The Writer's Muse Ch. 01

I wake about 10am and can hear no movement in the flat and my immediate worry is that 'Chloe' has done a runner with my valuables... not that I have very many with me! I open the bedroom door and peer out into the living area and can see no sign of her so venture forth and check the rest of the flat... the bathroom! She has definitely legged it and the only thing I can see that she has taken is the sleeping bag although she did eat the cold eggs and toast... gross!

She did have the good grace to leave a short note on an old envelope.

'Dear George, thank you for your hospitality. I've borrowed your sleeping bag and will return it when I have finished with it. Chloe. Xx'

It is obvious that the 'Dear' had been inserted after she had written 'George' and I wonder at the need to be seen to be polite. She is definitely not the normal rough-sleeper and I suddenly feel the need to know her background. Maybe there is a story there for a better book? However, I still have one to finish and go to look at what I had written during the night and am pleasantly surprised that it is OK... no, better than that... it is good, very good.

I put the BBC news channel on and the two cretins are still doing what they do best... or worst. Meanwhile, the missing heir story has developed into a total farce. The uncle apparently has not seen the boy in 7 years when he was 18 and the photo provided is that of the young man at that age just before starting university with moustache and long hair. His height is given as 5ft 6inches but no one has a clue what he was wearing when last seen.

I idly wonder what all the fuss is about as lots of people go missing all the time so why is this story making the news? Perhaps because there's money involved?

I go back to my writing and the words are flowing today and I'm grateful for the inspiration but don't understand why today is different. I start to think about Chloe out on the streets and as soon as it arrived, my writing muse vanishes and I know it is useless to carry on. I'll come back to it later and go for a walk as a gloomy nightfall descends. I hate fucking winter in the UK with 16 hours of bloody darkness. If I was a more successful writer I could afford to spend my winters in the Caribbean or Australia.

I wander aimlessly but suddenly find myself at Chloe's shelter. She's not there but Roach is and he growls at me as I sit down. His twitch is worse today so I guess he's missed his medication again. I met him in my first few days in Felixstowe and know that he's got a severe bipolar disorder but is not deemed to be dangerous enough to be off the streets if he takes his medication and stays off the booze... which the street environment is going to help... right?

"Hi Roach. Where's Bella today?"

His Glaswegian accent is almost impenetrable but I understand she's in A&E with pneumonia. I'm keen to find out if he's come across Chloe.

"Have you seen a new girl. Pale blue padded jacket, beany hat, jeans? She was here last night."

He stares at me vacantly and then mutters something I don't understand and points south down the promenade towards Landguard. It seems she took my advice and I'm glad so I nod at him in thanks and walk south checking in the many shelters along the way.

I'm puzzled at myself for why I'm doing this. Why do I care about this girl? What sort of reception will she give me? What will I say or do if, or when, I find her?

Well the latter is a moot point as I get all the way to the end of the promenade, about 2km and see no sign of her. I retrace my steps and go up the hill, past my flat and into the town proper to do some grocery shopping at the convenience store and a takeaway from the Chinky.

I'm part way back to the flat when I hear shouting down one of the side streets and a young man in a scruffy hoody comes belting out onto the main drag towards me. He appears to be dragging a sleeping bag... which I recognise as like the one that Chloe took. I can hear more running footsteps behind as the man nimbly sidesteps my clumsy attempt to stop him and disappears down a street on the other side of the main road.

Chloe appears just as I'm failing to stop him and screams at his retreating back.

"Come back you cunt... give that back!"

She stops when she recognises me and glares accusingly.

"Why the fuck didn't you stop him? Now, I've lost your sleeping bag."

I wave my bags of groceries and take-away at her.

"What, and break my eggs and spill my meal? Give over, it wasn't worth it! Don't worry the junky scroat won't get much for it when he tries to sell it. Anyway, how did he get it? You should take better care of other people's things."

I regret those words as soon as I say them as it makes me sound like my parents and who knows, a disagreement with parents could be why Chloe is on the streets. She bristles and the pugnacity I saw last night appears on her face. I try to smooth her ruffled feathers.

