If he lost her now, he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Another day, not knowing what to do, the bills ticking away like time bombs. He knew he was clutching at a thin straw with this whole idea as it was, but now he had to see it through. Just to know if it was anything. He was desperate, and, casting around, he started to think more desperately. The guy on the bike who’d caused the bus to slow. He was still ambling along, seemingly aimlessly. Well, Jacob had an aim.

With a strength and speed he had thought himself incapable of, he ran full tilt at the cyclist, shoulder-barging him to the ground. Taking advantage of the rider’s confusion and shock, Jacob grabbed the handlebars and wrenched the bike away from him, jumping onto the saddle. He pedalled for his life. The bike seemed to take an eternity to accelerate. Behind him, he heard cries, at first surprised and then increasingly irate. He could hear at least one person giving chase. He didn’t turn, concentrating only on the bus that was speeding away down the hill. Thank God it was down, Jacob thought. His thighs started to ache as he raced past the few cars between him and his goal. The bus was stopping. He braked hard, threw the bike to the pavement and ran the last few yards to catch it.

His heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Gradually, panting hard, he marshalled his thoughts. He thrust a hand into his pocket and grabbed some change to pay the fare. He suddenly held his breath as he passed the money over. What if the driver had seen him in his mirror? The official uniform filled him with terror. He could see a radio – the driver could easily inform the police. With great effort of will, he calmed himself. The uniform meant no more official status than the polo shirts Lloyd had made him wear. He’d stolen the bike after the bus had travelled a long way down the road. The driver would have to have had incredible eyesight to have seen anything. It was nevertheless with relief that Jacob saw the machine printing his ticket. The driver barely registered his presence as he ripped it from the roll. He made his way into the body of the bus, trying to look calm. The bus wasn’t busy – there were only three people downstairs. None of them were Jane. He sat at the back, where he hoped she wouldn’t notice him but he would see her descending the stairs. The events of the last few minutes had completely undone his mental preparation and meeting on a bus was awkward at the best of times. He resolved to follow her until a better time presented itself. At the back of his mind, he worried that no such time would happen.

He noticed that the bus had turned and tried to work out which road he was now on. King Edward School. He knew where that was. So she must live somewhere downtown. He kept an close eye on the stairs.

The paper, when uncrumpled, was blank on one side and on the other had an advertisement for a circus that was visiting, or rather had visited some months ago. A shadow of disappointment crossed the man’s face as he scoured the lurid text, hunting for clues. He looked along the surface of the page for any telltale indentations a writing implement would have made. Nothing. He slowly let his arms fall, his expression hardening into resolution. He stood for a minute, thinking intensely, still clutching the leaflet. His eyes closed and his fists clenched, squashing it in the way it must have been crushed before being put in the fan. At this point, his eyelids flicked back open. He looked again at the paper in his hand and seemed to be studying the creases. It was randomly crushed apart from a series of faint diagonal folds that must have been made beforehand. He worked gradually and meticulously to reform them. Most words and letters were now hidden, the upturned sections revealing only a few characters. The man flattened the leaflet back out, tore it into tiny pieces and put them in the sink. A half smile played on his thin lips.
Outside, the evening had started to draw in. The dog waited in the street, sniffing at invisible scent marks along the pavement. It growled quietly as a passerby walked their dog by but it gave them a wide berth. The passerby glanced momentarily at the dog and walked on. Elsewhere, the town got on with its business. Shops put up their shutters, a few cars took people home along the few streets. A few children played on quieter roads. Life continued as usual.
The man gave a questioning glance to the dog as he left the house and then crossed the street to the town’s main car park. He assessed each car in turn before walking casually towards a small grey hatchback. He pulled a piece of twisted metal out of his pocket and thrust it between the glass and the doorframe. Inside, the lock popped up. He swung the door open, sat and closed the door in one smooth motion. An onlooker would have noticed nothing strange, but there were no onlookers. Seconds later, the car pulled onto the road and he continued his journey east.

