Rough Sleepers

by Nem Rowan

  "Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee?" she offered kindly, her small eyes twinkling in the glow from the fireplace.

  "Tea" was the unanimous vote, and she shuffled off to the kitchen to make a pot.

  "I can't believe you did that," Ceri whispered to me, causing me to giggle and stick my tongue out at him.

  "I am happy it is warm in here." Mecky sighed as she rubbed her hands together in her lap. Her nose was glowing from the cold and so were her fingertips. "I am liking this lady, she is talking nice. What you think?"

  "Yeah, I think she seems okay," Ceri agreed. "Just glad Wallace Reed didn't get by yere before we did, otherwise we wouldn't have been so lucky."

  We sat quietly, waiting for our host to return, and when she did, she brought a tray with her, the teacups rattling with each movement as she approached the coffee table, carefully placing it down with a sigh. Even the crockery looked expensive; good god, don't let one of us smash something.

  "I must admit, I don't usually get many visitors unless they are coming for my classes. It can get quite lonely here sometimes when my husband is away," she confessed as she sat down on the opposite sofa between Christine and Mecky, who both budged up to make room for her.

  "We didn't know you were married. Is your husband away at present?" Ceri inquired, watching as she stirred the spoon in the teapot before putting the cosy over it.

  "Yes, but he will be home later tonight. I'm used to it now, really. We married quite late. He was abroad for business for a few years, but I stayed here and waited for him. We haven't been living here long together," she explained, clasping her hands on her knees and smiling across at us.

  "Oh, where did you live before that?" he asked tentatively, even though we already knew.

  "I lived at Greyfriar Place in Bristol. I think they've knocked it down now, though. I lived there for nearly fifteen years," she replied, removing her glasses and letting them hang against the front of her jumper.

  "Greyfriar Place?" Mecky sat upright all of a sudden, her face alert with surprise. "You are living Greyfriar Place? I am living, too, a few years ago."

  "Is that so? We might have met before then." Edith tittered as she turned to look at her.

  "Me too. I lived there, too," I added, deciding to leave out the rest of my history. Edith didn't need to know that I'd been to prison.

  After a brief pause, everyone seemed to come to the same conclusion and we looked at Christine. She stared back at us, her eyes wide open, before she slowly nodded.

  "Me, too, when I was small," she eventually mumbled.

  "Ah-ha..." Ceri hummed, and already I could hear the cogs in his head starting to spin, his hand searching his coat pocket for his notepad.

  "Isn't that funny; we're all neighbours." Edith smiled, completely unaware of this revelation and what it meant for all of us. "Is that why you've come to speak to me? Something to do with Greyfriar Place?"

  "Edith, can you remember a man named Wallace Reed? Did he live at Greyfriar Place?" Ceri asked, looking up at her from the notepad as his pen scribbled madly across the page.

  "Wallace Reed..." her brow wrinkled as she pondered, pressing a finger to her lips.

  "He's in his late forties to early fifties, black hair. Quite tall. Local to the Bristol area." He tried to jog her memory.

  "...Oh! Do you mean Wally? I didn't know of any Wallace living there, but there was a Wally," she eventually told us.

  "Wally? What did he look like?"

  "Well, he had dark hair. Quite tall, if I remember, but he was usually sitting down when I saw him. He used to sit on a deckchair out on the landing and greet people when they walked past. A lonely kind of fellow, I always felt sorry for him. Estranged from his family, I believe, and no friends as far as I knew. He was... How can I put this..." she mused as she removed the tea cosy and gave the tea another stir, before lifting the pot and starting to pour it into the cups. "He always seemed so desperate to speak to people, but because of that, it sort of put people off, do you know what I mean? Of course, I used to stop and speak with him from time to time. I had lived there so long, I spoke to everyone who moved in. Chances are, I probably spoke with you, too."

  She smiled at each of us, and it was a genuine smile. I felt ashamed that I didn't remember her.

  "I'm not being funny, but that doesn't sound anything like the Wallace Reed I met," I commented, unable to imagine the same man clinging desperately to interactions with strangers. I looked to Christine for confirmation and she nodded in agreement.

