East 12th Street

I went into the kitchen and saw Mrs Marcs busily bustling around. She looked as though she could use a hand.

"Want some help?" I asked. "Not much of a cook, but I can try anyway..."

"Thanks Billie," she said graciously, "but do you mind setting the table? I've got my hands pretty full in here." She gave one of those old lady smiles and ushered off to get some plates. I took the tall pile and set them out along the dining table, noticing the how damaged they were.

"So how long have you been running this place?" I asked casually as I went back to get glasses and cutlery.

"Oh many years," Mrs Marcs replied, smiling reminiscently. "My late husband and I set it up ... in fact...Natalie would have been one of our first. Have you met Natalie?"

"Yeah - I talked to her for a bit upstairs," I said. "Does it get hard at times?"

"Well, it gave me something to do, thats for sure," she replied, stirring the spaghetti boiling on the stove. "My kids had left home, and I'm very motherly," she admitted. "My husband loved this place...he only died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"No, its okay. He's looking down on us from heaven and keeping the children safe," she smiled. "So I hear you're very famous Billie!"

I rolled my eyes. "I wish. The media's been on us like a pack of vultures. We're working too slowly on our next album apparently and letting down loads of fans."

"Aww," she said sympathetically. "I'm sure your true fans are being patient. They'll come round in the end." Somehow, her words were reassuring. "Ooh! The food's ready," she said quickly, turning off the stove and draining the pasta. "Would you mind getting everyone?"

"No problem," I said, going back upstairs and getting everyone downstairs. They eagerly followed, washing up and taking their seats down at the table. I sat down next to Natalie - and caused her to give me a plain look of disdain.

Lunch was nice, with casual conversation passing around the table. Natalie didn't say a word once.

"So children, do you have any questions for Mr Armstrong?" Mrs Marcs asked halfway through.

"Please, call me Billie," I said quickly. I couldn't imagine myself as Mr Armstrong.

There were no questions, causing another one of those awkward moments. The kids exchanged blank stares, clearly unsure of what to say.

"So are any of you into music?" I asked, looking around expectantly. Surely one of them had to be into some form of music.

I had an idea. It would be my job to educate them in music. Yeah...I would give them a little muse-acation. Play them some Ramones, the Pistols, Clash maybe...

"We don't have much money for music, Billie," Mrs Marcs explained. "Plus it would cause an absolute racket in the house!" She laughed.

"Oh right...of course," I said, giving a small laugh as well. It sounded pretty fake. "Do any of them play an instrument?"

Again Mrs Marcs shook her head. Oh well. Maybe they would get me into some stuff I'd never heard of before. Maybe Natalie could teach me how to draw, I mused.

We cleaned up after lunch and I got to know their routine a little better. The kids would take their own things to wash up, would clear the table and then go back to their normal activities. That afternoon I walked around the house and out into the small backyard to meet some of the others kids and learn a little more about them.

I realised how privileged I'd been as a child - sure, we hadn't been rich, but I'd had a large family surrounding me to protect me from any harm. I was encouraged to try new things and not give up, and follow my dreams. These kids didn't have that chance; they had no family and survived on the basics, with little support.

The youngest child at the orphanage was only six - and his name was Sam. He was really athletic for his age and had huge amounts of energy. I could almost see the little athlete in him.

I finished off my day at the orphanage and headed home back to my ordinary life.