Taking a detour from his route, Jacob spent some time looking at the city where he lived. Funny how reassuring it can be to be surrounded by people – the noise, the activity – but with just the subtlest of changes it can suddenly be a strange place, even dangerous. How reliant everyone is on the status quo, their lives remaining the same to perpetuate other people’s. As soon as you’re no longer contributing, familiar roads and buildings become unrecognisable. People behave differently towards you. He remembered someone once saying that animals can sense sickness in others without seeing any outward signs. Was this the same? People and even the city itself could recognise he was a malady, a broken part of the system. He looked down from a bridge to the park, where children were playing games, having finished school. How many of them would experience what he now felt? He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts.
Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Jane. She would be leaving the office in half an hour (she always left at the same time) to walk to the bus stop. She was invariably alone, not wishing to prolong her exposure to her work colleagues. Assuming nothing had changed. What if she didn’t work there any more? He had no way of contacting her as he didn’t know her address – nor could she ask anyone. He had to hope that she was still there. Brown’s Building Services. There never was a Brown as far as he knew – the owner’s surname was Lloyd. And what a nasty piece of work he was. Kept a constant eye on everyone who worked for him, never letting them feel for a minute they were anything other than his slaves. You quickly learned not to question his decisions or suggest anything of your own. Any ideas were swiftly and universally ridiculed, worthwhile ones later implemented behind the employee’s back. Any protest would be met with further ridicule or threats. The ‘smiling death’ was what Jane called him. He had a good accountant and an even better solicitor, providing him with the means to sack almost anyone at almost any time, and he seemed to enjoy it. Jacob had experienced that first hand.
He was round the corner now from the office. He realised he was nervous. A cold sweat was on his forehead and his hands felt clammy. He looked at his Dad’s watch. One minute to go. He tried to position himself to be unobtrusive. He didn’t want to meet anyone other than Jane.
The bell rang – one of Lloyd’s favourite ideas. Only a handful of employees worked in the office most of the time, but that didn’t stop him constantly reminding them of their obligations. Jacob saw Jane walking out, a few others walking behind her. They were too close – he’d have to wait for her to move away. The bus stop was about a hundred yards away. He walked slowly behind the group, keeping his distance. He recognised the man immediately behind Jane. It was Lloyd. He seemed to be walking quite close. That was strange. As they neared the bus stop, he said something to her, to which she replied something, smiled and shook her head. He kissed her on the cheek. Jacob’s blood ran cold. He stood for several seconds, stupefied. What had just happened? He watched numbly as Jane waited for the bus and Lloyd leisurely walked off.
The arrival of the bus shook him from his reverie, and he ended up running to try to catch it. It got stuck briefly behind a bicycle but then accelerated to overtake it, leaving Jacob desperately trying to think of what to do next.

He stepped cautiously into the building. The door opened into a combined lounge and dining room, this not being a big enough house for a hall. It didn’t look like anyone had lounged or eaten there for some time. A dying fly’s intermittent struggles were all that broke the static atmosphere. Even the air itself seemed to be decaying. The man’s eyes scrutinised the objects in the room. A collapsed sofa, slightly damp from where water had been dripping on it; a simple wooden table with three chairs, one dragged back from when its previous occupant had stood up to leave; a bookcase with a few travel books. The thin, bare floorboards creaked and groaned as he crossed the room. First, he pushed the table and chairs over, checking underneath the seats and the tabletop. He then took the cushions off the sofa, opening their cases and emptying the packing material onto the floor. Holding each of the books by its spine, he shook them vigorously. Finally he turned the bookcase over and examined every flat surface on it. Nothing. Working faster now, he moved to the other rooms. In the kitchen he opened and peered inside the cooker. He opened every cupboard and drawer of the faded yellow kitchen units – looking inside, underneath, feeling around for concealed compartments. Next room. The bedroom had been stripped of most of its furniture, only a broken steel bed and melamine bedside unit remaining. What little that could be searched was done meticulously.
The bathroom was the last room in the house, there being no attic. Here the man slowed down, as if to prolong the possibility of success. The room did not look promising. It consisted of a freestanding bath, a sink and a toilet. He opened the cistern lid and peered inside. He looked behind it, feeling around where he couldn’t see. Looking under the bath, his fingers brushed against something. He pulled it out. It was an old sliver of soap. He threw it in the sink and continued searching. On one wall was a door, presumably the airing cupboard. There were some moth eaten towels and a hot water tank. He felt around the tank, being careful not to miss any part of it. Nothing. He looked at the walls of the cupboard itself. Stupid. Should have brought a torch. The windows were covered in cobwebs and dust, so he opened one to get some more light into the room. It was then that he saw something. Out of the corner of his eye. So subtle that it took him a few seconds to register what it was. The extractor fan had something stuffed into it. Anyone casually observing it would have thought it was there to stop it from making a noise or letting cold air in. He reached up and pulled it out…

