We spent the day shifting timber and pipes for the new shower block.

A couple of refugee guys wandered over and picked up spades. They were quiet. Almost depressed as they moved. Their skin shone in the sun. I looked into their eyes and they nodded to me.

Sometimes they sang. Sometimes they laughed. But always those moments were tinged with sadness.

We managed to dig a couple of holes in the sandy earth and put in round bits of wood and concrete. The work was hard, and as night rose my mind wandered from work to home to the girl on the watchtower.

During dinner I drank six cups of water, then packed myself off to bed. A couple of hours later I woke, took a slash, then slipped out the window.

My bare feet touched the sandy ground with a light thud.

In the distance, I could see the watchtower. Right in the centre was a small silhouette of shoulders, a head, and a thatching of long hair.

I ran, took the ladder two rungs at a time and sat down beside her with my legs dangling over the edge.

I looked at her, it was the same girl from the night before, although I could only see her smile and her eyes catching the stars as she gazed off into the horizon.

I cleared my throat, ‘You live in the camp?’

The girl rolled her eyes, ‘Why else would I be here?’

I shrugged, ‘I’m helping to build the new shower block.’

‘So, you volunteered?’

‘Well…’ I thought about juvie, and the way the glass had fractured into a million pieces as I’d thrown a brick through the bottle store window, and I almost told the truth.

But then there was a flash of light in the distance and it illuminated the girl’s face and I saw she had the perfect lips, and eyes that seemed to be smiling at me.

‘Yeah, I volunteered.’

She nodded, ‘If you stare far enough into the horizon you can almost see it.’

‘See what?’

‘See England – your home.’

I gazed out at the black and darkness out beyond the camp. I couldn’t really see anything. But then I felt her hand reach into mine. I closed my eyes and focused on the warmth of her fingers as she traced her thumb along the back of my hand.

She coughed, ‘My name’s Ayamin. And one day I’m going to England.’

I turned to her and just stared at her face as she gazed out trying to see London in the darkness. I lifted her hand to my lips and watched the almost-laughing smile that appeared when I kissed the back of it.