“Look out! Coming through!”
“Oi!”
“Watch where you’re goin’, wee man!”
“Sorry!”
Daniel Holmes darted through the Saturday shopping crowds in Glasgow, pushing and twisting and weaving. His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he did not stop. He couldn’t stop; Spud Harper and his gang were chasing him. And everyone in the children’s home knew that if Spud Harper was after you, you didn’t slow down.
Daniel wheeled left at a butcher shop, almost slipping on a blood-red puddle. He turned into a narrow street lined with old buildings housing fashion boutiques, restaurants and coffee shops. Carved stone angels and gargoyles seemed to watch the street from high above.
Daniel’s head swung right to left. Where next? He wondered how far he was from the bus station. He imagined jumping on a bus headed to the coast, where he could stow away on a boat and escape from Glasgow and St Catherine’s. Somewhere with no Spud Harper would be nice.
“Not crying for your dad?” Spud yelled at him from somewhere back among the crowds. “You were wailing like a baby in your sleep again last night. The whole home heard you! ‘Daddy! Daddy! Don’t die, Daddy!’ Ha, ha! Don’t worry, wee man, when we’re through with you, you’ll have something else to cry about!”
Spud and his gang were bigger than Daniel, and faster and stronger. Sooner or later they’d catch him. He sprinted across the street, jinked into the nearest shop and slammed the heavy door shut. He clutched at his chest and watched through the darkened glass of the door, crouching out of sight. He could hear Spud’s gang shouting as they thundered past.
“Where’d he go? Where is the wee weasel?”
“Must be up here!”
Daniel’s shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air was infused with the jumbled perfume of furniture polish and dust, and something like melting chocolate. Then he opened his eyes, and for the first time became fully aware of his surroundings.