"Anyway, never mind... it's done now. Tell you what, come back to the flat and you can have some of my take-away... I always buy too much and I'll sort you out a blanket or something. You do like Chinese don't you?"

She harrumphs but calms down albeit with her lips pursed in annoyance... with me, the lad or the offer of the Chinese, I do not know. She answers my original question.

"I had it wrapped round me as I was walking and he came running up behind me caught hold of an end and spun me round so it unravelled... he grabbed it... I couldn't stop him..."

She starts to break down as the shock of the attack starts to kick in and her face falls as tears well up in her eyes. Some may think she was just another female putting on an act to rope in another dope, but the anguish seems real to me.

"Oh... fuck! What am I going to do now? I've no money, no food... no warm clothes... "

"Chloe, I've already said I'll sort it. You can come and have some food, I'll try and find you something to wear and... fuck it... you can kip at my place if you want to!"

You know what I said about sympathy expanding to suit the moment well it appears to have no boundaries.

She stops her snivelling and at least looks grateful for my offer although has to appear reluctant.

"No, George, you've already done a lot for me and I lost your sleeping bag..."

"Chloe, belt up! It's sorted. You're kipping on the sofa until we can find you something sensible to wear. Now come on, the take-away is getting cold."

She gives a small smile of gratitude and offers to carry the food so I let her. As we are walking back to the flat I start to ask some relevant questions in my best unobtrusive, investigative journalist way.

"Chloe, if you don't mind me asking. What the fuck are you doing trying to rough-sleep in Felixstowe? It doesn't look like you are equipped either physically or mentally for it, you don't have an addiction problem as far as I can see or mental health issues; so why?"

Subtle and unobtrusive, huh?

She stops and looks at me and I can see all sorts of thoughts going round inside her head reflected in her eyes and facial expressions. Eventually, she sighs heavily and shrugs.

"This is where the bus brought me. They made me get off here and I can't go back."

The last is said in a hushed whisper tinged with fear.

I deem that now is not the time to probe further. I'll use my best interview powers later when she is relaxed after a good intake of Szechuan beef and egg-fried rice.

Chapter 4

The walk back to the flat is slow as she's walking as though in pain again and this time when we reach the flat she takes off her jacket and hat and slumps into the sofa with a groan without being asked. I look over and see her eyes are duller than yesterday and she definitely looks tired.

"I'll put the Chinese in the oven to warm up again so why don't you go and have a hot shower; leave your clothes outside the door and I'll wash them. My dressing gown is on the back of the door, it will drown you but will be warm. I'll find you a T shirt to sleep in... it will be big on you but at least it will protect your modesty."

She nods and smiles tiredly in gratitude and heads off to the bathroom as I put the containers into the oven to keep warm. I hear the bathroom door open and see her bare arm drop the clothes on the floor.

It's a very nice bare arm.

I pick them up and note that there is a bra... yay, she's a girl although not very well endowed judging by the flimsy cups... but the knickers are more like boy's briefs; I shake my head in surprise at the choice of underwear but put them in the washing machine. I sit down on the sofa to watch the news while the shower runs but I'm distracted by the thought of Chloe's tight, slim naked body getting wet. I find myself getting aroused at the thought and try a distraction by envisaging her as a boy but this seems to make no difference as her cute smile and beautiful face win out no matter what sex!

I berate myself for not having got laid in a very long time.

I hear the water stop and start to sort out the food before eventually the bathroom door opens and Chloe steps warily out and my jaw drops. She's wrapped in my dressing gown which is several sizes too big for her but this is like sexy-girl-in-man's-shirt magnified many times over. She sees me staring and gets defensive,

"What? You said I could use it."

I blush and stammer.

"No... no... it's all good... you look... um... amazing."

That slipped out and I blush even more.

"Oh... sorry... no offence... sorry!"

I turn away quickly but nor before I see a small contented smile reach her eyes. I gabble to cover my nervousness and keep my head down so as not to make eye contact.

