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haven’t. What other arrangements would I make?”
    “So, why leave?”
    He isn’t making this easy, and that pleases me. I’d have felt devastated if he’d seemed eager to be rid of me, even though I wouldn’t really blame him. “I don’t want to take advantage. Or outstay my welcome. You’ll get sick of me.”
    He smiles and shakes his head. “No sign of it yet. I want you to stay. At least until you do have place to go.”
    “There’ll never be a place.”
    “Then make one. Find one.”
    “What are you talking about? It’s not that easy.” My tone is probably sharper than I intended, but really, does he have no idea?
    “Beth, how old are you?”
    I stare at him, startled. He’s never asked me any personal questions before. I don’t answer.
    “Beth, I asked you a question.” His tone has shifted, just a slight hardening, but I know he expects a reply.
    “Eighteen. I’m eighteen.”
    His eyebrows lift. “Really? You look younger. What’s your date of birth?”
    “Twelfth of June, 1989.”
    He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced it would seem. “Right, and how long have you been living rough?”
    “Since I was sixteen. This is my second winter.”
    “What about until you were sixteen? Your family?”
    “I don’t have a family.”
    “So, what happened when you were sixteen? Why did you start sleeping rough? Where did you live before that?”
    He may not have quizzed me before but he’s firing questions at me thick and fast now. I recoil, my instincts are screaming at me to defend myself. I never talk about the reasons why…
    “That’s not important.”
    “No? Okay then. Tell me this, is there anyone who might be missing you? Anyone wondering where you are right now, what happened to you?”
    “No. No one.”
    He watches me in silence for several moments as I shift in my seat, the lie hanging between us.
    “I think we both know that’s not true. And just for the record, to make sure there’s absolutely no doubt in your mind about this, if you leave here with nowhere decent to go, then at least one person will miss you and worry about you. If you truly do appreciate the help I’ve given you so far, then don’t do that to me.”
    Now I’m confused. I have no idea what he’s suggesting. What he’s asking me to do.
    “But, I can’t stay here forever…”
    “No, you can’t. I agree with you about that. But you can stay here until you get on your feet. What about school? Did you finish? College?”
    School? College? My head’s whirling now.
    “I got some GCSEs.”
    “Good. So you could enrol in a college in January, get some A levels, then think about what to do next. Or if that’s not your thing you could start looking round for a job. With an address you can do any of that stuff.”
    “An address?”
    “This address. For as long as you need it.” He stands and take his empty cup over to the sink. He rinses it and leaves it on the draining board, then turns to me. “Look, don’t try to make a decision now. Any decision. Just stay here for a while longer, think about what I’ve said, and about what you’d like to do. It’s Christmas next week. Stay until the New Year, then we’ll talk again and come up with something. Something that does not involve shop doorways or cardboard boxes to sleep in. Deal?”
    I’m at a loss for words. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d slipped me a few quid and let me go on my way, or even told me I was welcome to stay a few more days if I wanted. But this, this planning for my future, this is totally unexpected. And not entirely comfortable. Planning involves taking responsibility. It involves decisions and thinking ahead. It involves being accountable and I’m well out of practice at any of that. I live from day to day, I’m used to that existence. I’m not sure I could transform myself into the sorted out creature he seems to be describing.
    “Beth? Do we have a deal?”
    “A deal?”
    “You stay for now, and we talk again in