by Tyler, Terry
Yeah, we've got the message, MoMo.
I switch my phone off just as Nick heaves a big sigh.
"Suppose we'd better go, then."
I suppose we had.
19
The Abyss
I must stay positive. Our lives will get better. They have to.
Every day I feel so grateful to Nick's mum for taking us in. Erica is putting up with three useless adults hanging around her flat, when she wants to be alone with her fella.
His name is Gary. He's a bit of an arse.
The main problems are a) not having anything to do, and b) not having any privacy. Kendall and I do the housework while Erica's at work, but she works only part-time, and Gary's unemployed, so most of the time the five of us are crammed together under this small roof. Gary watches telly in their bedroom when Erica's at work, but as soon as she comes home, they want to sit in the living room together.
Then, we three sit on the dining table chairs or on the floor, because there's only the one sofa, and Gary likes to stretch out. We have to wait until they've gone to bed before we even have somewhere comfortable to sit. Sometimes we sit round the tiny table in the kitchen and play board games, but Gary shouts at us to shut up because he can't hear the telly.
I have baths just to be on my own for fifteen minutes. I’m on edge all the time; I feel like an intruder every time I make myself a cup of coffee. The unwanted guest. Even when I’m lying in the bath, I’m aware that I may be preventing Gary or Erica from going to the loo. The others feel the same; we can’t relax, so we go for walks, and avoid the crap weather by spending hours in the library, looking at job websites. Kendall scored an interview, at last; she turned up for a job in a flower shop and was told there were over two hundred applicants. She didn't get called back. I have my two days on the vegan food stall, but I've let Nick have one of those just so he can earn some money of his own; we both give half our earnings to Erica. I suspect she gives this to Gary, to spend in the pub.
She gets edgy when he goes to the pub, but we like it.
Nick refuses to try for WRC because he says no way are they having his fingerprints and DNA on record. Gary is not happy about this (I saw the beer voucher signs in his eyes when Erica suggested Nick claim), but he can't make him do it. I respect Nick's choice, but I feel guilty about not giving Erica more for our keep, so I swallow my own feelings and apply.
I dread my interview, but the woman who puts me through my paces is about my age and seems most sympathetic; she's even heard of Lita Stone.
Her name is Imogen. I warm to her. She asks me about the blog, and seems so genuinely interested that I tell her all about the Nutricorp reviews that, I believe, ended it all.
"That's such a shame," she says. "Like Nutricorp can't afford a couple of bad reviews, eh?"
"That was what I thought. My flatmate, though, he said I should have sucked it up and either refused to review and returned the fee, or not reviewed so harshly. I can see his point, but I needed the money, and to lie would've negated the authenticity of what I do."
She nods, while tapping away at the keyboard. "I absolutely get that. You've got to be true to yourself, whatever the consequences, right?"
"I thought so. I could have held back, and probably got more free stuff, but being truthful to my readers felt more important, at the time."
We chat about the blog for a bit, and I expand on how it failed, immediately after those reviews went up. After a while, she smiles, gets up, and says she has to refer my case to her supervisor; it's just a box ticked, a signature.
I sit back, feeling oddly okay; talking about it has helped, somehow.
Imogen returns, still smiling.
"Lita, I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem here. My supervisor has considered your case, and she says that you did, in effect, sabotage your own business, so it's most likely you won't qualify for WRC for the first six months of your claim. You understand that, right?"
Still that smile. That totally fake smile.
I've always thought of myself as being pretty damn sharp, but I didn't see this one coming at all. What a total fucking idiot. I'm the one who warns about the clever spam bot social media profiles, the scam GoFundMes, yet I was completely and utterly fooled by this real life fake.
She must be coached in how to do this. How to get people talking.
"Now, you've got your one or two days' work on the market stall, and you're still getting the odd amount from the blog?"
