Train stations can be the most exciting of places, all the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, rushing here and there. People smiling as they greet loved ones off the train, others looking strained as they trudge their way to work, coming and going never staying still, a lot like me and dad. But as night falls the friendly train station gets a much darker feel, gone are the happy traveling faces replaced by drunk, confused souls with less direction. The protective train guards are gone and the absence is felt as the homeless souls settle without the fear of being shifted on.

Tonight, as many nights before, I slowly stroll on the station. I'm looking for my mark, I size up the collection of characters, too drunk, too poor ..... Bingo!! on the bench is sat a little old lady, her hair is the shade it goes before grey settles in, she's looking forward trying not to make eye contact so clearly uncomfortable with the drunk guys on the other side of the platform and the homeless people lurking by the ticket machine. She has a little lavender two-piece suit on, worn by many grandmothers, but what sealed the deal is the handbag it is designer she's not living on just a pension, she's the one.

I begin to sob - there is art to this, less is more but just enough to get her attention I slowly walk over to her, trying to look as pathetic as I possibly can, then sit down next to her. She's not reacting to my sobbing so I start the heavy breathing,catching my breath whilst wiping at my eyes to hide my tears. She turns to me, I've got her attention.

"Child why are you crying" she whispers to me as if my fragile innocent child mind would blow up if she raised her voice.

I take a deep breath, then deliver my well-rehearsed bit "I can't find my mother, she said she would be here and I can't see here. Can I please sit with you until she comes" then I turn to her with my tear streaked face and try to look as little as possible and pull on her heartstrings.

"Of course you can, this is no place for a child. You don't know what kind of person you may come across at this time of night all on your own".

Then she dug in a pocket and handed over a mint. I meekly took it and thanked her. She's clearly someone's grandmother, they always have a pocket full of sweets. She asks me my age and name and obviously I lie, my name is Grace and I'm 13 years old... it's bollocks, I'm 15 and I'm small for my age but people have less sympathy for teenagers and my name is Jane but I always go with Grace it ups the whole sweet lost child persona.

Then out the shadows, he looms; his hood up, face down walking towards us, gradually picking up speed, I see him straight away but don't react. The art is acting surprised. When he's in front of us he looks up just enough to see his mouth but not his eyes, better that way, his eyes always give him away. He has his right hand hidden under his hoodie as if he's holding a gun and he growls at the old lady.

"Hand over your bag" he demands.
Now, this is usually when they clutch to the bag, start to cry, maybe even try to reason with him. She doesn't even react. He straightens up to his full height "Give me your bag".

She looks him up and down then starts to laugh. This old lady is clearly crazy, great we've got the nutter on the platform. "I heard you and the answer is no".

He's prepared for the fight we've been here before. "If you don't I'll shoot the kid, do you want that for sake of a couple of quid? Hand the fucking bag over".

This is my cue to cry. "Please hand him the bag, please"
But she just carries on laughing and now she gets louder the more I cry, what is this woman's problem. I can see he's getting twitchy she's put him on the back foot we need to pull this back.

He leans into her. "This isn't a fucking joke" and with that grabs me by the arm I yelp as if this hurt far more than it did and look at her pleadingly to save me.

Her laughing stops and she looks up at him. "Are you telling me if I don't hand my handbag over to you, you will shoot this poor innocent child." He nods. "Oh okay... then shoot her".
He lets go off my arm as if my skin is fire and I've burnt him. "Shoot her then, come on, after all, she's just a child and this bag is Versace. I think I'm willing to make that sacrifice. There are millions of annoying little human children but this bag is vintage so shoot, but do it in the head, its a quicker death for her".

He pulls his hood down, never show your face what are you doing? His eyes are showing his confusion at the wild insanity that is unfolding before him. He's trying to read her, what to do next. He could lunge and grab the bag, but then I'm left here, there would be a scene, police will be called. All very messy and she will fight him for the bag and it's not his nature to be aggressive with old ladies even the batshit crazy ones.

"You wouldn't shoot her she's your daughter, I've met a lot of depraved humans but you are not one" - As depravity rolled off her tongue she smiles as if it brings a sweet taste to her mouth. "Maybe not biologically, but you're her father. I bet this play works on a lot of people, the poor little white girl being threatened by the big angry black man, really could you be any more predictable and slightly stereotypical, Shame on you".

I try to mumble that I've never met him and squeeze out a few sobs before she stops me in my tracks, she looks me square in the eyes as if looking far back into every memory I owned that is etched on my soul. "He's raised you since you were six months old, your mother had a drug problem. Ahhhh heroin, not the glamorous drug, does awful things to one's teeth. He tried to clean her up but she just loved those highs even more than she loved her daughter. She took and took until her body couldn't withstand it any more. He found her dead in the bathroom with a needle hanging out off her arm, all grey and grim while you screamed in your cot for her. She gave up on you and he promised you he never would. After all, he couldn't save her so he would save you..... How am I doing Jane".

