Anywhere's Better Than Here by Zöe Venditozzi Page A

feel metallic and invincible. After Ed had left and she’d showered, she started to feel better. And now, with her hair still damp, she took a good lung full of air and began to walk into town. The streets were deserted and Laurie felt as if she had the world to herself. Without the camouflage of other people around Laurie looked at everything afresh, as if she’d been away somewhere. It was a revelation to see how shops had opened and closed, bus stops had appeared, graffiti had been graffitied over.
    She paused to look at the wall by the bus station. It used to have an image of a busty manga-type girl holding a gun. Now someone had drawn on what was either a mask and cape or a badly drawn burqa. The gun had been painted over with a massive book and the words, ‘‘change is coming’’ was written in capitals on the book’s cover. Laurie chose to take it as a good sign and went and sat down on a bench in the stance. The time on the information screen read 8.37.
    The only other people around were an old couple sitting on a bench directly underneath an electric bar fire that hung from the roof. They were reading separate copies of the Sunday Post. Laurie moved to the bench across from them.
    The couple were both wearing massive fleecy jackets, each decorated with a print of a husky or a wolf or something. Laurie couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Some sort of big dog anyway. Hers was shades of beige and his was shades of grey. They had big home knit hats on as well and, although they looked fairly silly, they also looked really warm and Laurie regretted her choice of jacket but no jumper over her shirt. She pushed her hands into her pockets and shuffled down into the neck of her coat.
    â€˜â€˜Says here that an elderly Scottish woman’s holiday turned into a nightmare when she fell down the stairs of a museum in Spain and injured her leg.’’ The man said to the woman.
    â€˜â€˜Oh dear, that’s not so nice, is it?’’ said the woman, glancing up from her paper.
    â€˜â€˜Apparently, she was on a coach tour with some other women from her village when she took the tumble requiring 56 stitches and a night in hospital.’’ He held the paper down across his knees. ‘‘Here, you don’t think that’s Irene’s tour do you?’’
    â€˜â€˜Ooh well, let’s see. She’s been away five days.’’ She put her newspaper down on her knee and spread the fingers of her left hand out in front of her. She began to count off the fingers. ‘‘Salamanca, Madrid, Barcelona, Seville, oh and not forgetting the night in London before they flew into Spain. Where did it happen Jim?’’
    The man scanned the article again. ‘‘Mmm, let’s see … Andorra.’’
    â€˜â€˜Andorra?’’
    â€˜â€˜Yes, Andorra.’’
    â€˜â€˜Is Andorra even in Spain?’’
    â€˜â€˜I’m not sure. Well, it must be, it’s in the Sunday Post.’’
    The woman frowned, unconvinced.
    â€˜â€˜Anyway, I don’t think it’s Irene’s trip. What’s the woman called?’’
    He consulted the paper again.
    â€˜â€˜Janet McCraig.’’
    â€˜â€˜Janet McCraig.’’ The woman repeated and then sat thinking for a minute. ‘‘No. I don’t know her and I don’t remember Irene mentioning any Janet McCraig.’’
    They both looked back at their papers and fell silent again. Laurie couldn’t see herself sitting with Ed on a bench in a bus station in fifty years. She couldn’t see herself with anyone, anywhere in fifty years.
    She thought of Ed’s auntie Sheila. Perhaps Laurie’s life would turn out like Sheila’s. Sheila travelled and sang in a covers band at the weekends. After a couple of glasses of wine at Ed’s 21st, Sheila had confided that she couldn’t understand her sister’s lack of