Lee is jarred out of sleep by a hand on her shoulder. She jerks back, blinking, the room blindingly bright in comparison to the darkness of before. She had been dreaming about the sea again. There's a man standing over her bed. She recognises him, which is why she doesn't shriek and try to jump out of the window, not that she could open it anyway, the cracks are all stuffed tight with rags and old towels, trying to insulate the room as best they could. Everyone is freezing, but it also makes them quiet. They're all in bed, staying warm, she heard them all day long.
"Phone," Mick says, then turns and walks out. Lee sits up, staring blearily at the door. Rich must have left it unlocked again so people could get in and out. She groans and inch by inch makes her way to the edge of the bed, dreading the moment her feet - in three pairs of socks - are going to make contact with the icy floor. When she forces herself upright, she brings the blanket and duvet with her, wrapped around her like a cloak as she shivers and minces her way down the hall.
After a long period of silence over the line, there's the distant rustling of fabric and the break of an old door sliding open, then a body seating itself on the old wooden bench. Lee curls up in the seat, still wrapped in blankets that are rapidly getting colder on the outside, her feet on the seat. She tries to cover them with the duvet. She picks up the receiver. "Hullo?" Her voice is thick with sleep, she sounds far away. Part of her is probably still dreaming.