While Davy stood in the London bound train queue, he saw an elderly woman struggling with two heavy bags. He tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me. Can I help with those?"

She looked gave him the once over before answering. "Thank you, young man."

Davy entered the carriage, dumped his suitcase in the luggage section, and returned. He let her go first and carried the bags.

She found a window seat and sat. "You're a kind boy. Please, get yourself a cup of tea."

"No, bother love, my pleasure." He glanced at the fifty pence piece, grinned and strolled to the centre of the carriage, sat and placed his smaller case to one side. The other passengers read papers or stared out of the windows.

Too tired to think, he slumped in his seat and dozed. From a forward carriage, six yobs, wearing worn black leathers, staggered along the central aisle. "Wake up, you tossers."

Each drank cider from a can and smoked as their steel-capped boots thundered along the central aisle. He watched as two feigned a fall at the luggage rack while the others shook their cans, yelled and sprayed liquid into the air. He smiled to himself as his unwanted suitcase disappeared into the next carriage.

At Kings Cross, hewaited while the coach emptied before making his into hustle and bustle of a busy station scarcely breached the inside of the carriage. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. The platform remained crowded as young and old, scurried in the same direction. These people, he thought, have a destination. In his right hand, he gripped the suitcase and jumped off, following the fast-disappearing throng.

"Excuse me, sir."

Davy froze. He turned and stared at a thin man wearing the uniform of a ticket collector holding a brown, tweed overcoat.

"Yours, sir?"

Men and women hurried past, none paying any interest.

"Sorry mate," said Davy. "Not mine."

"Thanks. I'll take it to lost property. God knows in this weather how anyone can forget their overcoat." The man rolled his eyes and walked away, muttering.

Panic gripped Davy. The police seemed to be everywhere. He searched for somewhere to hide. Sweat ran down his back and his heart raced. It seemed the world could hear him breathing. His body shook as a female police officer started towards him. He closed his eyes and opened them He breathed deeply; she had stopped to help a young mother.

At the nearest exit, he stopped and placed his hands against a wall for support. A wave of nausea flooded his body; Bile flooded his throat, as he vomited. People sped by oblivious. Jesus Christ, he thought. He started walking again grasping the fact that up to yesterday the Navy controlled his life.

The fear of being arrested filled his mind. He needed somewhere to hide. Without a clue of his whereabouts, he wandered along back streets of aged and weather-beaten houses. A corner shop window displayed an assortment of postcards advertising rooms to let. Behind the counter stood a bald, overweight, but tall Asian man, filling the cigarette cupboard. He turned his dark eyes cautious and watchful.

Davy asked, "Are those rooms for rent?"

The man smiled. "What do you want? A room to play or somewhere half decent?"

Davy returned the smile. "I'm in town on business for a few weeks."

He nodded. "Try Mrs Evans. She's a good sort. Keeps a clean house and her rates are reasonable."

"Sounds good. Where do I find her?"

The man came from behind the counter to the shop entrance and pointed. "It's not far. Straight down until you reach Mortimer Street and she's number sixty-seven."

Davy bought the Daily Mail, thanked him and left.

He walked fast until he found the house. It was not the best in the street. The boundary wall leant inwards and was crumbling, and the front garden, barely wide enough to fit a dustbin, full of weeds. Hesitant, he pressed the bell on the royal-blue painted door.

After a minute, it opened. "Can I help you?" asked a woman in a soft, but distinct East London accent. There was a hint of attraction in her clear brown eyes. From inside, a radio blared with the sound of popular music.

"Hi, are you Mrs Evans? I'm looking for a room to rent."

"I'm Emma Evans. You've come to the right place. I've two, so you can take your pick."

He followed her up the stairs and his fear subsided. This was a good place to hide. His eyes strayed to the shortness of her skirt and the movement of her backside.

On the landing she stopped. "Like I said two rooms; a single and a double. Which one do you want?"

"The double would be good. More room."

She opened the door, entered and stood by the window.

Davy's eyes scanned the room: a dark wood dressing table stood in front of the window with matching wardrobe against a far wall, small cabinets stood on either side of the double bed with a lamp on each.

He entered and gazed around, the faded wallpaper reminded him of his mother's front room, but the room was clean and met his needs "Just the job."

"On holiday or business?"

He nodded. Her lipstick was too bright a red and her blue blouse showed more than it should. While they stood, he noticed two more buttons had come undone, revealing much of her white breasts.

"I'm here on business. Depends on my boss. I might need the room for a couple of weeks. Will that be okay, Mrs Evans?"

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. "The room's twenty-five quid a night, including breakfast. Cash please. I don't do credit or cards."

He removed a wad of notes from his pocket, counted out three hundred and fifty pounds, and gave it to her. "Fourteen days. Depending on what happens I might stay longer. Let's wait and see."

Her face lit up at the sight of the money. "Call me Emma, everyone else does. For ten quid you can have an evening meal. I'd prefer you didn't as cooking is a pain in the backside, but the money's handy. I'd need to know in advance. Breakfast's in the kitchen, downstairs at the back. When you come down, sign the visitors' book and here're your keys. What's your name?"

Without any hesitation he said, "Davy, Davy Jones." In addition, before she could ask any more questions he closed the door. "Been a long day."

His body ached, his mind in turmoil and he needed sleep. For the first time in many hours, he relaxed. He kicked off his shoes; fell on the bed and a moment later restless sleep overtook him.

His nightmares returned. Once more, he struggled against the pull of the water. Chris and Jack appeared. He reached out as they drifted close. They seemed to be smiling and waving as they vanished. He dived into the dark water and gasping for breath, surfaced, unable to search any more. A boat appeared and faces, a few crying and others laughing, drew close. Someone held out a hand, it touched his, its fingers freezing. Death was still looking for him. The vessel drifted away.

When he awoke it was dark. His clothes clung to his skin, damp from sweat. The light from beneath the door gave him the reassurance his mind needed. He undressed, leaving his clothes where they fell and slid under the sheets. Sleep recaptured him in seconds.

Davy woke confused. It took him a few moments to realise where he was. Someone was hammering on the bedroom door. He threw the covers back and got out of bed. Stiff and sore, he staggered to the door.

"Where's the fire?" he shouted, yanking it open. On the small landing stood Emma, holding a breakfast tray.

"I thought as it's your first day here that you might like your breakfast in bed."

He was aware of a strange look in her eyes as she studied the colourful bruises on his chest. Her silly grin reminded him he was wearing purple boxer shorts.

"Sexy."

He removed the tray from her hands, thanked her and with his right foot closed the door.

Seated on the edge of the bed he ate his breakfast of bacon, fresh mushrooms, grilled tomatoes and scrambled egg.

With a fork in one hand, he turned the pages of a day-old Daily Mail with the other. The pictures of three sailors made him choke. He read the article word for word. It stated that the three men were missing and a full-scale search was continuing throughout the day. The photographs of the men were of poor quality. His fingers scratched the black stubble on his face. "I hope Chris and Jack made it," he muttered.