  "As I say, I only knew him as Wally. It might be a different person," Edith added as she poured milk into each cup. "Sugar, anyone?"

  "Two for me," Ceri answered, as Mecky pointed with one finger and Christine and I shook our heads. We watched as Edith scooped spoonfuls of sugar into the steaming teacups.

  "I am remembering this Wally," Mecky spoke up after a moment of quiet. "He is tall and skinny. He is... How you are saying? Dork?"

  "Dorky? Like, nerdy?" Christine giggled, saying thank you when Edith handed her a cup and saucer.

  "Yes, he is like nerd. Big glasses." Mecky made circles around her eyes with her thumbs and index fingers.

  "Yes! He did wear big prescription glasses," Edith agreed, smiling as she passed a cup to me.

  "He like it to watching the trains. You know, binoculars by the station," Mecky added, pointing a finger at us as though we partook in the same hobby.

  "You mean a trainspotter?" Christine peered around Edith so that she could look at Mecky.

  "Yes, yes, trainspotter. I am seeing him sandals on top of his socks. Very funny, I am laughing. Sometimes he ask me for used train tickets, he collect them," Mecky continued, her face lighting up with a combination of amusement and bemusement. "So I give and he is always nice. He is helping me carry shopping when I am pregnant."

  "Oh, that's nice. He was very kind, you know. Albeit somewhat odd," Edith agreed.

  I looked up at Ceri, whose lips had pressed together into a thin line; he had clearly decided that this wasn't the same person, which was exactly what I was thinking, too.

  "Oh, thank you." Ceri put aside the notepad as he accepted a teacup from the elderly woman. "So, you're certain there was no one there by the name of Wallace? Any chance you might have met Wallace Reed somewhere else?"

  "I don't know, I suppose I have met so many people at quilting events and clubs. Granted, many of them are people of my age bracket, and mostly women, too. It would be very odd for a man to turn up, but it does happen. Men like to sew, too." She made a gentle, whispery laugh before lifting her teacup from its saucer and taking a sip. "As far as I'm aware, I have not met a Wallace Reed, and if I did, he didn't make enough of an impression for me to recall."

  "Edith, if anyone comes to the house calling himself by that name, don't let him in. Call the police. He's very dangerous. He's got a friend too, a young black boy called Darnel. Don't let them in, and go straight to call the police, okay?" I told her, watching her expression grow serious as she took in my words.

  "Dangerous? Why on earth would he come to see me?" she lowered her teacup, her eyes wide as she peered at me from over the rim of it.

  "We think because of Greyfriar Place. For some reason, he's going round and attempting to kidnap people that have lived by there previously. As Leon said, he is dangerous. We came today so that we could talk to you and warn you about this," Ceri answered gravely. "If you do see either of them, you can give us a call on this number." He tore off a sheet from the notepad and leaned forward so that he could hand it to her. "All I can recommend is that you go away for a few weeks, maybe take a short notice vacation or something. If you go away somewhere, it will be harder for him to find you."

  Edith looked astonished. Christine put her hand on her shoulder reassuringly. All of us were wearing dour expressions on our faces.

  "W-well, thank you for coming to warn me," she finally stuttered. "I suppose when my husband returns later, I will ask if I can go with him to D
ubai in a couple of days' time."

  We left Edith's house soon after, thanking her for her hospitality and wishing her the best. We were all silent as we piled into the car, thinking intently about what had been said and where to go from here. At least we now had a common denominator.

  *~*~*

  Since everyone was in need of some lunch to cheer us up, we decided to head to the beach and look for somewhere to get something to eat. Because of the season, it was near enough desolate, only a few cars driving by and the beach empty of visitors; the grooved surface of the wet sand was pocketed with layers of ice and the wind that came in off the ocean was so cold that it gave me brain freeze. Ceri found us a fish and chip shop, and so with our food in our hands, we wandered out onto the pier, our shoes clunking on the wooden planks as the water lapped below. Christine wandered alongside Mecky, the two of them talking in hushed voices ahead of us, while I held onto Ceri's arm and picked crispy chips out of the paper wrapping in his hand. Unfortunately I couldn't carry and eat at the same time, but he was more than happy to share with me.

