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The plastic seats, the empty canteen and cold chips.Not knowing how to feel about the uncle who used to pointedly boast abouthow well his sons were doing.After he'd recovered, when he'd come around she'd hide in her room. Atfirst, her mother had tried to get her to come down. After the first fewtimes, she just gave up. Instead, Esme just sat in her room, playing herbrother's old Nintendo."Where do you want to try next?" Wanting to be helpful.Jay shrugged. "We could try the high school. She used to hang out underthe bleachers. Maybe she went back there. A lot of the stoners do." That sounds good." She couldn't hide her interest. "I mean, as good aplace to start as anywhere."School was out and the playing fields were empty.The tiered seating, what Americans called 'bleachers', looked worn andbattered by the elements. There was a banner saying 'Go Titans,' hanginghalf off of them, its edges frayed."Did you play?" Hockey, not football." He had his hands pushed into his jacket. The black trousers were similarly stained.He clutched a shoe in his right hand. It was a woman’s shoe; suede, royal blue, with a little black bow over the toes. He had stolen it from the basket of sale shoes sitting outside the shoe shop a few minutes earlier. He held it in front of him like an amulet, waving it from side to side as he sought out any woman he could see on the street. He would approach them, the shoe held up to their face before lowering it to look at her feet before raising it again and stumbling on.He kept up a running commentary as he stumbled along. He’d mutter obscenities as he held the shoe up, and then go silent before continuing his foul-mouthed rant as he staggered along the street.Suddenly he stopped. His head swivelled round to stare up at the Castle embankment with the flags fluttering. His gaze moved from the shoe to the Castle and back again.He caressed the shoe lovingly. His fingers stroked the slightly rounded toe. He teased and tickled the bow,.
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