Bell is humming as she chops lemons out the back, I'm quietly watching her from the door frame trying to take her in. She's petite in stature, her hair always set, with not a strand out of place, her posture always ladylike and poised like an aged ballerina. She could be anyone's grandmother but once she opens her mouth you realise she's anything but a tiny frail old woman. Since we've been here she has not mentioned a single thing about herself, who's her family? where does she live?

She must have felt my eyes on her because she suddenly remarks "If you're going to stand there Jane the least you can do is help". I shimmy forward like a naughty kid that's been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She hands me the bowl of chopped lemons then nods her head towards the bar as if to gesture me to take it through. I take it and wander on over with her trailing behind me. She sits on the stool I so often occupy then points to where she wants it.

I turn meekly around I want to ask her questions but I'm worried that I might rock the boat, she's not exactly the sweet warm cuddly old lady you see on TV who knits their grandchildren jumpers whilst reminiscing about the good old days. She can see I'm distracted "Jane you don't seem your usual bitingly sarcastic self today".

I shrug "Is that your way off asking if I'm ok?" She nods "I have a few things on my mind that's all".

She sighs "ahhh last night!" My eyes widen, she does know "I wouldn't worry about Pervy Barry, I hear he's moved on .... Took the train" she sniggers.

"That's not funny" I hiss under my breath so Dad doesn't hear.

She winks at me. "It kind of is. Don't upset yourself there are plenty more degenerates left in the world" she shrugs as if the whole thing is so boring to her, how can she be so nonchalant.

"How do you know about last night anyway? Did those boys tell you?" I quiz her fast, now feeling I've got nothing to lose by interrogating her, she clearly doesn't take or consider anything important.

She laughs as if I have said something so amusing to her. "You mean my dogs, yes they told me. I'd ask them to keep eye on you as you're new here. From what I hear it was quite lucky they did. Although I must say, they were very impressed with your parting gift to Barry. I've heard of a drink being thrown in a man's face but never cod and chips on his head".

How dare she! I can look after myself, I feel my face turning red with rage she had no right. We did alright, I did alright before she turned up and brought us to this fucking place as if she can sense my build-up of rage she leans forward "You are not the first girl who had to fight off Barry but at least you will be the last be grateful that they were there, otherwise this story could have ended far more tragically for you. Feel no pity for him, he had it coming".

It is dawning on me that Pervy Barry's death may have not been the drunken mistake the barmaids were gossiping about and if it wasn't maybe that is what she was congratulating the feral boys on. Her voice softens "Jane I'm sorry for my hard response but I consider myself responsible for you ... for your father. I brought you here and promised to keep you safe, then that happens. I feel like I let you down".

I strain a smile to hide my true feelings. "It's fine, I'm fine ......but let's keep this between us, Dad would worry and I don't want that".

She nods in agreement. "Of course you have my word, let's not talk about it again ". I feel this will not be the first, or last secret I will have to keep with her and that turns my stomach.

I nervously play with my hair. "You've done so much for us, I don't want you to think of us as ungrateful, we really are grateful. What must your family think? You kindly taking us under your wing". She doesn't reply so I push a little harder. "Are you married? Do you have children?"

She steadies herself on the stool as if preparing herself for the answer. "I was married once, it wasn't for me. I consider marriage to be more of a blessing for the man than the woman. I did have children" She paused, then added, "but they passed away".

Shit, I've pushed too hard. Why do I never know when to just stop, when I'm ahead. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise". I start to babble I do this when uncomfortable, start to chatter away like a monkey on crack.

She smiles, it's the first genuine smile I've seen her do because it hits her eyes. "It's fine, it was a long time ago. Do you know what Jane, you remind me so much of my daughter, I think you'd have liked her. She wasn't as strong as you, life seemed to chip away at her soul but deep down she had a strength that she never seemed to able to harness, unlike you, a resilience".

I awkwardly shuffle and play with my hair wrapping it around my finger. "How did she ...". I stop myself, when will I learn to think before I speak. What is it Dad says? Curiosity killed the cat, in that case, I'm running out of lives.

"How did she die?" she finished.

As soon as the words slipped from her lips Dad strolled in, covered head to toe and drenched to the bone in beer. "Who's died."

We glance at each other, trying not to show any sign or evidence, of our previous conversation. She spins around on the stool to face Dad. "Pervy Barry, he fell on the train tracks and was obviously squashed to death". She retells this horrific account of events in a shockingly calm tone showing no hint to previous words shared between us.

Dad crumples his face at the thought then she perfectly intervenes before he has a chance to question us. "More to the point, what happened to you? We generally serve the beer in glasses, it's how the customers prefer it" she playfully teases.

He nervously laughs. "I was changing the barrel and well this happened, I'll go get cleaned up". His eyes have caught mine as if seeing something but not quite sure what. "Jane are you ok?"

I smile to reassure him. "I'm fine Dad" with those few words, I see a sense of relief sweep over him, far better for him to be comforted by a lie than hurt by the truth.

My father in a sense is a simple man. From the outside, you see a hulking large figure with broad shoulders and a deep voice with a constantly furrowed brow from years of worries etched on his face. Even when he smiles his face deceives people, giving the impression he's far scarier than he actually is. This illusion is a blessing and a curse as people seldom try to take advantage of him, which was a blessing when your life is predominantly on the street amongst the most desperate, desolate of souls.

But it also means that very few people are willing to get to know him to see him for whom he really is, a simple man with a heart larger than most. His loyalty is to the point that is unstretchable and unbreakable, he wishes for nothing more than an honest, easy life. One where he hasn't got to fight every day for just a slip of life most take for granted. I can see this on his face he is tired; Bell saw this too.

He is the only person from all the souls on this earth who truly cares for what happens to me. He's cared where others would have walked away, he cared to fight for me when my own mother gave up. I owe him this lie to protect him.