  It was the first time since we had met that it actually felt like a date, if that's what you could even call it. We had spent so much time cooped up in the house and working in the shop or on this bloody wild goose chase that we hadn't taken any time to have fun or just chill out. I smiled as I leaned my chin against his shoulder, giving his arm a gentle squeeze and causing him to glance down at me with a smile that matched my own. I guess my perception of him was changing more and more as the days went by; he didn't look ugly to me, not anymore. If anything, in the bright sunlight he looked ruggedly handsome with his facial scars and piercing, pale blue eyes.

  As the moon drew nearer, my animal abilities begin to intensify, and I found myself constantly sniffing around him, burying my face in his neck or shoulder like a cat intoxicated by catnip. Since that night I had told him no, he hadn't attempted to try it on with me again; instead, I kept wondering, teasing him, trying to get a rise out of him. I wondered how long I could keep him hanging on before he gave up on me. I was so used to men trying it on with me in the hopes of getting a quick bang for their buck, but Ceri wasn't like that, or at least it didn't seem that way. Our relationship was evolving into something more meaningful. I began to feel as though I would be satisfied being his wife; he made me feel womanly, in a good way, might I add. It was as though he was trying to coax Leona out, bit by bit.

  "I guess we'll just have to hope that when the full moon comes, Kelly doesn't kill anyone," he commented as we stopped beside the rails and looked down at the water together. "There's no possible way for me to find out everyone who ever lived at Greyfriar Place, so the net has been cast so wide, it's proper screwed me over."

  "You sure you don't wanna try and find her, first?" I reached into the greasy paper and picked out a particularly crunchy looking chip before shoving it into my mouth.

  "Nah... Not worth the risk. She's probably under protection from the coppers. Wouldn't be so easy getting close enough to talk, and the last thing I want now is to get the boys in black sniffing round us," he reasoned as he leaned his elbow on the rail.

  "Point taken..." I murmured as I selected another chip. "Are...you absolutely sure you won't do any of this witchcraft stuff again?"

  "I told you already, I can't do it." He shook his head gloomily before putting several chips in his mouth and slowly beginning to chew. He was gazing out to sea, the calm wind lifting the wavy mess of his hair. "Well...I guess there is someone I could ask for help..."

  I glanced up at him curiously whilst licking my greased lips. "Oh yeah? Your mentor?"

  "No... Not my mentor..." He spoke hesitantly. "An old friend, I guess. One I haven't spoken to for many years."

  "Oh I see. You're too embarrassed to ask for help, is that it?" I assumed with a teasing grin as I leaned my hip against the railing beside him. The wind blew around my legs, biting me through the thin fabric of my stockings.

  "No! Well—actually... Actually, I guess I am a bit embarrassed," he confessed. "I would just feel awkward going to speak to him just because I wanted his help, y'know?"

  "Yeah, but if it means we can save just one more person from getting eaten by werewolves then I think it's something that we have to do."

  "We? Is that the royal we?" He smiled down at me, seeming to cheer slightly.

  "No, I mean I'll come with ya, won't I. We can go and see him together and I'll charm the socks off him," I declared determinedly.

  "That's if he doesn't try and charm the socks off you first. They don't call him the Smooth Operator for nothing." He rolled his eyes as he rummaged around in the paper wrapper, picking his way through what remained of our lunch.

  "Smooth Operator? You gotta be joking. Why do they call him that?" I scoffed, finding the nickname both cheesy and laughable.

  "Well, it's hard to explain. You won't believe me until you sit down beside him and start talking. Even then I'm not sure I'd want you sitting down with him. You might not want me anymore," he mumbled, his smile fading quickly, and I leaned close, putting my arm around his lower back in a loose embrace.

  "Hey," I whispered, urging him to face me.

  Reluctantly, he turned his head, our noses an inch apart, and it took several seconds for him to look me in the eye properly.