"Yes, but it's only a little, here and there―"
"Mm-mm, but as you won't be entitled to WRC, at least for the first six months, you'll need to claim Hardship Supplement, and I'm afraid what you're earning exceeds the Hardship rate by just a teensy little bit." She actually gestured that teensy little bit with her finger and thumb, just in case I had any doubt what it meant.
"So I won't get anything?"
The smile turns apologetic, and is accompanied by a cute shrug.
Why did I tell her about the market stall? No one declares cash-in-hand!
But I wanted to look as though I was making an effort, and I wanted to be honest, because that's who I am.
Yes, I'm a bloody idiot.
"And you're living rent free with Erica?"
Her voice goes up at the end of each sentence, and it's driving me nuts.
"Well, I'm giving her something towards my keep―"
"But you don't have a rent agreement, in writing?"
"No, it's just temporary, until I get on my feet."
"I understand. No formal agreement does mean you won't qualify for Rent Allowance, though." Still smiling.
It's all I can do not to shove her pink plastic desk tidy in her face and say lots of swear words.
"Now, we've got all your social media links; we're nearly done! All we need now is to make an appointment for your medical, and if that's satisfactory I can process your claim."
"What's the point?"
"Beg pardon?"
"What's the point, if you aren't going to give me any money?"
"Don't give up, Lita, your circumstances could change―"
"Cancel the claim. Now. I don't want my personal details all over your database if I'm not getting a penny from you."
"Lita, you're not helping yourself―"
"I said cancel it. Now."
At last, her smile fades; I don't leave until I see that she has deleted every word, every social media link.
Meanwhile, Kendall gives back the cash she borrowed from Sienna and Suze because she wouldn’t be able repay it.
We discover a coffee morning held in a local church annex. The coffee is just thirty pence, you get a free refill, and you can stay there for as long as you like.
Buying enough food to keep healthy becomes a survival mission. Kendall is entitled to apply for food bank tokens because she gets the lower rate of Hardship Supplement, but she doesn't want to, and Nick and I are not going to make her. We go shopping after eight p.m. to get the days' bargains, and make huge pans of lentil stew, chucking in as many vegetables as we can buy.
Then Gary walks into the kitchen, gets a frozen lasagne out of the fridge, and complains about the smell of 'that weird hippie food you lot eat'.
Two weeks into our stay with Erica, I return from a day on the market, so relieved to be out of the cold. The weather has turned decidedly autumnal; the clocks go back next weekend, which means that this time next week I'll be walking home in the dark.
Home. It's the only one I've got.
I open the front door, revelling in the warmth, to see three glum faces. At least, two are glum. The third, Erica's, looks kind of on edge.
Nick speaks first. "Mum says we've got to leave. Tomorrow."
I open my mouth to speak, but Erica beats me to it.
"I'm sorry. Gary says he's had enough. He says if I don't tell you, he's moving out."
"That's bullshit, for a start," Nick says. "Where else is he going to go?"
Erica looks down at the table, picki
ng at a scratch in the wood. "He's all I've got, love."
"I'm your son."
"I'm sorry." She breathes in, deeply. "Look, I'll give the three of you some space to sort yourselves out; I said I'll tell you, then meet him down the pub." She looks at me, and I can see she feels bad, but not enough to argue our case.
"It's okay," I say. "It was never meant to be long-term."
"You've got other friends, haven't you? Someone who can take you in till you get on your feet?"
She can't get out quickly enough.
Back we sit around the table.
"You've got to talk to Brody," Nick says. "There's no other option."
"I can't. Please don't ask me to."
"But it's crazy. You're shagging someone who works at the fucking housing department, and you won't ask him for help? Wouldn't he want you to ask?"
"I understand," says Kendall. "I wouldn't either."
"Jesus." Nick pushes his chair back, and throws a pen across the table. "We're homeless, and you're worried about your fucking pride?"
I can't work out who's right and who's wrong. I turn to Kendall.
