I Found You Read Online Free

strident woman had come along and made a decision for him.
    ‘I really don’t mind,’ he says. ‘Anything.’
    ‘Fuck it,’ she says, letting the fridge door shut. ‘I’ll order in pizzas.’
    He feels a surge of relief at another decision being made for him. Then discomfort when he remembers that, bar a loose coin or two, he has no money.
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any money.’
    ‘Yeah. I know,’ says Alice. ‘We went through your pockets, remember? It’s fine. My treat. And this one’ – she nods her head in the direction of her daughter – ‘she lives on fresh air. I always end up throwing hers away anyway. I’ll just order what I’d normally order. If you weren’t here.’
    The girl rolls her heavily lined eyes and he follows Alice into a tiny sitting room, bowing his head to miss a low beam. Here sits a small girl with white-blonde curls, nestled into the side of another teenager, this one lanky and of Afro-Caribbean descent. They are watching the television and both turn and look at him with alarm.
    Alice is rifling through a drawer in a desk. ‘This is a man I found on the beach,’ she says without turningaround. She pulls a leaflet from the drawer, closes the drawer and passes the leaflet to the teenage boy. ‘We’re having pizzas,’ she says. ‘Choose something.’
    The boy’s face lights up and he sits up straight, unhooking the small girl’s arms from around his middle.
    ‘Romaine,’ says Alice, pointing to the small girl, ‘and Kai.’ She points at the tall teenager. ‘And yes, they’re all mine. I’m not a foster parent. Sit down, for goodness’ sake.’
    He lowers himself on to a small floral sofa. It’s a nice room. There’s a fire burning in the grate, comfortable furniture veering towards the shabbier end of shabby chic but generally well chosen, dark beams and dark-grey walls and Vaseline-glass shaded wall lights. There’s a Victorian street light hanging just outside the window, beyond that a necklace of fat white lights, beyond that the silvery shadows of the sea. Atmospheric. But this Alice is clearly no housekeeper. Dust furs everything, cobwebs hang from the beams, surfaces are cluttered with flotsam and jetsam, and the carpet has possibly never been hoovered.
    Alice begins to arrange the things from his pocket across the top of a radiator.
    ‘Train tickets,’ she mutters, peeling them apart. ‘Dated yesterday.’ She peers closer. ‘Can’t make out the time. Kai?’ She passes the damp ticket to her son. ‘Can you read that?’
    The boy take the ticket, glances at it, passes it back. ‘Seven fifty-eight.’
    ‘Last train,’ says Alice. ‘You would have changed at Doncaster. Got in really late.’ She carries on sorting through the papers. ‘Some kind of receipt here. No idea what it says.’ She adds it to the top of the radiator.
    Her face is what he might call handsome. Strong features, a slight dip below each cheekbone, a good mouth. She has the smudged remains of this morning’s eyeliner under her eyes, but no other make-up. She’s almost beautiful. But there’s a hardness to her that sets her jaw at the wrong angle, makes shadows where there should be light.
    ‘Another receipt. Another receipt. A tissue?’ She holds it out towards him. He shakes his head and she drops it into the fire. ‘Well, that’s kind of it really. No ID. Nothing. You’re a complete mystery.’
    ‘What’s his name?’ asks Romaine.
    ‘I don’t know what his name is. And he doesn’t know what his name is. He’s lost his memory.’ She says this as if it is normal and the small girl furrows her brow.
    ‘Lost it where?’
    Alice laughs and says, ‘Actually, Romaine, you’re good at naming things. He can’t remember what he’s called and we can’t call him nothing. What shall we call him?’
    The small girl stares at him for a moment. He assumes she’ll come up with something childish andnonsensical. But she slants her eyes, purses her lips and then very