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street in the direction that the young helper at the hostel had pointed her. Argyll Street appeared out of the mist, and, as at the men's hostel, a number of women were milling aimlessly around the entrance.
    She regarded them carefully. Shuffling away slowly was an elderly woman pushing a shopping trolley ahead of her. Quickening her pace, Jo caught up with the woman and fell into step beside her.
    "Hello," said Jo when the woman cast her a sideways glance, not really taking in her face.
    The woman dismissed her and carried on shuffling along.
    "I was wondering if you could help me?" said Jo, trying to ignore the fact that the woman was making a good job of ignoring her.
    "Public loo is round the corner, cop shop two streets away." The woman waved her arm dismissively.
    "I'm looking for someone."
    "Then you want the cop shop."
    "Would you look at this picture please?"
    The elderly woman stopped, turning aggressively towards her. "Look..." she began, then her eyes found Jo's and she faltered, grabbing onto the younger woman as her world tilted.
    "Are you alright?" asked Jo, as the colour drained from the woman's face. She took her arm and led her to a low wall, not letting go until the woman was settled on the cold damp stone. "Should I call someone?"
    The woman shook her head. "Takes me like that sometimes," she said as she watched Jo retrieve her trolley and bring it to her.
    "You're looking for someone?"
    Jo sat beside her on the wall and pulled out the photo, silently handing it to the woman. "Do you know her?"
    The grey head nodded, and Jo noticed tears filling the old grey eyes. Unmindful of the damp grass, Jo knelt in front of the woman, gently pulling the photo from her hands. "What? You know her?"
    "I did."
    "What do you mean? Was she here?" Jo's heart was thundering in her chest. "D'you know where she is now?"
    The old woman nodded, the tears now dripping from her chin. "Rocky died, about three weeks ago."
     
    Jo couldn't remember driving home, but that's where she found herself. She felt out of breath, as though she'd run home rather than driven a top of the range Merc.
    She staggered out of the car after leaving it in the garage, and made her way up the stairs into her house.
    She went into the lounge and poured herself a large whiskey. And then another. Cradling the glass in her hands, she slumped onto the sofa and reached into her pocket for the picture that had become her most treasured possession. It wasn't there.
    The glass slipped from her fingers, its contents staining the carpet. She sobbed as the realisation hit her. She'd lost everything. Not just the picture, but the dream. This woman had invaded her dreams, her soul. And she'd not even been given the chance to know her. She had felt her calling to her. Why? Had she died alone, in pain?
    "I don't believe in ghosts," Jo said out loud, as if to convince herself. She closed her eyes, picturing the gentle face. "And I don't believe you're dead."

Part 5
    Jo began to doubt the wisdom of her foray into the realm of the homeless when she was asked to buy a Big Issue for the fifth time.
    The magazine was printed and distributed to those with no other means of earning money in an effort to cut down on begging in London and all over the country.
    The people she found beneath the railway arches waved soggy copies of the magazine at her as she stepped over the debris that they left. Her jeans were now splashed with the muddy water that the people who called this dank place home seemed to accept without question. As she scanned the faces for one of the two people she was seeking, she found an emptiness that seemed to duplicate itself in every face she saw. It was despair, and helplessness, which led to hopelessness. In many of the faces she saw defeat, a final acceptance of their plight. It had been the same in the gallery when she first viewed the pictures. Empty eyes. And that was the reason the photograph of Rocky had affected her so completely. The eyes held