Caroline

Difficult (always a faint smile now at this word, after my man from Bucharest).. Difficult to pick up the thread of the past, my mind so engrossed in "now", Will never stop scheming, calculating, such is my desire for money and life.. not one without the other.. a hard fact for certain people to swallow. Surprised at myself using the word desire when it comes to living.. Maybe the latest twist to my existence, obvious to any one who has only simply skimmed over these pages.

Caroline said very little at my reappearance... my saunter across the Far East... propped up in Pancras Road alongside the Station.. My usual place, within two or three yards. Parking lights out, interior lights out, sat watching the activity, watching the faces from my blacked out seat in society

Saw her looking.. as if expecting me, saw her diminutive figure and mass of hair a long way down, almost at the traffic lights, hesitant by the paper stand, which was very busy.

Clock on the Cross poised, then struck two, St. Pancras, still languishing fifteen minutes behind..

Pulled along towards her, hardly stopping for her to jump quickly in.. felt pleased, relieved, a mixture of thoughts running through my head at our meeting. Pushed the partition window right back, she swung down the dicky seat sitting with her back directly to mine, her head twisted round towards me.

Watched the passing faces watching us. Yorky Bar making gestures with his fingers ..a knowing nod of his head.

All very much back to normal, as if I had never been so very far away... standing on the tranquil shore, standing staring in the direction where I thought Australia may be, a place aware I would never step foot in again.

Caroline, none committal.. maybe just another punter... in her head.. how was I to know? ..How is any man to know what any woman is thinking ultimately...? Caroline rarely spoke about the other side of her life.. perhaps when problems reared up, which was not often. Knew about the father of her child, the person she kept, the mother somewhere.. no mention of a father. Her child incredibly well built, beautiful and knew it.. so very precocious, a much older disposition.

Had received a frantic phone call just before going away.. Caroline locked up in some room, raped and beaten by the child's father after discovering her whereabouts with the child.
Without thinking what I was letting myself in for had gone over to Holloway, finding her standing, sobbing by a phone box. Somehow managed to climb out of a back window with her daughter and run, after he had fallen asleep, too terrified to go to the Police.. too terrified of the Police.

So far as she was concerned, no escape other than the anonymity of the endless, ragged streets and 69 Clapton Common where she and the child had stayed, not moving outside for weeks.
Trundled incontrovertibly back, towards Hackney.. She, quite relaxed, clutching a Harvey Nichol's bag, I considered what she had bought him this time.. never commented..

Momentarily she became intense, sweat pouring off her, swearing softly to herself with the effort... Twisted suddenly onto her elbows and knees, head pulled up facing the mirror, looking at me looking at her. Both my hands gripping her haunches as if she may suddenly run.. disappear .. In that moment wondered quite clearly why I had bothered to go so very far away when she was offering so very much... more.

Bright daylight, Brilliant Sun, Blackwall... hardly cared about the traffic.. that we were late, that it would take me a hour to battle my way through the Tunnel. Woolwich was out.. he had been seen hanging about there with a gun.. she had moved into Greenwich with the person who had a penchant for wearing silk socks and liked to receive presents from Harvey Nicks.
A huge house, very long garden which she ran up.. the front door mysteriously opening, then closing softly behind her.