Kristal waited for Mary to leave the van before making her move. Deception was a skill you learned early in Eagle’s Hill, and she’d become a pro. Admiring her daughter, bent over her homework, Mary smiled. ‘You’re a blessing to me, Flower. You keep workin’ like you does, and you’ll be whatever you wants.’ Kristal glanced up at her mother’s drunken glow. Mary would often tell her how proud she was; she’d even try to sympathise with how difficult it was living between two worlds, her school and home life so impossibly different. But then she always had to mention how much freedom Kristal had, way more than other kids these days apparently. Why then did Kristal feel like a bird of prey trapped in a penguin’s awkward skin? Her mum trying to understand only reminded her that she couldn’t fly.

‘Your dad’ll come back one day and we’ll move on, Luv’, Mary added as she closed the door. Kristal was left with no space to argue, and yet she tried not to say much anyway. She knew it was pointless.

The savings were kept in a toy pillar-box that doubled as a moneybox, stored in an over-head cupboard which - Mary thought - Kristal knew nothing about. ‘A little taken aside’, she would say, from jobs and the dubious gifts some men liked to give her. Kristal had heard them mocking her at night; they forgot that sound carried through the tarpaulin and the papery caravan walls, all the way to her ears. Maybe they just didn't care. ‘Always saving, be Mary’, they’d say. Mary would mutter something about a better life for Kristal, deliberately vague, and though she could not see, Kristal would feel her mother burn an awkward red. She’d admit to them that she bent a few principles for her daughter, for the odds and ends modern life demanded, arguing that she didn’t want her girl made to feel like an outcast. As a result she was pretty much treated like one herself. Meanwhile Kristal remained a misfit wherever she was, ridiculed for ‘sucking up to the system’ on the site, and spat at for being a ‘scrounger’ at school.

Kristal had first seen Mary with the pillar-box early one morning when she’d crept in, bruised and tired following an evening with Eagle’s newest arrival. Kristal had almost liked the look of him when they’d met earlier that day – he had an adventurous quality she didn’t see so often in Mum’s ‘friends’. He talked to her like she was worthy of a proper conversation even if she wasn’t good for a job yet. Now she wasn’t so sure. She heard Mary throw up outside the van before peeling open the door. The smell was intoxicating and she staggered in bent almost double, the flowers stripped from her hair. She clutched her torn skirts together, and took a swig from an open bottle of cider, before ramming it forcefully onto the stove, making it spill all over the usually spotless surfaces. Balancing on her sofa bed, she reached up and took the pillar-box from its secret place. She pushed three crisp notes into the slot, and all Kristal could think of was the magic world of sparkling things and experiences she could now obtain: brand new clothes that would fit, Garbage Pal Kid cards and colourful sweets. She turned over to face the wall, scared that Mary would hear her fierce heart pounding with excitement. Her life as a thief, and - more importantly – her popularity, dated from that moment.

With her mum safely in the wash shed, Kristal reached up just as she’d seen Mary do that night. She struggled to prize out the tin stopper with a knife; a five-pound note had become jammed in the seal. Pulling carefully at its edges, she secured the beginning of this night’s steals. Hiding the five along with three pound coins in her jeans’ pocket, she returned the box to its home and buried herself back in her books. Cinema for her and Sophie, plus plenty for popcorn and treats along the way. At the school gates today Sophie had joined the others in yelling ‘gypo’, mocking Kristal’s ripped jeans and over-sized smock. No one else wore jeans to school; they weren’t even allowed to. School turned a blind eye to the rules Kristal broke through no choice of her own, but that didn’t stop the kids hating her. She didn’t blame them: she hated herself as much. Some days they’d play with her; they liked the friendship bracelets she made and the way she could braid their hair. But then the next day she would be a ‘gypo’ again. Sophie was sleek, dark and stunning; she wore a puffball skirt and curled her hair. On the days it suited Sophie to be her friend, Kristal felt like the most important person in the world. But today after school she’d had nothing to offer, and Sophie had looked at her with the disgust she already felt crawling around under her skin.

Hearing Mary’s steps outside, Kristal blanked out today with thoughts of the fun she’d have tomorrow: everyone would to be your friend if you had money. It was so powerful... She counted her lootings again, smoothing out the wrinkles on the note with the palm of her hand. The coins glistened in the low glow of the van’s gas lighting, like three proud jewels. Smuggling them carefully away again, she returned to her books and was even beginning to get her head around photosynthesis when the door opened. Mary was back, her make-up off, her soft face rosy, ready for bed. ‘You hittin’ the sack now, Flower?’ - her way of announcing bedtime - ‘Can’t be studyin’ all night y’know.’

‘Okay, Muh’,^* said Kristal. Carefully closing her books, she placed them in a pile next to her camp bed. Getting under the blanket she faced away so as not to see her mother’s imminent nakedness. Why couldn’t she wear a nightie, or even one of her ugly old T-shirts? Her nakedness made Kristal cringe; it was so unspecial. She’d show herself to any old gypsy, just like she did happily to her daughter. She said the body was something to be proud of, but the other parents at school had a different kind of pride, and it involved keeping flesh tucked away. ‘Night, Muh’, she said.

