Hope was in an unusually good mood. This was good for me; however, I could get away with eating less. When I say 'eating', I mean 'stashing away'. Having lived with her for nearly seven months now, I was used to how easy it was to give her the slip when it came to food. For me, that had never been a problem. I slipped food in my pockets when no eyes were on me. It was a trick I used to use with my mum, she tried but food wasn't of a great standard. Plus, she wasn't the smartest so she was easy to trick.

I went upstairs after dinner and stared at the ceiling.

'Come on, Hope, go to bed. I need to go out and eat, Love. Your food won't sustain me!'

The clouds parted and a small stream of light splashed across the bland carpet. I sighed. When summer rolls round, I spend my time hiding from the sun and coating my pale skin in SPF50 every few hours. Other than that, the sun saps my energy and makes me hungry more often, the previous summer I had resorted to carrying round a flask of 'tomato juice' in case. Finally, I heard her shout up the stairs.

'Anna!' She sounded happy, 'I'm going to bed. You should get some sleep too, it's nearly ten o'clock!'

'Yeah, I will, de-don't worry!'

'Okay. If I don't see you tomorrow have a nice day at school!'

'I'll do me best.'

She went to bed. I waited, she went mad when she found out I went out after dark. In foster care, you have a curfew of nine thirty. The clock in the hallway ticked, I listened to it, counting the seconds along with it.

I listened to the sound of Hope breathing next door when it became feasible that she be asleep. Nearly, she was in the REM stage. I'd read about stages of sleep years ago when I was interested in what Mr Freud had to say and since the information was both relevant and useful, I had retained it. The hunger was getting worse; I could feel my stomach rumbling. Hope's breathing got deeper.

'Yes!'

I set off. Where for tonight? I thought the station was a good place. Platform 6 was always deserted at that time; it was the train that came from the West Side of town's stop. There was hardly anyone there at that time of night. Ever.

I sat down next to the bench, my head sandwiched between my knees. I whimpered softly. I knew what I was doing. Long minutes came and went then the sounds of footsteps reached me, a passenger, female, healthy. My sounds got louder, until the footsteps stopped. Change of course.

'Come on! Get a little closer.'

'Hello?' Harsh voice. Posh accent, Southern.

'Help me…' I breathed into the practically empty station.

'Is there somebody there?'

I moaned.

'Help…' My voice sounded like it was about to break. Exactly what I'd aimed for.

'Hello?' She stood not far away from me; I could taste the scent she was giving off, my mouth watered.

'I'm here…' My voice wavered, it was the hunger doing that – I wasn't even having to try.

'Ohh!' She came closer and crouched down in front of me. 'Are you okay?'

I said nothing.

'Why are you here all alone?'

'I want to go home.'

'How old are you, Sweetie?'

'Eleven.' She'd never know I lied.

'Come on.' She reached hand under my arms and eased me closer to her. She held one arm round my back and kept the other against my other arm; I was leaning on her shoulder with my forehead touching her neck. How close I was to my goal.

'Now, where do you li-'My teeth sank in, I bit down, the flesh was easily penetrated. No match for my little daggers!

She slumped to the side and I followed the movement of her body, I leaned with her. Nothing was going to stop me having my food now. Not now I was so hungry and I had put on SUCH a good show. I ignored the usual sting that those thoughts brought. They're what come forward from the deep part of me that changed when that FIEND ended my mortal life and they reminded me of Mr Todd. The flow of blood through her artery became slower; I had to suck harder if I wanted anything. I knew time was up in the throat department.

I moved onto the wrist, there is never as much there, but still enough to get that final level of sustenance. The woman blinked and choked when my lips brushed her neck for the last time, a droplet of crimson life escaped – I caught it with my tongue. She didn't stir but I could feel her pulse with that final touch. I knew she had very little strength in her left now…that meant I had to hurry up.

I bit down into the wrist. More liquid was pumped into my mouth but the forceful current slowed nearly immediately. With a resounding thud, the woman hit the floor. Being my nosey self, I took a look in her hand bag; there was only the normal stuff. Keys and a mobile phone and a purse. She had an ID but I wasn't interested in names, that would make it personal, and I'd feel bad. Forms of guilt would not be good for me, they would destroy me. She had money which wasn't something I needed, I left it. Nothing was taken, but then I noticed something. It was only small and laying at the bottom of the bag. If my heart was still beating, I'm sure it would have stopped. It was a business card reading:

'Kwik copying service!

186, Fleet Street.

Always happy to help!'

I pocketed it. Since I was meeting Pearl there in the morning I could get there early, take a look. I'd passed that street many times since I'd been back in London, waited at the top of it when I waited for the bus from being at the shops almost every week but I had never ventured near the shop. Now I was tempted.

That night I wandered the streets. I walked round to the back of the shop, where the entrance to the sewers used to be, they used to back onto the open end of mum's backhouse. I followed their winding path round to the place where the ground used to change and the heat from the furnace could be felt, then the furnace could be seen in all its glory.

'If health and safety saw that nowadays they'd have a fit!' I smiled to myself, a smile that was soon to fade when I saw that the glowing bricks of the bake house couldn't be seen, replaced by a brick wall. New bricks, they could only have been just over a hundred years there.

The bricks that would forever block my mum's execution spot were younger than me.