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Had I missed the bus? I looked down at my sleeve, and then pulled it back to reveal a scruffy £6 Argos watch. It was late. Oh no. What was he going to say this time? As I pictured him sitting there at home, my lips automatically parted to show a small smile. It was bitterly cold, and the thin, scratched panes of plastic either side of the bus shelter were a failed attempt to block out the worst of the winter weather. I squinted down the street, but was stunned by the huge amount of yellow light streaming into my eyes. I blinked, sat down, and kicked my disfunctioning legs up onto the cold bench. My numbed toes curled themselves up, away from the edges of the scuffed black boots they had been crammed into earlier that morning. Eurgh. I looked down and saw that I had knocked a grey paper ball onto the floor. It tore open, to reveal a few shrivelled chips, and a putrid smell of fish filled my nostrils. I heard a noise. A tiny hunch-backed old woman scuffled out of an alley and walked down the street. As she came to the bus stop, she saw me, walked towards me, squinted, with her lips tightly pursed, and then hurried away, with her purple headscarf flailing behind her. Was she looking at me?

I slipped my hands into my oversized pockets and felt a few of my freezing fingers fall through the large holes that had been there for as long as I could remember. Suddenly, a rush of cold air flew towards me and tore into my face like a knife. It knocked my head back onto the flimsy wall of the bus stop. Why wasn't the bus here? I started to panic; He needed me to be there with him and I wasn't-again. I screwed my face up and blinked rapidly to fight my stupid eyes from filling up with water. I was angry. I was angry with myself, because I'd failed, as usual, to make the most of what could be my brilliant life. I'd worked overtime, trying to please my awful boss, but he wasn't the man I needed to please, he wasn't my ill brother. He was the man I tried to escape from, not the reason I wanted to escape.

I had to ring him. I typed the number into my mobile phone and waited nervously for it to stop ringing. It didn't. He always had his phone with him. Always. I couldn't believe just how bad this evening was turning out to be. I pulled my knees into my chest and wiped my hand across my face, then I laughed silently at myself as I glanced the white sheet behind me. I'd been so stupid; she was only looking at the timetable behind me! I couldn't read it, though; the tiny black numbers scattered across the page meant nothing to me without my glasses. I didn't even know if there was going to be another bus tonight. I had to wait anyway-I had no other way of getting home.

I hadn't eaten since breakfast and was starting to realise just how much hunger was adding to my misery. I could see a small café on the other side of the street so, taking a stupid, hopeful glance up the street for the non-existent bus; I stood up and shuffled forwards a few metres. It looked like quite a forbidding place; 'Maisy's' was scribbled across its front in red neon lettering, but because the electricity was getting to some letters better than others, it was more like 'ai's'. The place didn't exactly seem welcoming, but it didn't look like any other of these grotty shops was open all night. I stepped in and was surprised and disappointed by the lack in temperature change. The battered old heater on the far side of the room clearly hadn't been switched on for years. There were no other customers, and didn't seem to be any staff either, but as I pulled closer to the counter I saw a head poking up from underneath. I coughed, and a disgruntled-looking man looked up, begrudgingly. 'One cheese baguette, please' I said, deciding that this would probably be the safest option off a very dubious menu board. He heaved himself off his chair and walked to a wooden chopping board on his left side. As he sliced into a stale piece of bread, his greasy grey locks wriggled and squirmed like elvers. I rummaged for change in the shiny lining of my coat and managed to muster £1.80. The man took it, in return for a small, grease-splattered brown paper bag.

When I returned to my residence for the evening, the old woman I had seen earlier was sitting on the other end of the bench. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then changed her mind and closed it again. I took a bite out of my sandwich. It was tough and dry, and the cheese tasted so strong that my tongue stiffened up and held itself to the roof of my mouth. Even though it was horrible, however, it felt like the first piece of food I'd had for weeks. I devoured it in seconds. Then I just sat there, and all the time I could tell she was looking at me.

As I thought about him, my chewed-up sandwich turned itself over and over in my stomach and every inch of my body ached violently with cold. And her, sitting there watching me, just made me feel even worse. I felt a hot surge run through my body and threw up onto the dirty pavement below me. I felt like crying ' This night was getting more and more hideous.

The tiny old woman stood up and hobbled over to me nervously and peered into my face. 'You poor thing-You alright, pet?' she inquired in a strangely clear voice. She pressed a crumpled tissue into my hand and I proceeded to wipe my mouth. 'Thank you. I'm alright. I think I must have a bug.'
'Horrible things, aren't they? A good friend of mine...' She was talking to herself. My mind was already on other things. I peered out from under my hood and saw that it was raining now, and metal signs hanging off the shops lining the street were quivering in the vicious wind.

I decided to ring him again. I typed the familiar 11 digits that were his number into my battered old phone. God please pick up, please, please pick up. Show me you haven't done it again. Beep-beep, beep-beep. The phone rang and rang. He wasn't going to answer it. I needed to get to him quickly, but I was at least forty-five minutes away. Could he have done? I thought he was ready for me to go back to work. He even told me he wanted me to. Does he even know what he wants? I just sat staring up the road, with water spilling out of my eyes. My cheeks were so frozen that the tears streaming down my face felt boiling hot.

I must have been sitting there for another 10 minutes before the bus finally came. Even in my miserable, numbed state, I could hear the drone of an engine getting louder and louder. I looked up and saw a bus. My bus. Number 134. I was pleased that it was here after waiting for two hours, but was also dreading having to go home and face him.

'You first' I said to her, thinking the old woman was behind me, but she'd already started walking in the other direction. So she'd waited with me for thirty five minutes for nothing? I didn't have much time to think about this, however, as the weary-looking driver slouched over the steering wheel gestured at me to get inside. I fumbled through my useless pockets for my purse and grabbed some money. 'SNAP'. I closed it and stepped onto the empty bus, my mind still filling with chaotic thoughts of what I would find when I finally got home.