A Girl Called Nothing

1

I am a girl called Nothing. I have no one. I live nowhere. 

***

"Mummy! When can we see the sea?"  She would cry, pleading her mother to take her there. She used to love to see anything and everything, Emily. But not anymore.

***

The sea, the sand, the breeze. Brighton is a desirable area, the sea washing up on your doorstep, the sand in every nook and cranny of your house, the breeze filling your home with the salty aroma. My home is on the beach. A wood structure, not very comfortable, but all the same, it's home. 

An old couple potter along the sea-front, pointing around and looking in awe at the various lights that were now filling the dusk sky. I know it will be some time my home is available, as the couple sit tentatively down on the hardwood. I settle myself on the damp sad, my ears filled with melody of the waves. 

The sky has turned deepest blue when the old couple finally appear to making an exit. Before anyone else can occupy the bench, I run up a plonk myself down on it. I breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes it can be hours before my home is unoccupied. 

But still, I must not dare to sleep until the beach is locked by the passing guard. They never notice me. I am Nothing. Only once the beach is locked am I truly safe. I do not know what things might befall me if it was not locked.

Until that day comes, I will make most off the ones I have.

***

The dawn sun awakes me. My thin blanket falls onto the sand as I get up to prepare for the day. I have at least an hour before the guard comes to unlock the beach. Then my privacy is breached. In the meantime, I kick off my worn trainers and run down to the cold ocean. 

I start splashing in the shallows, as if I am with someone. I laugh and scream as the cold water gradually grows higher on my thin body. I see a few drunken men walking along the pier, but they do not see me. I see a haggard looking young mother with her baby, desperately rocking him back and forth in his pram, outside her doorstep. I see so many people, who all chose to do things with their lives. 

After around half an hour or so, I paddle back to the shallows and the shore. I sit back at home, watching the sky gradually turn a lake blue. A key scrapes in a lock and a clink tells me it's time for breakfast. 

***

"It's so cold," she squealed. "Daddy, come in with me!" Splashes and laughter filled the still air in the early morning. She was never one to do things on her own, Emily.

***

A short walk from the beach, there is a a small bakery. It tends to be very busy bakerie in the mornings, the people of Brighton pushing to their favourite pastries fresh from the oven. It's usually where I get my breakfast from.

I slip inside, behind the haggard mother I saw earlier. There is a half empty box of jam pastries sitting by the counter. I grab one, and back out of the shop. The deed is done. Breakfast is served.

By the time I reach the bench, a quarter of the pastry is gone, my fingers and mouth sticky with the sweet strawberry jam. A delicious breakfast, better than the usual cheese buns that I steal. 

I get up off the bench, and prepare for a day of walking. As I do this my mind drifts to topic not often thought about. Emily.