Hope is a very dangerous thing.

Hope meant I sat on the steps of that church until both the moon and stars had come out. I sat there shivering until I was forced to admit that she probably wasn’t going to show up tonight. When nearly everyone had gone to bed, I parked Henry a little way behind the church and found a gutter to climb up.

After dislodging a little snow from the roof, I climbed into a sort of cave made by one of the building’s spires and spread out my lone blanket.

Things were a little colder in the mountains, but I still managed some sleep.

In the morning I ate, climbed down and sat at the steps waiting. Today’s the day, I told myself. As I waited a few locals came and talked to me. They asked their questions in French which didn’t make things easy for either party. The two languages I spoke – Arabic and English were probably the two least useful languages to speak in that part of France. The moment I said a word of either most people just turned their heads and walked away.

Not that it particularly bothered me. I had more important things on my mind. Top of the list was – where is Ayamin?

I waited, and waited, and waited some more. The whole day I sat on that church step, watching the world go by, and of course, waiting. I wasn’t patient. Every time someone emerged on the other side of the town square I leapt to my feet. Every time was a disappointment.

I felt like kicking the church down.

The day wore on. Members of the church gathered inside. After they’d finished singing French hymns an old gentleman with an English accent offered me some bread. I took it and thanked him as he disappeared inside.

The sun went down and so did my hopes of seeing Ayamin again. She wasn’t there.

Like a sloth, I climbed back up onto the roof of the church where I pulled my blanket over me, but that night I couldn’t sleep.

The sun rose and I shivered in my blanket, but when I touched my skin it felt hot.

I crawled from the roof of the church; my muscles barely functioning as I climbed my way down the guttering. I fell the last two meters.

When I reached the church steps, I pushed olives from the jar Gianina had given me into my mouth and hoped their saltiness would take away the dry feeling in the back of my throat.

My legs got a little cramped after a while so I stretched, then I sat again and waited. When the sun fell, I was still alone.

By the third day of waiting a fever had taken over my body – this was not helped by my blanket which wasn’t thick enough to keep away the night’s chill.

Ayamin was the one thing that kept me moving.

I pulled my blanket and bag down with me. Taking the old guttering one rung at a time. Three rungs down my foot slipped. I tried to cling to the building but my hands were sweating and weak.

Bit by bit they slipped, I found myself falling and next thing I knew, I was on the ground with a shoulder that hurt like hell.

Very carefully I picked myself up. I was crying and sniffling like a three-year-old, I could tell I wasn’t really in full control of my body.

When I moved my arm, a pain stabbed through it but I could still twist and move the thing which meant it probably wasn’t broken – just bruised.

After clearing away most of the snot and tears I plonked myself down at the church step and slowly began to eat stale bread from the bag.

The bread was hard to swallow and hurt my throat when it went down.

‘Excuse moi!’

I looked up and swallowed forcefully – just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse a policeman had shown up.

I held up my hands, sick as I was, I knew there was no way I could outrun the policeman, plus he’d know the town much better than I did. The policeman said something else in French, so I pointed to myself, ‘English,’ I croaked.

The man rolled his eyes, then sighed, ‘Of course you are,’ He turned and beckoned to me, ‘Follow thanks.’

With a cough, I picked myself, my blanket, and the bag up from the step and trudged behind him. It was still early and there were only store owners in the square so far. Still, most of them watched as I made my walk of shame.

It was ironic really. I’d come all that way, evaded half the Italian police and I’d been caught by a lone officer in a mountain town in France.

I was led to the door of what looked like a small apartment building across the square from the church.

The policeman knocked three times and waited. While he waited, he looked me up and down, then pointed to my nose, ‘Sick?’

I nodded.

The door opened and the old gentleman who’d given me the bread appeared. I wiped my nose and wondered if the church man was some sort of commander. The two men talked in French for a while, the cop kept pointing at me while the old man pointed at the church, he had a bemused look on his face. Eventually, the cop left, and the old man looked both ways before beckoning me inside.

My bag bumped on the doorway as I entered. There was a staircase right in front of us.

‘You can leave your bag and blanket down here,’ he said, ‘And please shut the door, it’s rather cold out there.’

As I followed the man up the steps it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t entering a police station of any sort.

Instead, I stood in an old bachelor’s flat.

The room at the top of the stairs was sparsely decorated; a sofa, coffee table, and bookshelf made up the living room while the smell of tea came from the kitchen.

‘I was just brewing a pot when I got Officer Bisset’s knock.’ the man said.

Pulling out two cups and pouring enough tea for both of us he offered me milk and sugar before pointing out that sitting on the couch beat standing. I took a seat and so did he.

I stared at the cup of tea in my hand. My shoulder hurt like hell. I put the tea down, determined to ask whether I could leave now that I wasn’t being arrested.

But the old fogie got there first.

‘So… you found sanctuary in, or should I say on, the house of God.’ He smiled, ‘What led you here son?’

I shrugged, unsure of what he wanted me to say. I wasn’t going to give him the whole story but….

‘A girl,’ I said, ‘I’m waiting for a girl.’

‘Ahh,’ The man said, ‘I thought it may have been Jesus that led you to our church.’

I laughed, it hurt my throat but it felt good, ‘I think even Jesus would be pleased to meet this girl, sir.’

He frowned, but very slowly it turned into a smile, ‘Perhaps there is a higher purpose to your coming here.’

The man paused for a long swallow of tea, ‘Officer Bisset and I are wondering if you would like to stay in my flat for the next few days,’ he gestured around, ‘As long as you promise not to steal anything, I’d be glad for the company and…’ he pulled back the curtain, ‘You even have a view of the church should your good lady arrive.’

I smiled and told him I wouldn’t take anything (leaving out the fact there wasn’t much worth taking).

‘It’s done then,’ the man said, holding out his hand, ‘I’m Graeme.’

I shook it, ‘Call me Danny.’