He examined the item carefully. He didn’t know much about them, but it looked like a SIM card from a mobile phone. He took it off the keyring and turned it over in his fingers. There was nothing more he could glean from it from external examination. What was it? What did it represent to him? Could it be a lifeline to a new future? He’d never considered himself a believer but right now he’d believe pretty much anything. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he had to know. Maybe the person whose card it was would give him a reward. Maybe he should throw it away – it did say it should be destroyed. Maybe it hadn’t been used yet. Too many maybes. He had to find a phone to try it in – only that way might he know if this mysterious object was more than just discarded rubbish. He thought for a minute. What friends did he still have? Since leaving his last job, he’d lost contact with almost all the people he’d worked with. There was only Jane, she might still talk to him. Yes, he’d ask her if he could borrow her phone. He got to his feet, glad for some sense of purpose, however futile it may have seemed.

He went home to clean himself up, try to make himself look a bit more presentable. Looking at himself in the mirror, he flinched – the sunken eyes, the ashen skin. He splashed some water on his face and cleaned his teeth. No paste – he’d run out days ago. Still, the brush on its own had to be reasonably effective. Better than nothing, anyway. He found the cleanest-looking shirt he had and put it on. He found a sliver of soap in the bathroom and rubbed it under his arms to mask the smell that had begun to develop, rinsed his hands and looked again in the mirror. It would have to do.

There were still two hours before Jane would finish work. He thought through what he was going to say. What would be his first line? Would she still remember him? It was getting on for a year now since he’d seen her. She had been the secretary at a building firm he’d worked for, and he’d always thought they’d got on well. She was pretty in an old-fashioned way, simple make up, always wearing a dress to work. She stood out against the background of tough, grimy and often quite nasty men who seemed to dominate the company. The abuse she’d had to endure. He thought this was the reason they got on – he couldn’t fit in with other men’s constant bluff and swagger, she seemed completely at odds with it. So why hadn’t he kept in touch? He mulled this over for a while, walking slowly out of his front door and along the route he used to take every day…

It was a small town, hardly any bigger than a village really. The high street was wide like a boulevard but with no trees. The houses were painted white but most were in need of improvement. A few cars were parked outside a small row of shops. Really an unremarkable town apart from having a name that didn’t fit. “Diva”, it said on the sign, “population: 4,305”.

The dog was still following at a distance as the man made his way along the street. He’d opened the book he was carrying and was trying to find a particular page. The writing inside appeared to be in code of some description, a western script but no obvious language. The man appeared to find what he was looking for in the book and stopped for a second, scanning some of the inscriptions. He closed his eyes and mouthed something slowly, deep in concentration. The dog took the opportunity to catch up, and sat next to him, looking expectant. The man looked along the street until he saw a number on one of the shops. 35. He walked further, stopping outside the house between a bungalow numbered 41 and a long-closed bookshop, 45. It was an unremarkable house of two storeys with a green door of peeling paint but otherwise just the same as the other houses, grimy white and slowly deteriorating. The remaining numeral on the door was a 3 but had slipped around to look more like an E. The gate squealed as he opened it. No movement could be seen inside the house as the man walked up the path to the front door. Glancing down to double check the writing in the book, he knocked loudly at the green door. After waiting some time, he tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

