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The night was cold and I jogged through the streets with a steady canter.
On my local high street the scream of police and ambulance sirens is almost constant, it's called the 'Camberwell Chorus' and I suddenly stopped when its incessant scream made me think: I could easily bump into mum and Mr Lacey on the high street.
That would be beyond disaster on so many levels. I doubled back and thought of an alternative route. The only one that I could think of would involve cutting through the Paddock Field estate, a route not without its own pitfalls. But I felt the dangers of a darkened London estate were preferable to meeting mum and having her distrust me forever more.
Checking my phone, I saw that Dylan was expecting me in a half hour, so I had time and I took off.
The darkness really added an extra element of malevolence to the imposing estate. And as I approached it wasn't witchcraft that worried me. No, it was the potential real-life threats that lurked amongst its shadowy stairwells and towering walls: druggies, dealers, drinkers, pimps and other undesirables that would look upon me, a lone young girl, as a useful commodity to fund their desires or addictions. I shuddered at the thought as I stopped on the brink of the estate, within view of number 13. Paddock Field.
But it wasn't 13 that drew me in, it was next door: number 12. The dwelling that Granny Grace said was to become Dylan's dad's safe haven and his observational hub.
I walked closer, compelled by a compulsion I couldn't control. Stopping about a metre away from what looked like the kitchen window, I searched for signs of inhabitancy.
A step closer and I could make out the sink, cupboards and the paraphernalia of an empty kitchen. My heart sank, as I'd hoped to see signs of life, so I could present Dylan with positive evidence that his dad's escape had been successful.
But still I stayed and stared into this small, dark and empty domestic space, as if held there by some kind of unknown force.
I forced myself to move, but I couldn't.
But it wasn't a malevolent force that held me there; it was my own will. Something deep within me held me, routed to the spot and staring into a dark empty kitchen.
My eyes widened at the sight of a shape, a shadow moving across the empty space. And instead of moving back, I moved forward until I was no more than a foot from the window.
Focussing hard, I noted the shadow was cast from an open door to the left of the kitchen, an area obscured to me. My heart beat with hope: had he done it, escaped?
A tall, dark figure entered the kitchen, and I edged closer, my nose touching the cold glass. I jolted and jumped back at the sudden invasion of light.
Light from a phone, held by an outstretched hand, as if it were about to take a selfie.
The light illuminated the face of a guy, about my age. His angular face and black skin looked flawless in the shadowy light. He wore a boxy black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Around his neck hung heavy crystal rosary beads, which carried an ornate golden crucifix, nestling at his tight torso.
Immediately I guessed the rosary beads were probably fashion. And when he smiled, I guessed he was friend, not foe.
My feeling was strong; a profound and innate sense of security was what held me there. And I remained there when I heard the rattle of chains as the door was being unlocked.
###
"I'm Joshua," he said, holding out his hand. I took it and he held it firmly, "Benita," I said. He shook my hand three times, then released it.
He nodded his head, knowingly, "Benita, the girl with the green eyes. It's a pleasure to meet you," he said.
I felt in him a sense that he knew of me and I was about to ask how, when he took me by the arm, "Come Benita, let me chaperone you through the gang land."
He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him as we walked, "I do this as a brother, to keep you safe, you get me?" He asked.
"I do," I said, feeling instinctively safe in his tall embrace.
The sound of his rattling rosary beads rang loud in the quiet of the night-time estate, "Are they to protect you from Juju?" I asked.
His body shook, like he was supressing a laugh, "Negative, they're to compliment the garms, shape my look. And when the gang guys hear the rattle, they know its Josh, and they don't bother. The beads make our passage smooth." He rattled them round his neck, "Juju needs more than beads to battle it, but you know that." He said.
"How do you know me?" I asked.
He stopped, "Not now sister," he said, before swiftly carrying on.
I stopped him with force, 'Wait, you say sister! You're not some secret brother my dad had back in Ghana, before he met my mum, are you?"
He dropped his head and allowed himself laugh, "You know the lingo sister, the turn of phrase, you raised on these streets. I'm not your bro, I'm your ally." He said, pulling me into him with a protective embrace. He paused and looked me in the eyes intensely, "We have time for all your answers, but not now." He said, continuing onwards, "I need to deliver you safe, so you can be safe with Dylan," he said.
###
"We're over the threshold, safe and sound," said Joshua, removing his hand from my shoulder.
I had a queue of questions in my head, all-bursting to get out. Joshua, as if sensing my rush of words, placed a gentle finger on my mouth, his head shook a 'no' and said, "Tell Dylan his dad has returned, successfully. Now hurry, you two rejoice tonight, and take care of each other."
Insistent on at least one of my questions being answered, I asked, "Who will take care of you?" He put his hand on his heart, "I take care of myself."
I rushed out another, "Will I see you again?"
He didn't answer; instead he removed something from his pocket, took my hand and placed the item in it. I looked at the object in my hand; it was a small tube of cream. I looked at Joshua, questioningly, "It will take away the itch created by the pharmacy lady."
He turned and walked away, but I shouted with an urgency that surprised me, "Will I see you again?" He didn't look back, instead he ran at speed, the sound of his beads rattling in his wake.
###
As I ambled along Petal Road, I became aware of the itch on my palm, again.
I stopped at the gate to Dylan's house and applied a small dab of cream to the tiny cut on my hand. And as I felt it salve the itch, I hoped I'd see the enigmatic Joshua, again...
