Lucy found a concrete shed in what remained of the grounds of Broadfell and slipped inside to keep warm whilst she tried to decide what to do next. Inside she found some boiler suits belonging to the grounds keepers and gratefully put one on, it was too large for her by far, but she found some rope to tie it at the waist and rolled the sleeves up so she could use her hands freely. She certainly wouldn't be winning any fashion shows any time soon, but it was certainly better than nothing at all.
Lucy sat on an upturned crate and tried to plan what her next move would be. She knew that above all she had to keep her head down and try not to be noticed, if UNIT found out she'd survived they'd haul her straight back into custody and she had no desire to be back in one of thier tiny, bare cells. She'd been held there for a few months before being sent to Broadfell so they could assess how dangerous she was, the experience had caused her to try and attempt suicide on more than one occassion.
Yes. She definitely needed to keep herself hidden.
She'd need money, too - and she'd have to find it herself. Her father had disowned her and would no doubt hand her over to UNIT himself if he saw her. Having a treacherous murderer for a daughter was not good for a man's reputation, apparently.
Lucy didn't even have any ID - her passport and birth certificate had been filed away in the prison and were now no more than ashes.
Her stomach growled noisely, all she could conentrate on was how hungry and tired she was. She decided she should head back into the city and figure out the rest when she was there.
So, bare footed and shivering, the former wife of the Prime Minister of Great Britain trudged across the industrial wasteland, the loneliest person alive in London on that cold Christmas day.