Jacob Giles had tried many jobs since leaving school but none had managed to maintain his interest. He had worked in a kitchen but couldn’t get on with the ego of the chef. Gardening he’d had no aptitude for, all those Latin names and constant weeding. He’d laboured on building sites and on houses but the work had dried up and he now struggled to make ends meet. Over a period of months, life had become increasingly difficult. Among the crimson bills in the post was a more significant missive. Having no parents and no capital to fall back on, the eviction notice filled him with dread. What was he going to do? Right – need to be practical. He put the contents of his wallet on the table. Enough for a couple more meals maybe at a fast food place. Where was he going to live? He needed more money. There was always his dad’s watch. That was worth a few thousand, and was the only thing of value he still had. Still, it was a depressing prospect. Without that he really had nothing. Nothing to show for thirty years of life. He needed to stop these thoughts – they weren’t helping. He decided to take a walk, get some air.

Outside the atmosphere was heavy with humidity. The heat was stifling. He walked slowly, trying to get his brain to function in the hothouse of the street. Cars seemed to move slowly, like they were struggling to push away the air as they moved. He ducked into a side doorway to shade himself from the sun. His mind was racing, thoughts clamouring for attention like a swarm of flies. Got to get some clarity. Leaning his back against the door, he let his legs collapse and he slid to a despairing heap in the doorway. Was this his future? Is this how people end up homeless and destitute? Someone walked past, half-glanced at him. Was that pity or disgust? What would he think if he could see himself like that woman just did? He sat huddled for a while, paralysed in thought and action. More people passed, seemingly not even seeing him. Was this worse or better? He didn’t know. Some paper fluttered past, advertising a circus in a nearby town.

He must have dozed off, because he was aware that some time had passed. The air was less suffocating and it had cooled slightly. Right. Need to start some serious thinking. What do I need? A place to stay, regular money coming in. How to get one without the other? He started to think through scenarios in his mind. In fact, he was so lost in thought that he nearly missed it. Something, nothing, something? A small piece of plastic, discarded as part of the constant tidal wave of progress. But there was something strange about it. What was it? It was on a keyring. Not that unusual in of itself, but it wasn’t a key. And there was a tag on the ring. It said ‘Destroy After Use’.

The dust blew up and caused him to blink, momentarily pausing to rub his eyes. It had been a long journey here, and he had little strength left for what was still to be done. His once robust shoes barely kept out the elements. He wished he’d had time to replace them.

Ahead, the terrain started to become more verdant. A mangy dog that had been following him for a while seemed to lose interest and lay down, stretching itself out under a scrubby bush. The constant wind brooded overhead, occasionally lashing out to demonstrate its potent force.

The man’s gait was that of an experienced traveller, one who was used to walking great distances. Although clearly exhausted, there was purpose in his stride. His dusty clothes hung off him, as if he had lost a great deal of weight since he bought them. In the crook of his right arm he carried a leather-bound book with no obvious markings and he occasionally used his left hand to hold a threadbare panama hat against the wind’s might to his thinning head of hair. His expression was one of calm determination but lines in his forehead betrayed a deeper anxiety, a fear that he wanted to hide.

The rough path he was travelling wound in a leisurely direction but off it was much rougher terrain, affording no short cuts. The slowly increasing vegetation consisted mostly of gorse and other unforgiving shrubs but here and there a berry bush fought its way to life. The man occasionally stooped to pick their fruit, enjoying the tiny concentrations of pungent sweetness.

He liked this country. No pretence, no deception could be made as here too much effort was required just to survive. Honesty was the characteristic he valued most, and here he saw it everywhere. No space here for politics or trite product advertisements.

The path narrowed as it passed through a gap between two sheer rock formations. They could have been natural or manmade, but were so worn as to be featureless. Here the man slowed, wary perhaps of what might be waiting out of his view. Far above, two vultures scoured the valley floor for sustenance, one screaming savagely. The man cleared the pass without incident, turning to look back. No one followed, although the dog had somehow managed to catch up with him. He ignored it and strode on, a slight increase in his pace. On this side of the pass, the wind was calmer, like it was holding its breath. Here the track started to straighten and head east. The end was nearly in sight.