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sixteen now and I have done my duty by you as far as
I am concerned.  You are old enough to make your own way in the world. 
However, I have made every effort to help you on your way,’ she said, pointing
to the array at her feet.
                ‘I have found you a bed-sit in town and paid the first month’s
rent.  I have also collected a few items you may need.’ 
    For the first time I took notice of what was in the plastic-wrapped
bundles.  By the looks of it, there was a neatly piled selection of sheets,
blankets and towels.  Next to these was a box of newspaper-wrapped items, which
I assumed to be crockery.
                ‘Oh, I see.’  It was all I could muster by way of a response.
                ‘Yes, well,’ she sniffed, ‘if you’d like to give me a hand we
can be on our way.’
                ‘Right now?  But Mum, please…I don’t want to live in a bed-sit,
I don’t want to be on my own.’
                ‘Nevertheless you will be,’ she said, as she handed me the
bundles of linen. 
    We completed the journey in silence.  I was doing my best to fathom if
this was a new form of punishment my mother had dreamt up, and any minute we
would be heading home once she’d made her point, when she pulled up outside a
four-storey townhouse.  With my belongings deposited on the step, she handed me
an envelope and a set of keys.
    ‘I have given you fifty pounds to help until you get a job,’ she said,
walking down the path to her car.  At the gate she turned.
    ‘Your room is on the top floor.  Good bye, Katie.’

Chapter Four
    The smell of
damp was my overriding impression once I had made several trips up and down the
four flights of stairs collecting my bits and pieces. That in itself was a pain
in the arse; each floor had those push button lights, which snapped off before
I was halfway up; I had to negotiate the last few steps in total darkness. 
    The furniture in the pokey room was the minimum I needed and no more.  A
bed, a table with two stools and a rickety old chair placed under the skylight
to catch whatever light could penetrate the dirty windowpane.  In the corner
behind a chipboard screen was the kitchenette, if two electric rings and a sink
with a cupboard underneath deserved such a grand title.  I had never felt so
alone in my life.
    Panic bubbled perilously close, but I absolutely refused to cry as I hung
my clothes from the picture rail in lieu of a wardrobe.  Living with my mother
was not ideal, but definitely preferable to this dingy hole.  One thing was obvious:
she hadn’t shopped around. 
    Pacing the threadbare carpet was no help in deciding on my next move, so
I sat on the chair hoping it would actually hold my weight. Inspiration came in
a flash and grabbing the fifty pounds I ran to the nearest phone box. Ten
minutes later, for the first time in my life, I had arranged to meet Alison, her
boyfriend Mark and a couple of other friends in town. 
    I have to tell you, the appeal of what had seemed a marvellously grown-up
idea waned dramatically the following morning.  Nursing my first Cherry B and cider
hangover, I crawled fully dressed off the bed.  After rummaging in the box, I
made my way to the tap and waited for the suspicious-looking yellow water to
clear before drinking a full glass.  I remember reflecting that I should
perhaps have sipped, after vomiting in the sink for a full five minutes. 
    A couple of hours later, having found the shared bathroom on the landing
below, I was showered and dressed and had no option but to face the task I’d
been putting off  since I’d woken.  A search of my jeans pocket revealed the
princely sum of seventeen pounds and thirty-eight pence.  Accepting I was in
deeper shit than the previous day, I cursed myself for the fool I was, and
curled up on the bed to bawl my eyes raw.
    However, as a person of action, rather than introspection (believe me, introspection
always bore