Page 116 of Wrapped Up In You

‘This is it?’

Mike nods.

Grim. Very Grim.

We all get out of the car and I press the buzzer at the door. Chewing gum is stuck liberally around the metal. The intercom crackles into life. ‘I’m looking for Dominic Ole Nangon,’ I say. ‘The Maasai warrior. I believe he’s here.’

On the other end, a man says something unintelligible and I’m just about to ask him to repeat it when I hear the door click and it swings open. I glance nervously at Mike and Nina, then we all go inside.

The reception is sparsely furnished but clean and the man behind the desk stands up when he sees us. ‘How can I help?’ he says.

‘We’re looking for Dominic Ole Nangon,’ I repeat. ‘The police told us he’s been brought here.’

‘He’s not long left,’ the man tells us. ‘We gave him a hot meal and there’s an emergency room available, but he wouldn’t stay. He wouldn’t take the room in case someone else needed it.’ The man shrugs.

‘So you let him go?’ I’m incredulous.

‘We can’t detain people if they don’t want to be here,’ he points out. ‘This is temporary accommodation for the homeless. A direct access hostel.’

I have no idea what that means.

‘They come here on a voluntary basis.’

I turn to Mike and Nina, eyes bleak. He’s gone. We’ve missed him.

‘Any idea where he might be?’

‘Anywhere around here is my guess,’ the man offers. ‘This is cardboard box central.’ He looks at me kindly. ‘He’s only been gone half an hour or so. Not much longer.’

‘Thank you.’

A second later and Mike is starting the car engine, pulling away into the night. The temperature is dropping and I can’t bear the thought of Dominic spending another night on the streets. Not when we are so close. Not when he is so loved.

‘We’ll find him,’ Nina assures me. ‘He can’t have gone far.’

In a way that’s become so familiar now, Mike drives slowly, scouring the streets, eyes peeled. There are too many unsavoury characters on the street corners for us to be comfortable and Mike clicks on the central locking as we exchange an anxious glance.

‘I can’t go home without him,’ I say.

‘We won’t,’ Nina promises. ‘We’ll stay here as long as it takes to find him, won’t we, Mike?’

‘Of course we will,’ he agrees.

As we get away from the main road, the streets become narrower, darker, more menacing. I feel myself shrinking into my seat.

‘Bloody hell,’ Mike mutters. ‘How on earth has he managed out here?’

I can’t even bear to think about it. When I glance back at Nina, I can see that tears are rolling down her face.

The amount of litter is increasing, paper blowing about the streets, and I cringe as I see a rat scamper along the gutter. We’re now alongside the arches provided by the overhead railway track and I see what the man at the homeless hostel meant by this being cardboard city. Boxes and boxes are lining the arches, each one providing a shelter for one or more people huddled inside.

‘Do you think we should get out here?’

Mike looks dubious. ‘I don’t think it’s safe.’

‘We have to try. He could be down one of these alleys.’

With a resigned sigh, Mike says, ‘You’re right. Let me park up here.’ He pulls up against the one area of roadside that doesn’t have double yellow lines. ‘I just hope the wheels are still on it when we get back.’

‘Safety in numbers,’ Nina says with an attempt at bravado. ‘If we stick together, we’ll be OK.’ Though her horrified face gives away how frightened she really is.

As soon as Mike emerges from the car, a couple of scantily clad ladies appear from the shadows, both smoking, eyes narrowed. They’re wearing cropped tops, denim jackets and ridiculously short skirts. They’re also wearing high boots, but they have bare legs and it’s a cold, cold night. When Nina and I also get out, they start to back away.

‘Ladies,’ I shout. ‘Can you help? Please.’ They look at me warily, but before they can scarper, I hurry up to them. ‘I’m looking for someone. His name’s Dominic Ole Nangon. You really can’t miss him.’ I’m wishing that I’d thought to bring a photograph of Dominic with me. ‘He’s a Maasai warrior.’

I see recognition spark in their dull eyes.

‘What’s it worth?’ The older one says, leaning against the wall and adopting a couldn’t-care-less attitude. ‘We don’t give out free information, lady.’

---