"The food won't be long... do you use chopsticks or there's cutlery in that drawer... beer and white wine in the fridge... can't stand red so sorry if that's your choice... are you very hungry or just hungry..."

She comes up beside me and puts a gentle hand on my arm and I look at her sheepishly. She's smiling and I was right, she's gorgeous when she does.

"George... it's OK. I'm not offended. In fact it's nice that someone notices... although I'm not sure that this is my best look!"

She does a twirl and an exaggerated catwalk model strut holding the lapels of the dressing gown and giggles. Her self-deprecation is meant to put me at ease and it does until I notice that her neck is a mass of purple bruising which only became visible when she pulled on the lapels. She sees the shocked look on my face and hastily pulls the collar back up to cover the damage.

"Chloe? What the hell happened to your neck? It looks like someone tried to strangle you."

She looks incredibly frightened and I can see by her nervous mannerisms that she's struggling to come up with an explanation.

"Erm... uh... it must have been when he pulled the sleeping bag from around me... it was wrapped around my neck... yes... that must be it."

One of the things you learn as a reporter is when people are telling the truth or telling lies and Chloe's eye movements are shouting 'LIE LIE LIE' at me. However, it is none of my business what had happened and if she wanted to invent some fiction then it was her prerogative. My disbelieving facial expression and reply tells her that I haven't bought the story.

"OK, whatever! Look, I've got some Arnica cream that's good for bruising. I'll get it."

"No, really, it's OK."

Despite her protestations I go to the small first aid kit and retrieve the tube and some pain killers before returning to the living room where Chloe has sat down on the sofa and wrapped the dressing gown even tighter around herself and is holding the lapels tight across her neck.

She keeps her eyes down and doesn't look at me as I move to stand behind the sofa and reach over to pull the collar away from the neck. She grasps it tighter and I get angry.

"Look, I've seen it now and I know it is hurting you as I've seen the way you have been holding yourself rigid. I'm just trying to help you. How it happened is your business although I think I want to meet the bastard who did it and give them a piece of my mind. So come on, stop being so obstinate and let me put the cream on. It will feel better."

I can't see her face but I detect a relaxing of her grasp on the collar of the dressing gown and gently ease it away from around her neck. The bruising goes all the way round and I muse that it looks like she has had a noose around her neck as the bruising makes an almost perfect circle. She gasps and whimpers when I start to apply the cream as gently as I can and I notice other bruises on the top of her back as I pull the collar further down. I can't hold back on my anger.

"For fuck sake, Chloe! You have more bruising on your back. This didn't come from the sleeping bag. Who the fuck did this to you and why didn't you go to the police?"

She part turns to look at me and I see she is very fearful and her big eyes are starting to brim with tears. She shakes her head in anguish.

"I can't tell you... he'll kill me... he'll send people to kill me... even if I have protection... you can't help me... nobody can help me. That's why I ran... that's why I need to stay hidden."

She looks even more anguished and reaches a hand out to grab my arm in desperation.

"Please don't tell anyone I'm here... not the police... nobody... I need to go... he could find me... and he'd have you killed too."

I move round the sofa and sit down beside her and grasp her hands in both of mine and look her in the eyes and can see all the fear and desperation of a cornered animal. My gaze is obviously too intense and she drops her head to look down at our hands. I glance down as well and notice that the dressing gown has now opened and I can see the side of a very sexy, small boob. I'm disgusted with myself for noticing when the girl is in a vulnerable state and try to be businesslike.

"First off, I don't even know your real name so what could I tell anyone. Secondly, you forget, I'm Goody Two-shoes with a speciality in saving pretty girls. I'm not going to do anything until the distressed damsel I have saved is happy for me to. Trust me, OK?"

I release one of her hands and lift her chin so she can see the sincerity in my eyes. She gives a teary smile at my reference to Goody Two-shoes before closing her eyes and nodding with a sigh. She opens them again and I can see she is battling with herself to say something important. Eventually she shrugs and gives a wan smile.

"Thank you, George. I don't why you are being this kind... but I appreciate all you are doing for me... I'm... just not used to other people's understanding... certainly not recently."

I smile back at her.

