FROM THE EDITOR

Many years ago my husband and I were walking through central London very late at night, when we were stopped by a well-dressed, middle-aged woman. In one hand she had a red suitcase, in the other a tissue, which she used to dab her wet eyes. She had just had her purse stolen, she explained, and needed a taxi to take her to her hotel. Could we possibly spare £10? Naturally we were horrified and sent her off with enough money to cover her ride there. Then we took the train home and thought no more of it. Until about a year later, when I was walking through the City and saw what I thought was the same woman. I couldn’t be sure exactly as her hair looked a little less brushed this time and, if you looked closely, her clothes were dirty, her shoes flecked with mud. But there, just a few yards away, was the same red suitcase, this time obscured in a shop doorway. And what struck me was this: the couple she was talking to did not look horrified or indeed empathetic, but rather they looked scared. Because 12 months on the streets had been unkind to this woman – she did not look like one of us any more. And that does something odd to other people. Their empathy shuts down. They see them as other, as different; their situation a sad consequence of the bad life choices they have made – drugs, the wrong partner, alcohol. But we’ve got it all wrong. These people are us. Rising rental prices, job instability, bereavement, a bout of illness that can knock us sideways means most of us are only ever a hair’s breadth away from devastating poverty. Which is why I’m so proud of our features director, Amy Grier, whose story ‘Does this girl look homeless to you?’ [p94] took her more than four months to write and research. The stories of homelessness she found along the way will shock you in that theirs are homeless stories we do not see every day. These are not women who are begging on the streets but women trying to hide their destitution by reading papers in public libraries all day. They are women riding the bus all night to keep themselves from a cold pavement. They are women adept at making a 99p black coffee in Pret A Manger stretch all day so that they can keep safe and warm. These are men and women who live among us every day, and yet we choose not to see them. This is hidden homelessness. It is a major problem. And it is getting worse. So please, open your eyes. Look a little bit closer at those around you. Make eye contact with the woman who has been sitting on the same park bench for hours. Smile at the man who appears to be walking his dog through the night, every night. Because any one of them could so easily be us.