"Can you ask Sienna or Jude? I don't mean for all of us, just for you. Until we can get something together?"
"Makes sense," says Nick, with a huge sigh. "Might as well have one of us with a bed for the night, even if the other two will be sleeping in a shop doorway. Go for it, Ken."
Kendall gets on Face2Face with Sienna. We sit through five minutes of daft girly stuff―Sienna squawking about her awesome new lip liner tattoo―then Kendall makes her case.
Sienna's expression changes, immediately.
"But, hon, we're already storing your stuff, and Arch is moaning 'cause of the room it's taking up in the garage. He says you should be paying weekly rental on it."
Nick gives a loud snort. "Fuck's sake, we gave him a hundred and fifty quid―"
I touch him on the leg to shut him up.
"But you've got a spare room, haven't you?" Kendall says. "I wouldn't be any trouble, it's only for a few weeks, and I could give you some money; if you give me a note to say you're charging me rent, the DSC will pay it."
"Yes, but―" Sienna bites her lip. "Thing is, babe, since Archie's been promoted his boss comes round for drinks. And we have, you know ... dinner parties."
Kendall laughs. "Well, that's okay. I'll stay in my room. I'll stay in it all the time, if you want. I'll even do all the housework, and the washing and ironing, while you're at work."
"Yes, but Archie's friend James, he comes round a lot, and he's, like, an executive marketing director. His girlfriend―Crystal, she's lovely―she's an Imagio stylist; a lot of the top influencers work with her, she gets me oodles of free stuff and she's made my profile reach, like, blow up―I'm sorry, babe, you're my BFF, but―" Even over the slightly wobbly connection I can see that Sienna has turned an uncomfortable shade of beetroot.
Kendall bites her lip, but she doesn't give up. "You could say I was your live-in home help. That'd impress them, wouldn't it?"
"I couldn't, though, 'cause they know you're my friend, don't they? And Crystal, she posts MoMo interviews on her socials, and she's totally into Kylie Jordan and hashtag FatNotCurvy―I don't agree with that, you know I don't, but Arch's boss, he's always going on about how Guy Morrissey is great 'cause he's getting rid of the wasters who've been a drain on the country for, like, ever, and, you know, he's just given Arch his promotion―"
Poor Kendall. "You're ashamed of me."
"No! Never! You're my girl, right? You know I love ya! And when you've got yourself sorted out we'll have a spa day, on me, right? But―you know, right now's not such a good time―"
Kendall puts her out of her misery. I think I might have been more rude, but, as Kendall points out, she's storing our stuff.
A glass of wine later, she plucks up courage to get in touch with Jude, who is even less keen, but more blatantly so.
"Sienna just rang and told me, and I did mention it to Michael, but the way he looks at it is that you've got to help yourself. If you keep asking for charity you'll never get back on your feet; Suze said you borrowed money off her, too."
I can see that Kendall is trying hard not to cry. "I gave it back, and I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking as a friend. I'd help you, if you were in this situation."
Unlike Sienna, Jude doesn't have the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, but I'm not, though, am I? And Dallas told me it was your fault you lost your job at Zest."
"She did?"
"Yeah. But apart from that, we need our privacy. Michael likes to walk around the house naked when he comes home from work."
Why didn't she just say that from the outset, and spare Kendall the lecture?
We sever the connection.
Next, I try Esme. Third time lucky; she looks tired and I detest asking, but she says yes, without asking Bob.
"You can stay in the sun room; it's warm in there, there's a couch, and I've got a camp bed."
My hand goes out to touch the screen; gratitude sends tears running down my cheeks.
"It won't be for long, mind. Just a couple of weeks; I'm sure something will come up in the meantime."
Why do people always say they're 'sure' about stuff like that? How can they be? I know, I know, they're only trying to be kind, but I wish they wouldn't.
Desperation is making me touchy.
