Far Out

At Hermione's Place

With Nigel a protesting sausage tucked under her arm, Saffron followed Hermione out of the chalet and locked the door. Only patches of tarmac remained of the original track; grass and weeds had mostly taken over. Rachel and her five children occupied the chalet opposite and theirs had a fenced wooden veranda and a porch covering. Two steps in the centre gave access to the front door. On either side stood earthenware pots and rusty catering cans, each one bursting with English marigolds in full bloom. Sometimes, Saffron wished their chalet had a colourful display to brighten it up, but sometimes she only wanted to get away from the place and never see it again.

To reach Hermione's place from there, they could turn left or right. The road to the left led to the admin block where the patrols were based at the northern end of the slum. The community hut was up there too. On rare occasions, the slum dwellers held meetings and quiz nights or bingo sessions. They had to apply for a permit and usually Mrs Jenezzer did it. The authorities seemed to trust her. Dad had taken Saffron once or twice, to a birthday party or Halloween activities for the children, but for the last few months, he hadn't had time. If they turned right, they would reach the western perimeter and the open land looking out over the sea. They were unlikely to meet a patrol during daylight hours, but somehow it always felt safer to take the longer route.

They turned right from the chalet and continued along the track past more wooden chalets on either side until they reached a T-junction. They turned left, rounding the corner of the end chalet into a wider lane whose opposite side was formed with a line of static caravans.

Summer sun made the lane dry and dusty with a thin grass seam down the centre of it, and winter rain filled it with muddy puddles. The corner chalet had a long garden – mostly grass and weeds - which they could see over the metre-high fence running parallel to the lane. A second high chain-link fence separated it from the next garden. The parallel fence stopped at the end of a dirty white caravan, whose front door opened onto the lane, without even an apology of a front garden to create an illusion of proprietorial space.  A hotchpotch of sacking and nets covered the chain link all the way round, so people couldn't see in. Two windows, their dull beige curtains drawn, also faced onto the lane. From the top end, a final run of chain-link ended at the wooden fence of the next neighbour.

Hermione stopped at the caravan door. Saffron waited while Hermione reached inside the neck of her top, down her cleavage and pulled out a key on a string. She hopped up onto the metal step and opened the door. "In we go." She hopped off the step again to let her guests in first.

Hermione's van always presented an olfactory challenge, but today it stank. Hermione shut the door and Saffron's eyes watered as she tried not to breathe the reek almost as thick as a fog.

Nigel wriggled insanely. "I'll have to put him down." She let him jump out of her arms and then she swallowed and straightened up. "Do you ever open the windows, Hermione?"

"'Course, duck, it's a hot day, too." Hermione pushed up a roof ventilator with the end of a broom. "Let me show you round."

Saffron surveyed the chaotic scene. Clothes, shoes, papers, boxes of junk, assorted plastic bags and a random bucket or two covered the floor. Faded red carpet showed in the spaces. A rumpled sleeping bag lay on the upholstered bench seat nearest the door and the opposite bench bore piles of underwear and tangles of stockings. A brown veneered fold-down table stood between them on its single leg, or possibly it rested on the pile of stuff squashed underneath it.  The one-legged table held a stack of flat white cartons ready for making up, rolls of blank labels, a couple of wine bottles and a metal ashtray filled with lipstick-stained dog ends. A whiff of stale tobacco ...or was it something else... hit Saffron like a punch in the nose and she recoiled. Vile.