Judy Westwater - Street Kid Fights On - She thought the nightmare was over

‘And what did you do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Go back to the bus to bed.’

He didn’t believe me. ‘You’re staying in on your own?’ he asked in disbelief.

‘Yes.’

No matter how much I tried to reassure him, he never seemed satisfied and I simply felt confused. I was desperately trying to figure out what was going on. I knew he must like me. We spent a lot of time together; surely he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t enjoy my company? So why was he quizzing me like this? I concluded that he must care about me and that in some way, I was doing something wrong. ‘I must try harder to please him,’ I decided. There was something about it all that felt forbidden and dangerous. I knew I was out of my depth, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

When we got back to Belle Vue after that run, I went to find Roger. He was polishing his bike but as soon as he saw me he leapt up and pulled me towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around me. No one had ever hugged me that way before and my eyes welled up with tears. I could hear my heart pounding. It was a very powerful feeling, being surrounded by him and held like that. In the past if anyone had got that close to me it meant things were about to turn violent. By contrast Roger’s arms felt tender.

‘I missed you so much,’ he said and he kissed me.

My knees almost gave way and I kissed him back and put my arms around his waist. There was no room for any doubts. I felt completely engulfed. This was something very private and very beautiful.

Roger drew back. ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ he said with a grin and I couldn’t stop smiling either.

A few minutes later I was watching the show from the sidelines. Roger was practically fearless and very, very accurate. You had to admire his riding skills. When the show had finished and the audience were clapping, he looked over to me and he winked. I had never felt so special.

‘So is this it?’ I thought to myself. ‘Is this what everyone goes on about, what all the pop songs are written about? I suppose this must be what love is.’

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