The Girl at the Hostel

Chapter 1


On a cold winter evening in Leeds city centre, people rushed up and down the streets. Some were on their way home, others on their way to work, and others were going out for the night. It was one week until Christmas – all the lights were on and you could feel the buzz of excitement in the air. One person who could not feel any excitement at that moment in time though was Morgan.
Thirteen-year-old Morgan had been homeless for three months. On this particular night, she had managed to find a shop doorway to snuggle up in and had collected enough money in her cup to buy a sandwich and a cup of tea. Sitting in her sleeping bag, she quickly sipped her tea and ate the sandwich as passers-by made their way up or down the street, some looking at her, some acting like they couldn’t see her.
Morgan had been living on the streets of Leeds city centre ever since she had had a massive row with her mum. Her mum had never really been good at picking boyfriends. And she had always tended to put her own needs before Morgan’s.
Her mum was called Tasmin and the most recent boyfriend was Greg. Morgan had had a funny feeling about him from the first time she had seen him. He had thin, pursed lips, a jutting jaw and cruel eyes. Whenever Tasmin was around, he would act nice, but as soon as she left the room, he would slide his hand up Morgan’s leg and touch her in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable.
The abuse went on for months. Then, one day, Morgan decided enough was enough. She had to tell her mum about the abuse.
“It’s Greg,” she said to her mum. “He… he keeps touching me in a harassing way and I don’t think it’s right, really, what he’s doing. And he knows it’s not right either because he told me not to tell you.”
Tasmin took a drag from cigarette and said in disbelief, “You’re lying. You don’t want me and Greg to be happy. You’re a jealous little madam.”
Part of Morgan wasn’t even shocked at her mum’s reaction. She was constantly choosing men over her. Morgan had already been in care three times since her dad had left when she was five. She wasn’t going to take this lying down though.
“How can you take his side over me?” Morgan asked, baffled. “I’m your daughter; I should mean more to you than any man.”
Then, the living room door opened and Greg came in. “Everything all right, love?” he said to Tasmin, kissing her on the cheek.
“No, not really,” she fumed, glaring at Morgan.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from Tasmin to Morgan.
“You’ll never guess what she’s just told me,” Tasmin said to him.
“What’s happening in here?” Greg asked, a bit worried at this point.
There was an awkward silence. Then Tasmin said to Greg, “She said you’ve been harassing her. I know it’s a lie though.
I know you’d never do anything like that.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” said Greg. “Morgan, how could you make something like this up?”
“I’m not making anything up,” Morgan said defensively. “You’re the only one who’s lying.” She turned to her mum. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because you’re a liar!” Tasmin yelled. “How dare you make an accusation like this! I don’t know what’s wrong with you sometimes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Morgan said, almost in tears. “But there’s clearly something wrong with him. Can’t you see that? He’s not who you think he is, mum.”
“You just want to split us up,” Tasmin said, reassuring herself. “Well, it’s not going to happen. Ever.”
Morgan looked at Greg. His face was cold and expressionless. She looked at her mum, who looked furious. There was no convincing her.
“Right,” Morgan said, and she stormed up to her room. She packed a few belongings in her rucksack, put it on her back and then came back downstairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tasmin asked when she saw the rucksack.
“Away from here, that’s where I’m going. Anywhere’s safer than here,” Morgan replied.
“Well, give me your keys, then. If you’re going to leave, you’re not coming back here,” Tasmin said nastily.
“Good! I don’t want to come back here,” Morgan shouted, and she gave her mum the keys. Tasmin unlocked the door and as Morgan ran out, Tasmin said, “I hope I never see you again, you liar.”
“You just don’t care, do you?” Morgan said to her mum. She looked at Greg. He had a very smug look on his face. She felt like slapping him.
Instead, she just said defiantly, “I’m out of here,” and walked down the garden path and out of the gate, not looking back.
Walking down the road, she shivered a little. It was autumn now and it was starting to get cold. Summer had hardly seemed to last. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. How could her mum choose Greg over her?
Morgan didn’t really know where to go to begin with. She felt a little bit scared, but she carried on walking until she got to a bus shelter. She looked in her rucksack and got her purse out. There was still a bit of money from when she had tidied a neighbour’s garden about two weeks before. After a few minutes a bus came, and she paid the fare into town.
At least it was nice and warm on the bus. There were a few other passengers. One or two had headphones in; some were reading Metro. They all seemed to be in their own worlds.
Morgan started to wonder if she’d done the right thing. Was she really going to survive out there? Truth be told, she didn’t have a very good idea about how to make ends meet. She was still thirteen. There was no way she was going back to her mum’s house though.
Then she thought of her grandma. Should she ring her and ask her if she could stay there? Actually, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Her grandma would probably just tell her to stop being silly and to go back to her mum’s.
She didn’t want to ring anyone else in the family because she knew everyone had their own problems. And she hadn’t seen some of them for a long time anyway. They’d probably forgotten about her.
No, she thought to herself, you’ve made the right decision.
She looked up as the bus slowed down. It had arrived in the city centre near the Corn Exchange. She thanked the driver as she got off the bus and looked around her. Where should she stay tonight?
Wandering the streets, she tried not to look too scared and held her head up high. Nobody even looked at her at first. She found a spot in a shop doorway and took her sleeping bag out of her rucksack. It was then that people started looking.
Putting her cup on the ground, she got in the sleeping bag and waited for people to put money in the cup. Five minutes went by. Nothing in the cup. Fifteen minutes went by. Still nothing. Half an hour later and still no-one had put any money in the cup.
Morgan bit her lip anxiously. It was starting to get dark and she felt lonely and frightened. On the other hand, she didn’t want to go back to her mum’s because of her horrible stepdad. Anything was better than going back there. She felt lost though. No-one cared. She was just a nobody, all alone with no-one to help her. What was she going to do?

