Chapter one

Tony stepped off the train and onto the platform. A sign above him said 'Cardiff Central' and something in Welsh. He smiled; he was here at last. He made his way across the platform and outside into the warm July air. The sun shone through the wispy clouds in the fresh golden sky and through the translucent broad green leaves and made a little pattern on the grey concrete of the pavement. Tony looked around and found the name of the little street. He took his phone out of his trouser pocket and located where he was on Google Earth. From what he could see, he was about ten minutes' walk from his hotel. As he walked down the narrow path, he thought of Michelle; she was still in Bristol with Anwar until the summer turned. Poor Anwar! His results had surprised everyone; there was no way he was getting into university with two E's and an ungraded! Still, Tony was okay, he had three A's and a B, which was considered clever anywhere. Tony thought back to yesterday's funeral. He hadn't been Chris' best friend but he was still his mate and he had been Jal's boyfriend. Thinking of Jal made him miss Bristol: his friends, his home, his parents, Michelle, but most of all Effy. How was she going to cope? She would be attending Roundview in September, and she was clever, like him, but she was still little, she was still sixteen. Tony closed his eyes to try to imagine her face again, but a second later he smacked into something hard and cold. Tony's eyes opened.

'For pity's sake, watch where you're going!' A lady with a small dog shouted at him.

'Sorry.' Tony murmured.

'Bloody fool!' The woman muttered.

Tony noticed her English accent. He hooked his thumbs into his pocket and continued down the street…

Michelle's eyes flickered open. Light flooded into the room, through the white netted curtains. Her first thought was, of course, Tony. He was gone. He had left last night, at four. He would be there now, it was eleven. She pulled the white linen of her and slid her legs off of the bed. Grabbing a towel, she slipped into her new en suite. She turned on the shower and yawned. Today would be a good day, she told herself. She would go into town, buy herself some new pyjamas (she needed them desperately) and then give Tony a call at his hotel. She massaged the remaining shampoo out of her hair and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped her towel around her and opened her bedroom door. Her phone was vibrating like crazy on her mantelpiece and when she answered it she felt a rush of excitement as she heard Tony's voice in the other end.

'Hey there, nips.'

'Tony!' She cried, 'Are you okay? Did everything go alright? What's the hotel like? How's Cardiff?'

'Jeez, Michelle, calm down, I'm fine, and Cardiff is nice.' Tony chuckled.

'I miss you.' Michelle whispered…

Sid yawned. It was six a.m. in New York City, but he could still here the bustle of people in the streets below him. He had already been out the night before searching for her. No such luck. He buried his head into his pillow. His hand slipped down his boxers and onto his ding-a-ling. He began masturbating and was really getting into it, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

He hesitated. 'Er – hang on a sec!" he yelled. He slipped out of bed and pulled an old pair of jeans on. He snatched his glasses up off of the old shelf and ruffled his greasy brown hair. Sid stumbled across the room and pulled the door open. An old woman with grey, matted hair stood with her hands on her hips. She was wearing nothing but an old white see-through bra and a leopard-skin thong. Sid blinked and shuffled his feet nervously; he felt a flush of colour come to his face.

'Now, I am trying to get some sex outta my husband and all I hear is you playin' with your monkey up here. Now, I don't mind men masturbating, but when you do it don't do it somewhere I can hear ya!'…

Cassie stared into the bathroom mirror. She was naked and she was thinking of Sid, back in Bristol, somewhere she had promised herself she would never go back to. Her snow-white hands caressed the flat of her stomach and she sighed hungrily. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and turned on the sink tap. She splashed cool water onto her face, and then dried it on a mouldy towel, which had something that looked a bit like shit on it. She walked into the kitchen, next door and put the kettle on. Then she set about making breakfast. She cracked an egg into a pan and pushed slices of bacon onto a grill tray, which she then put into the oven. She popped bread into the toaster and turned the egg over. Eric liked his well-cooked. She stared out of the window at the grey block of flats opposite. They were just as boring as the block she was in. The sun was up already and so was New York City. Multitudes of people weaved through the streets and yellow taxis sped onwards towards Manhattan – or whatever – Cassie still hadn't figured New York out yet.

Sliding his breakfast onto a plate, Cassie made her way into her bedroom. Eric was still asleep. She stared at him for a while, her head cocked to the side a little.

'Eric?'

No answer. 'Eric, I've brought you breakfast. It's morning.'

Eric sat up in bed, stretching.

'Cassie, love. Thanks.' He reached out and took the plate from her.

She climbed into bed with him. He had finished in five minutes. Wiping the remaining egg white from his beard, he reached over and cupped one of Cassie's boobs. She was used to this by now. He reached down and kissed her and she felt his bristles stroke her cheek. She sighed for the second time that morning, as he slid his body over hers…

Jal picked up her clarinet and began to play. The music was soft at first and reminded her of Chris, but like Chris, after a while became wild. She played for six minutes solid, then lowered the mouthpiece from her lips and marched out of the room.

She sat down on a blue chair in the hall way. It was decorated with portraits of famous musicians: Mozart, Beethoven and Mendelssohn. Her phone started ringing and she was surprised to find it was Sketch. She answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

'It's me, Jal. Sketch.' Said the delicate Welsh voice.

'Hey there, Sketch. How are you?'

'I'm fine, thank you. I was wondering…could I come over?'

'Er, well, I'm at a clarinet competition at the moment. I'll be back at two. You can come over then.'

'Thanks, bye.'

Jal ended the call.

'Jalander, isn't it?' the man said, 'Come in.'…

Sketch wiped her tears onto her fleece. She still couldn't believe Anwar had gone with Maxxie and James. She had loved him – or so he'd thought. But that didn't matter – she had been closer to Maxxie that way. She hated life at the moment: her Mum, Anwar, Roundview, everything. Except Maxxie. She could never hate Maxxie. She remembered the times when Maxxie was all she could ever thing about. She was absolutely infatuated. She remembered masturbating on his bed – and the awful moment when he came in and found her red hairclip. Sketch wasn't weird – she was lonely and vulnerable.

'Lucy!' Sketch's Mum yelled.

'Coming, Mum!'

Sketch walked into her Mum's room. Her crippled Mother had depended on Sketch since – well - since a long time. Sketch took her Mum to the toilet.

'Lucy, could you make me some toast. I'm starving.'

On the way out of the bathroom, Sketch picked up her phone. She would try one more time…

Maxxie was asleep. Anwar closed the door softly and headed back to his room. He checked his phone. Seventeen missed calls from Sketch. And a message.

'Anwar,' the soft Welsh voice whispered, 'Where are you?'

Then there was silence. Anwar closed his eyes. He was in London with Maxxie and James. He never thought that he would live in London with two gay flat mates. His homophobia had eased down a little. He was ravenous. He stumbled over to the fridge. There was nothing to eat. Pulling out a slice of old pizza from the night before, he switched on the television. In the corner of the room, his phone was vibrating. But he didn't hear it.

'Anwar?' A voice said behind him. He turned and gasped…