Lost daughter

I took my daughter Bella somewhere in south London. I was on my bike, she was on foot. On the way back – it was dark now, lots of lights, traffic, noise – I realised I’d got too far ahead. I’d lost her. I did a big turning circle in Victoria station (neither train nor bus – a big empty shed) where I heard the other Nicholas Royle, as a black, uniformed security guard, call, ‘Nick,’ and tell me that he knew I’d stood a wet drink on a book in Waterstone’s. Which was where he worked. I headed back to look for Bella, feeling panicky. I did eventually find her. (10.08.09)


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