyone. Stop crying, mate,’ she says to Ian. ‘You’re all looking at me like I’m dead or something.’
‘I’m proud,’ Angus exclaims.
Laurie scoffs at that.
‘I can’t believe you’re sitting here, telling us what happened. You’re so brave, Laurie,’ Angus continues.
‘I had no choice.’
‘You did. You chose to survive,’ I say.
Laurie shrugs again. She seems to distance herself from what she has experienced. Her voice isn’t shaking, she isn’t shedding any tears. She’s telling us what happened, and while that must take courage, I also sense she has to stay removed from what she has lived through in order to get by. There is no way she is ready to tell us who abused her, and I’m not going to push her on it. She can tell us when and if she wants to. I know she sees a therapist at the shelter, so at least she has someone to talk to.
‘Doesn’t mean I like it though,’ she admits. ‘I can’t watch any programmes with families in them, you ask Ian. WhenEastEnderscomes on I’m out of there.’
‘You’ve never seen her move so fast,’ Ian says.
‘They might shout and slap one another but they care about each other. They love their kids,’ Laurie says.
Suddenly it dawns on me why Lauren responds to videos of people unclogging drains. These films are devoid of human emotion, something Lauren wants to avoid like the plague. It’s too painful to watch programmes where mothers hug their children.
‘Smoking helped,’ Laurie continues. ‘Rolling up kept my hands warm, the flame kept my face warm too. I got bad frostbite though, man that hurts. The worst time was when I got my period on the streets. That’s when Pat took me in.’
‘The one who made the chocolate sauce?’ I ask.
