Page 54 of No Safe Place

Friday | Afternoon

Andy

He hadn’t slept.

His plan had been to get a train to Brighton from Victoria, but there was a problem on the line. He spent the morning on the busy station concourse, back to a pillar, scanning the crowd – but there was still nothing running.

He’d hoped the 11 a.m. coach would be half empty, but it was packed. He had to put his AirPods in, underneath his noise-cancelling headphones.

It didn’t occur to Andy that the B&B wouldn’t still be there, up a steep side street a few minutes from the beach, until he was getting off the bus.

His parents were from Brighton, and the family spent two weeks by the beach every summer holiday. Until Andy was too unwell to go anymore.

But there it was – still there, same crumbling facade and faded ‘rooms available’ card in the downstairs window.

He remembered the old woman, but she didn’t remember him.

Andy paid for his room in cash. Asked for one at the top of the house, locked the door behind him and sat down on the creaking bed. He barely noticed the peeling flocked wallpaper and the threadbare rug on the old floorboards.

He did spot an ancient TV on one wall, which would be something to do, at least.

At the Sainsbury’s in Victoria station, Andy had bought enough noodles and other no-cooking-required food to last him several days. Paid in cash.

After taking a moment, processing where he was and what he was doing, Andy shrugged his rucksack off and removed his jacket.

Blood had seeped through his makeshift bandages. He took the dressings out of the shopping bag, where they were nestled between the noodles, and braced himself.

The cut was the length of his forearm. The skin was tight and hot to the touch.

Stupid. He was so stupid.

He had Savlon in the bag, and Andy went to the sink in the corner, to clean the wound out.

He couldn’t go to a doctor. As far as he was able, Andy wasn’t planning on leaving this room.