The Takeaway Man

8

Damien was out walking. It was one o'clock in the morning. It's what he did. It was cold. His breath came out in a plume of white, frosted air. The streets were silent. Nobody was out. Damien liked that.

He hadn't had a full night's sleep in a very long time. Years. The last time he could remember was when he was a kid. Before the night terrors started.

Damien was comfortable walking the streets alone at night. He felt safe. The cold air was more like a warm blanket to him. Wrapping him in it's frosty embrace. He always made sure to stay away from busy places, pubs and bars and night clubs. He didn't want any trouble. If Damien ever saw someone walking his way he'd cross the street to avoid them.

The night terrors started when he was eleven. Waking up in the dark, screaming, sweating, terrified, dragging his nightmares into consciousness. Monsters and demons and his mum screaming in pain. Whenever Damien woke from a night terror he was utterly alone in his room. He cried for a while, waiting for someone to come rescue him. His mum. Even Kevin. Anybody. But nobody ever did. Damien went looking for them. Wandering the quiet house in the middle of the night, searching and hoping. The house was always empty. They were never there. He called out. His voice was so small and quiet, swallowed up by the silence. Soon, Damien took to leaving the house. Stepping out of the front door and into the night air, looking for his mum. It became a comfort to him. The night became his solace. The cold. The orange glow of the streetlights. He would wake, petrified, and run outside.

Damien still sought that comfort. His sleep was always disturbed. The looming threat that a night terror was about to strike, lurking at the back of his mind, watching. Waiting. Damien was lucky to get a few hours before waking. He was always scared when he woke up. Scared and alone.

So, he walked. He left his flat and stepped out into the cold night, his hands buried in his pockets. A hat pulled over his ears.

Damien had walked all over London. He was witness to the nocturnal pulse of the city's heartbeat. The bin lorries. The growl of their engines and the flashing orange lights. The bakery vans and the smell of fresh bread. Foxes prowling from the shadows, their fur matted and dirty. Damien absorbed it all and felt comfortable in their company.

Damien was walking down a street he'd been down many times before. Something caught his eye. A fierce neon sign blasted its light through the darkness. 24 Hours, it said. Damien had never seen it before. He liked the colour of it and, for a moment, he was mesmerized by its fluorescent glow.

The sign was in a window. It was an all night cafe. Just newly opened. Damien stood on the street. The light from the sign splashed across his face. He was cold. He felt like a coffee. He stepped into the warmth and the bacon smell, and that's where he met Rebecca Nelson.