Sapphy laughed a little. “This ain’t home, you mongol.” She reached out to take his hand in hers. “This is Kings Heath. I’m from Aston.”

It was a distinction which was obvious only to locals. To the rest of the world, Birmingham existed as a single unit: one great metropolis in the heart of the English midlands. It was only the born and bred who rarely used such catch-all terms, preferring to identify with their specific locality as though it was not one of a collection which had been swallowed by the ever-expanding city. One million people lived within Birmingham’s precincts; only those who occupied the city centre would ever think to describe themselves as from Birmingham.

The bus growled and hissed as it stop-started down the heaving road, heading towards the city centre, which Sapphy colloquially referred to simply as ‘town’. She was used to Torram’s unerring attention when there was nothing better to look at, but his preference for looking at her over this exotic grey jungle was a bit weirder. Thank god she was used to his weird too. She pointed out different features as they passed, identifying Birmingham Central Mosque with its domed white roof and the complex crossroads opposite McDonald’s where ragged people with hungry eyes washed the car windscreens on red lights and wheedled money from the drivers. They hopped off the bus at the Bullring rag markets, where Sapphy had to grab Torram’s hand to stop him from getting lost among the throngs of people weaving their way up and down the colourful aisles of stalls. Kings Heath was sparsely populated compared to the dense crowds in town: it was impossible to stand anywhere without touching at least six people.

Saph negotiated the horde of people with the expertise of one who was well-practiced in doing so, navigating them both out of the rag markets and down several streets past rows of multi-storey big-brand shops before stopping at another bus stop. It was about ten minutes before the next bus arrived, packed with people, who filed out while those waiting to embark crept impatiently closer to the doors. Sapphy pulled Torram onto the new bus – a single-decker this time, so they couldn’t go upstairs – and snagged one of the seats at the front reserved for disabled and old people. She was pregnant, she counted.

The bus pulled away with a hiss of air. Sapphy kept hold of Tor’s hand and rested the other over her baby bump, which was now too prominent to hide without about six layers of clothes but not yet big enough to require maternity outfits. She’d laughed at her sister Carla for being stupid enough to get pregnant at fifteen.

They had to switch busses again before they pulled up into an area of Aston close enough to Sapphy’s old home. The bus driver shut the doors behind them as fast as possible, pulling away with much greater speed than he had at any other stop. Black bin bags were piled up outside the crumbling remains of the low walls in front of lines of terraces on either side and litter blew and clattered around their feet. The streets on each side were lined with cheap cars, most of them missing wing mirrors or sporting dents, effectively rendering the road one-way. A group of kids were kicking a battered ball up and down the pavement and over the road a group of men were stood outside the open door of a house, all smoking and staring. More smoke and a pungent aroma Sapphy recognised as weed curled out of the door. She shoved her hands into her pockets and started walking, ignoring the unwelcome stares and the way the temperature seemed to have dropped by several degrees.

“Don’t talk to no one.” She muttered under her breath to Torram, giving him a hard sideways look. “Your voice’ll get us both beat up. And don’t act stupid.”