It was now three months down the line and not much had changed for Morgan. She still had nowhere to stay or get a wash and she often felt hungry. She would reuse the same bottle and get water from the sink in a McDonald’s toilets every day, so at least she had something to drink throughout the day.
To begin with, she had felt too scared and self-conscious to ask people for money. After the first couple of nights though, she realised she had to, or she would starve. Sometimes she would get up to four or five pounds in change and she would buy a sandwich and some crisps, a warm cheese-and-onion pasty from Greggs, especially now that it was getting cold.
On this particular night, she had now finished her sandwich and her cup of tea and sat there in the shop doorway, looking at the floor. It was hard being out there on her own with not a friend in the world. She had never really been good at making friends and didn’t have anyone she could talk to regularly. It wasn’t much use talking to other homeless people – how could they help her get out of poverty if they were in poverty themselves?
A group of about five young men walked up the street. One of them nudged one of the others, who had a drink in his hand. He whispered something in his ear.
Then the one with the drink said to Morgan, “Want a drink?” before nastily spilling it all over her.
Morgan gasped. “There was no need for that,” she said, but the man and his friends just pointed at her and laughed and sneered. After a while, they walked off, still laughing horribly.
Morgan waited until they were out of sight. Then she began to cry. As the tears rolled down her beautiful face, she looked desperately up at the sky. She wished she was dead. “God help me,” she whispered, and she hugged herself, the bitter wind lashing her cheeks as people passed her by on that cold night in December.



Chapter 2


Morgan Harris was born on the 9th May 1990 to an English mother, Tasmin, and a Jamaican father, Donald. She was only a baby when her father left, so she never really had any memories of him. She didn’t even have a photo of him. All she really knew about him was that he used to work in a bar and that was how he met her mother.
When Morgan was growing up, several men walked in and out of her mother’s life. Morgan lost count of the number of boyfriends her mum had had over the years. Morgan never really got on with any of them because they thought they could boss her about and that they were her dad when they clearly weren’t.
The Harris’s had moved house several times throughout Morgan’s childhood. Morgan had been to six different primary schools and two different high schools. This meant that she had never really had the chance to make lasting friendships. She had only made two friends in her whole school life – one when she was five and another when she was eight – but because she always moving schools, she had lost contact with them.
Because she hardly ever had any friends, she was often an easy target for bullies. The bullying became a real problem at her second high school. All the other kids in her year had already made friends and she was the odd one out. Sometimes the abuse was verbal, sometimes even physical. They would follow her around the school and bump into her on purpose and pull her hair. Once, three girls ganged up on her after school, beat her up and stole her money so she couldn’t get the bus. She had to walk home, which was several miles from the school. When she finally got there, her mum just gave her a funny look.
“What’s happened to you?” she asked when she saw Morgan’s black eye.
“These girls got me after school.”
“Serves you right. You’re always going around on your own. You should make some friends. Why don’t you have any friends? What’s wrong with you?”
“What do you mean? It isn’t my fault no-one wants to be my friend, is it?” Morgan protested.
“Shut up, whingeing. Go upstairs and get changed. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Typical, Morgan thought to herself and went to her own room.

That day always stuck in her mind. Not so much because of the attack. More because her mum had shown very little concern. She just didn’t care.
Morgan was scared of being beaten up again, so she started skipping school. She didn’t want to be targeted and didn’t care very much for school anyway. She couldn’t tell a teacher that she had been bullied because they wouldn’t understand. They never did. And they never listened to anything she had to say, those teachers. She felt alienated and like she didn’t fit in. There was just no point in going any more.
She was about twelve when she started skipping school. She would usually just go into town and wander round the shops, have some chips for lunch, then get the bus and go to the park or something. She would find a bench, plonk herself down, then wonder why no-one in this world cared about her. Was it her fault? Should she try harder to make friends? Or were the other kids at school just cruel and nasty?
One day, Tasmin got a call from the headteacher of Morgan’s school.
“I think you have a right to know that your daughter hasn’t been attending school,” he said.
“Oh my goodness,” Tasmin squealed with fake concern. “I didn’t even realise. I have been sending her to school.”
“What are you going to do about this, Miss Harris?” the headteacher asked.
“She’ll get a good telling off, don’t you worry. And she’ll be back at school on Monday. Even if I have to drag her there.”
“Okay, Mrs Harris,” the headteacher said, not sounding too convinced. What could he do though? Morgan wasn’t his child. She wasn’t his responsibility. He simply said, “Goodbye,” to Morgan’s mother and got on with his day. It wasn’t his worry.