"No worries sweetie. Now let's sort these injuries out although you will have to take your the top down so I can do your back. I promise not to peek."

She gives a small chuckle and turns stiffly away from me and lowers the dressing gown off her shoulders keeping her arms across her boobs.

"There's not much to see so you would have to do more than peek!"

I gasp again at the sight as her back is a mass of bruises that look like they have been caused by a baton or stick. Having been to private school I know what the sight and feel of a beating looks like. My anger rises again and my voice is tight as I apply the cream.

"Jesus, Chloe! I know you don't want to say anything now but someone needs to pay for this. You must be in agony. I've got some pain-killers here but I'll go the chemist in the morning and get some stronger ones for you and more cream."

Chapter 5

I cannot deny the fact that I am intrigued by her and why she has ended up rough sleeping in Felixstowe, recognising the potential of a good story when I see one. However, after I have tended to her bruises we sit and eat the take-away and I hold back on the obvious questions I have for her... like, who she really is, who did this to her and why? However, I don't ask them because I understand I need to gain her trust before she will open up. I'm also slightly concerned by the mysterious 'he' who would have us both killed but that just makes my investigative juices flow. Instead, I ask her mundane things like what clothes size she is so I can buy her some more appropriate clothing in the morning. She protests about it but accepts the fact that she is totally underprepared for living on the streets and I get the impression she left in a hurry... wherever she came from.

She starts to relax after the meal and it is obvious that the pain-killers are working as she doesn't grimace so much when she moves. I leave her sitting at the table and clear the dishes and I can sense her looking at me so I look over and invite her to ask the question I can see furrowed in her brow.

"What?"

She clears her throat which is permanently husky.

"Who are you George? What do you do and why are you here in this dump? You don't strike me as someone who belongs here."

I smile wearily.

"I'm a writer... a published but unaccomplished writer and an investigative reporter. I'm writing a book on the County Line drug problem and thought by immersing myself in the environment I would be able to finish the book."

She has a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Surely they are mutually exclusive... 'published' and 'unaccomplished'... no publishing house in their right mind will publish someone with no skill. So that tells me your writing is good but maybe your vocabulary is shite."

Ouch!

My eyebrows rise in surprise. This putative rough sleeper seems to have a sharp brain in her head. I grin as I do like a verbal joust.

"Maybe 'unaccomplished' was too strong a word in my self-deprecating armoury but I thought it would carry more impact than 'unsuccessful'."

She smirks.

"Typical man!. You would rather be known for your lack of skill than your lack of size."

Ouch! Ouch!

Maybe I should end this before I feel totally inadequate. I blush and try a distraction technique.

"You seem to be feeling better if you're having a pop at your host and saviour."

She giggles with a slight air of triumphalism.

"Nice swerve George. Are you sure you are not a politician?"

I smile and shake my head and go back to sit down at the table opposite her.

"No, being Goody Two-shoes means I could never lie and cheat like a politician. The mind-sets are mutually exclusive. I like to find out hidden inconvenient truths and expose them when necessary, not cover them up or use them to my advantage."

She nods knowingly.

"That must make for a difficult life if the person you're exposing has a vested interest in keeping secrets. People don't like to have their dirty washing aired in public... trust me I know. Do you not worry what the drug dealers might do to you if they think you're going to expose them? What does Mrs George... or Mr. George... if you swing that way... think of you putting yourself in harms way?"

I'm surprised by the question as most people on the streets couldn't give a monkeys about anyone else, but then I already know she's not a genuine rough-sleeper.

I make a sheepish face and look away, not wanting to hold her gaze when I make my confession. For some reason I don't want to see disapproval in her eyes.

"Both the ex-Mrs Georges got pissed off with my inability to compromise on what I considered to be injustice... in my private life as well as my work. The first one couldn't see that the injustice of her sleeping with a co-worker was not something I could compromise on. The second one just got pissed off that I was an unproven author who had given up a perfectly good job to try and write full-time. However, pragmatism won out there and I did go back to journalism full-time. However, by then, she had already left me. So, you see, I don't have a great track record... "