packed and on our feet they moved off, shining their torches into doorways as they went.
‘What time is it?’ I asked as we stood, dazed with cold and sleep in the orange light of a street lamp.
24
Ginger shook his head. ‘Dunno. About six, probably.’ ‘Why’d they do that? Get us up, I mean.’
‘Why?’ He grimaced. ‘We were in somebody’s doorway. Wouldn’t do for the owner or tenant or whatever to find us here when he came to open up, would it?’
I couldn’t think of any answer to that, so I said, ‘What now?’ He looked at me. ‘You got any money?’ I nodded. ‘Nine quid and some change.’ ‘Fancy a coffee – bite to eat?’ ‘Not half.’ I was starving. ‘You?’
He smiled. ‘You don’t have to feed me, y’know, just ’cause we shared a doorway. Folks like us, we’ve got to look after number one. And don’t tell anybody else you’ve got nine quid or you won’t have it long.’
We went to an all-night kebab house he knew about. It was warm and glaringly bright inside and smelled so good I practically drooled. The clock on the wall said 6.20. We were the only customers.
We bolted doner and slurped coffee and talked. Ginger asked me what I planned to do. I told him I was looking for work while waiting for the DSS to come to a decision about my case. When I told him what I’d told them about my circumstances he shook his head. ‘Waste of time, mate. Foregone conclusion.
