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their way through the puddles to the night buses at Trafalgar Square, the others came out to play. They emerged from the bins like rats, from behind the cinemas and the side streets in Chinatown. The homeless, the winos, the junkies. This was their time.
    Luke had been up to town loads of times. Calf-aching visits to the British Museum with school, birthday jaunts with Tom and Charlie when they’d tried to pick up foreign-exchange girls in the queue for over-eighteen movies. He’d seen down-and-outs, as his mum called them, in their huddles, but he’d passed them by, secure in the knowledge that she would be waiting at Harpenden station. She’d grumble about being a taxi service, but she would never not be there.
    He’d made his way into Burger King in Leicester Square and ordered some fries and a Coke, planning to sit and dry off. And he had, until a man sat opposite him, hands buried deep in his leather bomber jacket.
    ‘Do you want to earn some money?’
    ‘Sorry?’ said Luke.
    The man pulled out a hand, the top coarse with black hair.
    ‘Money,’ he said, and rubbed his finger and thumb together.
    Luke’s stomach lurched as he remembered that Tom had done the exact same thing to the girl.
    ‘Twenty quid,’ said the man.
    Luke was puzzled. Why was this stranger offering to give him money?
    ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.
    The man put his hand over Luke’s. It was gross, like a werewolf’s or something.
    ‘You give me some relief,’ said the man, ‘and I’ll give you twenty quid.’
    Luke was frozen to the spot, he didn’t even dare pull away his hand.
    The man smiled. ‘If you’ll suck it, I’ll make it thirty.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’ Luke didn’t know what else to say. ‘I’m sorry.’
    As Luke made his way to the door, the man called after him. ‘Thirty-five if you’ll swallow.’
    Luke walked and walked all night, too terrified to stop.
    But now he is exhausted. He sits on the step, hugging his rucksack to him, and hopes the time will pass slowly until night falls again.
    Maybe he could explain to his mum, tell her what happened. She could call the police and make them understand.
    He pulls out his mobile phone and scrolls down to ‘HOME’. The word makes his eyes sting.
    He presses select.
    ‘Hello.’
    Luke’s heart leaps in his chest at the sound of his sister’s voice.
    ‘Hello,’ she repeats.
    Everything he wants to say gets stuck in his throat, like a ball of cotton wool, all thick and dry.
    ‘Luke?’ Jessie’s voice rises. ‘Luke, is that you?’
    The televisions in Dixon’s window flash beside him. The constant stream of pictures is hypnotic.
    Jessie is shouting now. ‘Say something, Luke.’
    He hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours and his head feels weird. The last time he’d stayed up all night had been at Harriet Mason-Day’s party They’d all chipped in for some Es and he’d ended up getting a blow job from her little sister in the laundry room.
    That had been fun. This is something different entirely.
    ‘Luke Walker, you are a selfish little prick. Mum is completely beside herself.’
    Luke wanders into the shop, mobile still pressed to his ear.
    ‘You can’t come in here,’ the assistant shouts from behind the counter.
    ‘Just tell me where you are.’ Jessie’s still angry but a sob escapes. ‘I’ll get Mum to pick you up.’
    A security guard approaches. His face is so black it shines. ‘Come on now, you know you can’t come in here.’ His tone is kind but firm. Like he feels sorry for Luke.
    For a second Luke is puzzled, until he sees himself as they do. Dirty, wet and pale with fatigue. They think he’s from the streets.
    He leaves the shop without another word, shocked at how quickly he has made the transition from public schoolboy to scumbag.
    Jessie is crying into the phone. ‘Luke, please come home.’
    He hangs up and drops the phone through a grate into a drain.
    When he turns to retrieve his place back on the step a girl has