Fuck, fuck -

BJ jump bar -

Fuck, fuck, fuck -

BJ can’t go out front, BJ have to take back -

‘Grace!’ BJ shout for last fucking time. ‘Come on!’

But she doesn’t fucking move -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -

Fuck her.

BJ head down passage and push open back door, hit night and stone steps running when BJ hear:

BANG!

Sound of another shotgun -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -

Down stone steps, bottom of stone steps when BJ hear another:

BANG!

Another gun -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -

Across empty car park, crouching and running through puddles of rain water and oil, out back way then flat in a doorway as police car circles past, ducking over road and down side of bus station, thinking what the -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -

Fuck BJ going to do now?

Through shadows of deserted bus station, into coach station when thank -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -

BJ see it -

See it standing there, all lit up in silver and lit up in gold:

A coach.

Panting, BJ ask driver: ‘You running?’

‘About six bloody hours behind.’

‘Where you going?’

‘Preston via Bradford and Manchester.’

‘When you leaving?’

‘Now.’

‘How much?’

‘Ticket office is closed,’ he winks.

BJ smile: ‘So how much you want?’

‘Tenner?’

‘Done,’ BJ say and hand him a stolen bloody note.

‘A Merry Christmas to you too,’ he says.

BJ get on and head for back seat.

Two other folk; one sleeping and other pissed off.

BJ take back seat and get BJ’s head down.

Coach pulls out of station but heads back into Bullring -

Towards Strafford.

BJ want to look but BJ dare not.