  "Sean Connery could roll up in a Ferrari, promising a lifetime of rampant debauchery and big spending, but I wouldn't leave you. Well, I might have to think about it for a minute or two, but still. If ya keep worrying that I'm gonna leave, then your wish might just come true. So relax, okay? Is your self-esteem really that low?" I spoke to him, keeping my voice hushed so that no one would hear us.

  "I guess so," he sighed.

  "Why? Because of Wenda?" I tilted my head slightly.

  "Don't say her name," he grumbled, his eyes squeezing shut in what looked like pain. He went to turn his head away, but I caught it by the chin, turning it back to face me.

  "I'm not Wenda. I'm Leona. I have no other men in my life and I choose you," I reminded him sternly, although I smiled still. "Now if you're so worried that I'll go jumping into bed with this 'Smooth Operator' then maybe you don't really know the true Leona. But I'll let you off this one time, all right? I just wanna make it clear to you that it takes a lot more than a smack on the backside and the offer of a lamb curry to get in my pants, let me tell ya."

  He made a grunt that soon turned into a sheepish chuckle, his eyes finally glittering with good humour again. He was revealing more and more hurts to me every time we talked, and I began to wonder if in fact I was the stronger of the two and not the other way around, as I had first thought when we initially met.

  "I'll come with you. We're a team. We'll go and ask for his help together, okay?" I told him as I pulled his head closer so that I could kiss his unevenly scarred lip.

  "Okay," he agreed timidly. "I trust you, Leona."

  Part Five

  Twenty-Five

  The pub was alive with the clamour of conversation and raucous laughter; tables were crammed with revellers, the bar was packed with people ordering drinks and enthusiastic, semi-drunk party animals created a tightly knit scrum around the small, intimate stage where a band was playing. The atmosphere, which in times gone by would have ordinarily been thick with cigarette smoke, was instead filled by the cosy scent of beer and the salty sweat of so many bodies in such a low-ceilinged space. From the heat inside, you never would have guessed that it was minus three degrees outside.

  The band—though there were only three members so I suppose 'trio' would be a more appropriate description—was doing rock covers of popular songs, and their music reverberated through every surface. The singer, a ginger-haired young man with a bandanna wrapped round his head, was showing off by cracking jokes with the crowd, who were probably so drunk he could have told them about the chicken crossing the road and they still would have found it funny. It was definitely not the sort of place to which I'd normally pay a visit. As Ceri and I app
roached the entrance, two leather-clad bikers with enormous, bushy beards parted their conversation to let us pass, and I was surprised when they greeted us jovially. This was their domain: a hard rock bar where even some of the women had beards and visitors liked to park up outside to display their beloved motorcycles.

  Engines roared and rumbled, and tyres screeched as, illuminated by the orange streetlights, a helmeted individual did a wheelspin in the parking lot, his bike churning out a plume of smoke from its back wheel. Ceri paused in the narrow porchway to let another man shoulder past and I pressed to the wall, not wanting the unwashed stranger too close to me. The music crescendoed as we pushed the secondary door open and stepped into the noise-filled pub space.

  "So 'ow do these uhh—you know, these theology professors, 'ow do they know King David rode a motorbike in the Bible?" the musician on the stage spoke into his microphone.

  There was a chorus of unintelligible shouts from the crowd around the stage, causing him to laugh into the mic. I gazed over the heads of the swarm of humans, my nose picking up on thousands of unknown scents; it was almost giddying as my brain unconsciously tried to separate and analyse them. I followed in Ceri's wake through the clusters of bodies standing and sitting around sticky-surfaced tables that overflowed with bottles and glasses.

  "How's it goin' babe?" a male voice spoke close to my ear and I felt a hand grope my backside through the skirt of my dress, causing a bolt of horrified goosebumps to shoot up my spine.

  "Get yer filthy hands off me, you fucking pig," I snapped, turning sharply and grabbing the stranger by his wrist. He was taller than me, about my age, with a shaved head and sunglasses on—sunglasses, in a pub, at night?—and the shoulders of his leather jacket were covered in silver studs.