When A Blind Man Cries

April, 1973: Flatmates

Friday 20th April 1973

His satchel was stuffed to the very brim, causing Grant to limp slightly as he crept down the long, swarthy corridor. Making it up the creaky old stairs without waking up the entire top floor had been a mission in itself, and his heart was still yet to cease its erratic fluttering in his throat. Thankfully, he'd planned his escape to the very last second, such as leaving his dorm for the roof at exactly 3:45 AM; late enough for all the boys to be fast asleep and to be counted for the newly introduced 3 AM checks, and early enough to score a nightshift taxi and to avoid Sister Joy's 4:30 ritual of black coffee with a sneaky cigarette.

Bloody hell. It really was pitch black on the top floor. He still hated the dark, but thankfully he could find his way to the roof with his eyes closed by now, so he decided to pretend they were. Suddenly, one of his trainers squeaked obnoxiously against an overly varnished plank of wood, causing him to freeze with every hair on his body standing on end. After what felt like a millennium of suffocating silence, he let out the aching breath he'd been holding and continued his walk with further caution. It was funny, really, having to try so hard to sneak out of a place that so clearly loathed his existence.

With this in mind, Grant made sure to flip the bird at every door which deserved it as he passed. Room 49; Fuck off, Kaiden. I know you nicked my pudding. 302; Do one, Rory, stuck up ponce. 91; Dunno who's in there but fuck you too. 187; Grant lowered his middle finger. Davey was all right. Sound bloke. 56; Have two birds, Gibbs, ya gobby bellend.

Satisfied, Grant winced as he gently pulled open the heavy, metal door of the storage cupboard, the screech of its hinges vibrating through his limbs in a nasty kind of way. Once the gap was just about big enough for him and his satchel to squeeze through, he sucked in and slipped stealthily into the unlit unit. Shutting the door behind him was perhaps the most detrimental part of his escape, with its dodgy, rusted latch being the biggest bloody grass in the entire home. But he couldn't take any risks of his absence being noticed before morning, with Sister Joy having trigger-happy fingers when it came to dialling 999, so, with one held breath, he pulled it shut, letting the piercing clank echo down the corridor as he exhaled.

Having no time to check if it had caused a disturbance, Grant spun around in circles as his eyes scoured the moonlit cupboard for what Sully had promised. Finally, his urgent gaze landed on two beige folders placed upon the lowest crate to the window. With a short sigh of relief, he stuffed Adz and Charlie F's home records into the front pocket of his satchel and began the dodgy climb to the window.

It was a warm night. Well, warm for April, anyway. Which he took as a good omen as he ran across the lower platform of the roof, adrenaline pumping through his veins at each step. The climb up the brick wall was a little tricky with such heavy baggage, but he made do, because falling was simply not an option, now. In a moment of childish remembrance, he noted that he felt rather like the Grant in his dreams; the Grant who worked undercover for MI6, which admittedly made him feel a bit giddy. He was escaping rebel forces with top-secret documents in his clutches.

The night air filled his panting lungs to the very brim once he made it to the roof's daunting edge, wasting no time in routinely dropping to his knees in search of the concealed drainpipe. However, to his surprise, the drain was already pulled out for his disposal. Had Adz and Charlie F left it out for him? Had they wanted him to try and find them? Although, his hope dwindled at the realisation that they had simply never climbed back up, this time, so they had no way of pushing it back into hiding. Idiot.

Sliding down the drain was a doddle for Grant these days, and with the added adrenaline he landed on the roof of the equipment shed like one of the superheroes from Charlie's comics. He didn't allow his mind to replay the awful interaction which had taken place beneath him mere days prior; it's a waste of the present to mull over the past, after all. So, with a victorious grin, he hopped the neighbouring fence and landed on the pavement unscathed.