When Morgan got home, Tasmin was sat in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. She heard Morgan trying to go up the stairs.
“Not so fast,” she said inhaling. “You come in the kitchen.”
Morgan reluctantly obeyed. As she came in, her mother sat there at the table, exhaling and surveying Morgan with watchful blue eyes.
“What’s this I hear about you bunking off school?” she asked Morgan. She had to ask her, at least.
There was an extremely long pause. Then Morgan said, “I just don’t like it, Mum. They leave me out all the time and it’s just no fun.”
Her mum watched her. Then she asked in an offhand voice, which hinted that she wasn’t really bothered either way, “So, are you going back on Monday then?”
“I don’t want to,” Morgan said, folding her arms stubbornly.
Tasmin put her cigarette out, exhaling. Then she looked at her daughter and said rather carelessly, “Well, it’s your choice, isn’t it?”
Morgan was speechless. She was surprised that her mother wasn’t that angry. She also felt a bit hurt because she had thought her mum would be more concerned about her welfare and education. But her mum hardly seemed to care about anything but herself.
Tasmin had got herself a new boyfriend. His name was Greg. Morgan didn’t like him. She hadn’t really liked any of her mum’s boyfriends, but there was something particularly creepy about this one.
Just as the little conversation finished, he came through the front door. “Hello, love,” he said to Tasmin. Then he looked at Morgan.
“I don’t know what you’re looking at,” Morgan said stroppily. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. He watched her in a leering way which made her feel uncomfortable.
“Don’t you give my Greg any lip!” Tasmin squealed.
Morgan tutted and rolled her eyes. “Hello, Morgan,” Greg finally said, widening his eyes. “And how’s your day been?” he said, trying to sound pleasant.
Morgan didn’t answer. She left the kitchen and went up to her room. “Kids,” she heard Greg mutter as she went upstairs. “Who’d have ’em?”
In her room, Morgan sat on her bed and tried to look on the bright side of things. At least she didn’t have to go to that school anymore, because her mum didn’t care either way. However, the fact that her mum didn’t care also meant that she probably wouldn’t enrol her in a new school. Morgan would have nowhere to go; she would just be on the streets or stuck at home. It wasn’t ideal.
A thought suddenly came into her head. She thought of leaving home. If she did that though, she would need a job, an income, and it was difficult for people of her age to find jobs. She groaned and hugged her pillow as she wondered what she was going to do with her life.

It was 9th May 2003, the day of Morgan’s thirteenth birthday. She could hardly sleep the night before, she was so excited. When she woke up and realised she was now a teenager, she jumped out of bed and drew the curtains.
The sun was shining so brightly. The warm rays fell onto Morgan’s freckled brown skin and she smiled. After it had sunk in that she wasn’t twelve any more, she went into the bathroom to have a shower and then got dressed in her favourite jumper and a denim skirt and boots. Flying down the stairs, she could hardly contain her joy.
The joy would not last very long, though. Morgan was extremely disappointed when she discovered that the only thing her mum had bought her was a pair of socks. She tried hard to hide the disappointment, but it must have showed, because her mum frowned at her.
“Don’t you be so ungrateful,” Tasmin snapped at her daughter. “Some people don’t get any presents on their birthday.”
“A pair of socks? I should be grateful for a crappy pair of socks?” Morgan moaned.
“Yes! They’re from Marks and Spencer, those,” Tasmin told her, as if that was supposed to make them an extra special pair of socks.
“I don’t care where you got them; I think I deserve more than that. You did the same thing at Christmas as well.”
“Well,” Greg chipped in, although it was clearly none of his business, “you could start a sock collection, couldn’t you?” His voice was quite patronising, and Morgan looked him up and down.
“I never asked for your opinion,” Morgan said in the teenager fashion.
“Right, that’s it,” Tasmin said. “Go back upstairs. I’ve told you before to watch how you talk to my Greg,” she went on, while Greg stood there giving Morgan a nasty smirk behind Tasmin’s back.
“Don’t really care, anyway,” Morgan said, her arms folded. She turned and went up to her room.

The rest of the day was quite painful for Morgan. There was no sign that she was having her thirteenth birthday – there was no music, no cake, no nothing. While her mum and Greg sat in the kitchen talking about goodness knows what, Morgan thought that there must be some way to celebrate. She came out of her room and went into the living room.
Then, she noticed her mum’s handbag on the armchair. She took a cigarette out of her mum’s bag and then checked that no-one was coming out of the kitchen. The coast was clear, so she went out of the front door, which was almost always unlocked, and walked to the local park.
Sitting on a swing, she got the matchbox she had bought from the corner shop, took a match out and lit the cigarette. She took a drag, then inhaled more deeply as she smoked the whole cigarette bit by bit. It felt fantastic. Her life was far from fantastic at the moment though. Actually, she didn’t think her life could get any worse.