"Fuck you!!" I scream it bursts out of me as if I'd been cut to my core and felt myself bleeding out my own horrible memories.

She laughs "She has more fire in her belly than her mother that's something. So what now? Are you to slink off in to the dark and wait for your next victim?  This mugging business would seem to be not the most lucrative of business ventures but I will give you two credit, you seem to have the ability to think on your feet and to get people usually to give you what you need , I like that".

Dad has grabbed my arm and pulled me beside him as if to shield me from this tiny old lady but I wasn't frightened I knew to be frightened was just another way to lose control of a situation and I wasn't going to let her. He slipped my hand into his and I pulled him to walk away, we weren't going to get anything but trouble from her and trouble we didn't need.

"Don't you want more for her" she called as we walked away he stopped dead in his tracks, she had his attention his one weakness - Me.

"Dad please let's go" I pleaded as I tried to pull him away.

"Wouldn't you like a home of your own, good schools they don't come cheap, I could help you".

"Help us, why ?" He shot back. "Is this some kind of joke?, we just tried to mug you and you want to help us. I might not be the sharpest tool in the box but even I can see a set up when it's in front of me and this reeks of bullshit".

"Come work for me, I'm recruiting and you are just what I need. Not rotten enough that you reek of deception but desperate enough to get the job done. In my line of work persuasion is key to success and unfortunately, due to free will, my hands are somewhat tied... Fucking free will. The freedom of choice, you humans take it for granted, should I chop up my husband as his stamp collection bores me to fucking tears or not? should I have that second doughnut, even though I'm already mortally obese, or not? You really are ungrateful little brats and make my life far fucking harder than its need to be, it's very annoying and I can only do so much before my hands are tied, so irritating".

Suddenly I become aware that the station has become very still, the loud drunks and dishevelled homeless people have all gone and there is only us and her. The cold air is burning at my lungs, the temperature is dropping and my body is aching with the cold and penetrating my bones. I've felt cold before, many times we've slept on a park bench or in a shop doorway, but this is something else I feel my body shake uncontrollably yet she seems unfazed by it. 

"I won't offer you this chance again if you work for me I will give you everything you need, home, money, anything. But if you walk away the offer goes with you". Dad is thinking, what is he thinking about, this lady is crazy and what does he always say - don't get involved with crazy. Last time he did he ended up with a baby, stay away from drama just get through day by day.

"I can't work out if youre crazy or serious" he snarled.

"I've been called worse" she sniggered.

"What is it you want from us? because it's a little late for us to be entertaining your delusions we need... "

She interrupted "To get to the shelter before all the beds are gone, they're gone and even if they're not, you will sit up all night watching over her while she sleeps, scared someone will take her away or one of the other homeless lost souls will take a liking to her, she's a pretty girl. Come with me no one will ever hurt her and you will finally get to sleep. Aren't you tired of this life constantly looking over your shoulder scared of what tomorrow will bring? I can give you stability and safety if you work for me".

"Doing what exactly, you keep offering me a job but not telling me what it is and from where I'm standing the only thing you can offer us is bullshit and I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime".

"You will have two jobs, running my bar and some slight persuasion work. It's simple enough. The train's coming now you can get on with me, or stay here. But if you think life will be easier for you, it won't. It would be a terrible shame for history to repeat itself, the streets can be cruel and the only release from it is for them to slip away".

The tracks start to rattle with the sound of the train approaching and the crackle of electricity that fills the air, I pull on his sleeve "let's go" but he's rooted to the ground "let's go come on".

He bends down until we are face to face and his warm breath tingle on my nose. "We are out of road to run down, maybe this is the chance we need".

My face crumples in shock "are you seriously considering this "

The train chugs into the station and wheels squeals as it halts to a standstill the doors spring open, no one gets off and only she gets on, I can feel my heart racing, my mind is screaming run! get away!

"I won't go without you, Jane but I don't want this for you any more" I can see he's tired, tired of living the way we do. He's tired of worrying about me, caring for me. I'm the burden he got left with when my mum died but not once did he ever say it but I knew it.

"OK let's go, but promise we do this together, and if it's bad we run". The door starts to rattle, as they go to spring shut. He puts his hand out as they go to slam shut and catches his hand, he winces as you hear the crack of the bones, then the doors release and we step on and go sit with the old lady in first class as the engine roars as they tug into action.