We leave in the morning. Erica is tearful, but Gary ignores us. In the rain, we hump our stuff onto two buses, out to the smart, residential edge of town where Esme lives.
Esme opens the door and hugs me; for a crazy, pathetic moment, I indulge myself in a little fantasy about her being my mum.
I'm going home to my mum's house. I'm safe.
She shows us into the sun room, and makes us coffee and sandwiches. Sitting on the chintzy sofa, looking out onto her pretty, leaf-strewn garden, I feel almost normal.
"Bob's not overly happy about this," she says, "so can you keep noise to a minimum?"
We last two days, until Nick has a spectacularly loud accident with some china whilst doing the washing up, and Bob says we have to go.
"Stay the night," Esme says, "but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to make some other arrangements tomorrow." She tucks a few twenty pound notes into my hand. "You'll be okay, won't you?"
I tell her not to worry, and that Brody is going to sort something out for us.
"And he would, if you asked him," says Nick, as we sit in a café the next morning, trying to make three cups of tea last as long as possible.
"Don't." I stare into my lukewarm tea. The thick china mug is chipped. "We could split up. I mean, Kendall, you could go to your mum's, I'm sure Nick can find a mate's sofa to crash on―what about Andy Reynolds?―and I―oh, I don't know. Esme might take me back if it's just me."
"I can't ask Andy, or anyone else," says Nick. "Even if they said yes, they wouldn't be happy about it. It's like Kendall said, before; I've fallen out of touch with people over the past year or so. I can't turn up out the blue and expect to doss on their couches."
"What about Claire?"
Even as I say her name, I realise that I haven't heard him mention her in months.
He looks away. "Nah. Petered out."
I'm interested, in spite of our situation. "Why?"
"Oh, you know. These just-shagging relationships. They get pointless after a while." I can tell he doesn't want to say any more. Not that he ever talks about that side of his life, but I haven't seen any evidence of him being in contact with Jessica for a while, either. Our flat must have had the same effect on him as it did on Kendall and me. Brody excepted, of course.
I turn to Kendall. "What about your mum? It'd be better than nothing, wouldn't it?"
"I can't." She begins to cry. "I won't. I'd rather be on the streets."
"Well, that's good, 'cause we are." Nick rests his arms on the table and shoves his hands into the sleeves of his jacket. "We don't have anywhere to sleep tonight. You do understand tha
t, don't you?"
I shut my eyes. This is no longer something that happens to other people.
"I don't want to split up," Kendall says. "I can't do this without you two. Sienna and Jude are selfish bitches, and I wouldn't have wanted to go to them, anyway. You're my friends, not them."
I think of my old bedroom. Sitting at my window, before I started the day's work. Cosy in my big fluffy socks and dressing gown with a cup of freshly ground coffee at my side. Happy, because I was safe in my home with my friends.
All gone, bar the friends. Each other is all we have.
Nick rubs his hands together. "Right, which shelter is going to be honoured with our presence tonight?"
Fuck it. This is it. We're homeless.
I remember those people I used to see, in the shelter queues. Those for whom the nightmare had only just begun, who'd tried everything to hang on to their homes, the goodwill of friends and family exhausted. I remember the bewildered look in their eyes, the disbelief that this had actually happened to them.
That's us, now. Me, Kendall and Nick.
In the queue for the Roof shelter, we talk to Conor; he tells us that you have to get in line by two in the afternoon to be sure of getting a bed for the night. After four, you might as well not bother.
"Roof are the best; they don't stink too much, and they've got decent canteens. Free soup and bread, or you can pay for a proper meal; sausage, egg and chips, that sort of thing. There's lockers, too―use them, 'cause there aren't enough wardens. By the time they've heard you yelling for help, whoever's got his mate to hold you down so he can nick your stuff is long gone. They're run by gangs―they send kids in, and they wait till the early hours to rob what they can from the noobs. It don't happen so much now 'cause most of them are on the 'no admittance' list, but they set new kids on all the time."