‘Night Flower, sleep tight, mind them bed bugs...’ said Mary, sleepily, slipping into bed. Closing her eyes on the day at last, Kristal started dreaming sweetly – of being on the inside of the circle, of having no fear in the changing rooms, of being centre of attention and it being a good thing, of having the power, independence and regard that money brought with it. She dreamt of a time when she’d get the hell off this site and live a life of her own, make her own choices, far away from Eagle’s Hill. No more cast-off clothes and cold baths; a proper toilet and a milky white couch; no more shame.

‘I’ve got summat to show you’, whispered Kristal into Sophie’s hair, unable to wait any longer.

‘Something to share with the class O’Brien?’ Mr Jones was the only teacher at Knowle who called kids by their surnames. Kristal hated it.

‘No, Sir.’ Sophie looked around at Kristal and winked – a rare gift, which she returned once Jones’ stare was re-fixed on his long-division demonstration.

At afternoon play Sophie hung behind in the corridor, arm-in-arm with sickly sweet Yvette, but without her usual throng of admirers. ‘What is it K?’ she asked, ‘Done us another friendship band?’ Kristal’s eyes glowed as she reached down to pull out the money from her socks. Holding it tight she tried to look casual.

‘Know what film’s on in town tomorral?’ she asked.

‘You mean skip school? I …’, began Sophie, with a sideways glance at Yvette.

‘Yes you can’, said Kristal, ‘you done it before. Yvette can come too.’ Yvette looked away.

‘Okay. Meet you eleven tomorrow outside the Odeon.’ Sophie winked again before gliding out of the door.

The next day Kristal left the van at the usual time, grabbing her bag with her school library book The Runaways inside.^* The money was neatly folded in her jeans pocket. She planted a kiss goodbye on Mary’s sleeping face and the semi-conscious reply arrived just as she was closing the door behind her.

She looked at the site with new eyes that morning. It was so small, and so uninteresting. Balanced on top of Keynsham Hill and squished between the trees, it joined the city only by rugged pathways and streams. Its little gate and the fences were always broken and the toilets stunk. Why of all places had her mum and Sean chosen to flee here? In a world full of bright lights, comfort and style, why had they picked somewhere so basic, so unexciting? It wasn't for her.

Zeelah was already back from her morning walk, organising the wild flowers she’d collected in the woods into saleable bunches. She waved at Kristal without smiling. Manouevering around Jinx’s collection of junk between his van and their own, Kristal climbed over the rusty back gate, and walked briskly up towards the Bath Road as usual.

She decided to wander over to Cabot Tower. It was the last place they’d gone with Sean before he left, more than half her life ago. She remembered the day well because he’d pulled a small duck from his army bag! It had come from the circus he worked with. Grinning, Sean whistled and the duck clapped its wings. He and Kristal had laughed and laughed, Kristal trying in vain to whistle and begging her dad to show her again and again. But Mary said it was wrong to keep the duck and Sean should return it straight away. He did, and himself along with it. Kristal remembered being so sad; it was such a cool duck.

The walk to Cabot was a long one, and Kristal felt surprisingly unnerved to have stepped out of her normal routine. She thought about the book she was reading, and how it must feel to be on the run. Just to leave… Although she knew it was half-crazy, she looked behind every minute or so to check no one was following her. Walking down Pylle Hill and towards Temple Meads she felt sure every person in every car knew exactly what she was doing. If she looked anyone in the eye they might call the police, and there’d be hell to play on the site if she was dragged home by the pigs! But she kept her head down, through Broadmead and across the centre towards the Hippodrome. She wasn’t being watched at all, just another nobody going about their business. No one cared, and that was a good thing, because it seemed that at school and at home on the site everyone cared too much; they were all too interested. To be anonymous made her feel free from what other people wanted of her - to be able to make her own choices.

She reached Park Street. Shop windows with shoes and clothes in matching colours beckoned her inside with their soft lighting, but she knew better than to accept the invitation. Already at this early hour, the place was packed. Smartly dressed men with rolled-up newspapers and vacant expressions marched hurriedly in both directions; painted women tried to overtake, skilfully balancing on high heels, while calmer, more elderly women were nearly run aside in their wake. It was money that walked about, parading itself unashamedly. Kristal felt her own stake burning in her pocket – she could join in; it was that easy.

At Cabot, she climbed the banks and rolled down the hill. With no one to tell her otherwise she did it again, and again and again. Until she felt so dizzy she just lay there for ages, watching the trees and people whiz around. She gazed down at Bristol; it looked amazing from up here. So many different colours and everything so neatly arranged! The pointy spires of churches and the cathedral stood tall with pride; even the smog from the factories looked fairytale-like. There was a red and yellow hot air balloon floating over the city, and as she followed its path Kristal realised she could see the site – so clean and green from here, with the little white vans like specs of snow. She could see the rows upon rows of flats and houses where everyone else lived, stretching out into the autumn mist beyond Temple Meads and the City ground in the other direction. Bath Road reached up through Brislington, and past Eagle’s Hill, pointing like a grey arrow towards the ‘splendour’ of Bath. Her eyes lingered on this road a while, trying to imagine her mum as a girl there, growing up in the same house where her grandparents were born. All those houses now bulldozed away into memory, and yet there’d never been a flyover built as planned. She wondered where all the scattered people had got to now. Like them, she could live in one of the city’s million houses, once she grew up and left Mary behind. She could blend in. It really wouldn’t be so hard.