Arthur thought that he was being rather ungrateful, seeing as he had enjoyed sex, got a bed for the night and stolen himself a free breakfast.
The man put the flapjack into one pocket and the orange juice carton into the other. Then he jammed the apple between his teeth, crumpled up the paper bag and threw it onto the floor in the doorway of the hostel. “See ya,” he said, and then broke into a sprint as if he had to be somewhere else.
Arthur walked to the tube station and down into the underpass. There was music from a man playing the flute and, farther along, a woman strummed a guitar with an upturned trilby hat at her feet. He dropped a fifty pence in front of each of them and followed the stream of people heading into the depths of the station.
He fed coins into a shiny machine, which spat out a ticket. He felt lost, not just because he had never been on an underground tube train before. He thought that he’d find clear answers in London, but there were yet more layers. Did he want to keep peeling them away, like a giant onion, or should he leave them alone?
The map on the tiled wall in front of him couldn’t have been any bigger. It was clear with strong black letters, but he just couldn’t fathom it out. He’d watched an engineer once open up a telephone box on the street. Inside was an inexplicable (to Arthur, anyway) tangle of colored wires. This map looked similar, though even more complicated. He wanted to reach out and trace his finger around the lines to find where he was going because his eye kept following a line and then getting lost. Everyone around him seemed to know what they were doing and where they were going. They glanced at the map, nodded and then strode off with purpose and confidence. He in turn felt very small and insignificant.
He tried to follow the route to King’s Cross again, but he couldn’t work out where to change. By now he wondered if he should just jump on some random tube train and see where he ended up, or go back outside and wait at a bus stop.
But then, “Hello,” a friendly voice said in his left ear. “Having a bit of trouble?”
He turned to find a young man standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He had his hands dug deep into the pockets of his low-slung baggy jeans. A good few inches of his red underpants were on display over his waistband. His T-shirt might’ve been black and white and had The Killers emblazoned on it, but his smile was wide and friendly.
“Ah, yes. I’m afraid I’ve never been on the underground before.”
“First time in London, then?”
“Yes. I’m not used to finding my way around. I need to get to King’s Cross to get a train home.”
“Do you live far?”
“Near York.”
“Lovely. Well, King’s Cross? It’s not a difficult journey—just a couple of changes from here. Do you have a tube ticket?”
“Yes.”
“Let me have a look, then.”
Grateful for the young man’s kindness, Arthur took his wallet from his back pocket. He was about to flip it open to retrieve his ticket when it vanished from his hands. Poof. The man was running away at full pelt and was immediately swallowed up by a sea of people.
In what seemed like slow motion, Arthur stared at his empty hands, then after the man in disbelief. He had been robbed. He was a bloody idiot. Newspapers reveled telling stories about the type of person he was—a gullible pensioner. His shoulders drooped involuntarily, defeated.
However, his sense of foolishness was soon overtaken by a surge of anger. There was a photograph of Miriam in his wallet. She was smiling and had her arms wrapped around the kids when they were little. He didn’t have a copy. How dare this man take advantage of him? The anger rumbled in his stomach and then careered up his chest and burst out of his mouth as words. “Stop. Thief!” he yelled as mightily as he could, surprised by how loud it was. He shouted again.
He began to run.
Now Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had asked his legs to work in this way. It was probably two years since he had broken into a sprint for a bus, but that hadn’t mattered if he missed it or not. Before that, he had no idea. Maybe tearing after the kids on a beach? He was a plodder not a runner. But it was as if his legs had a mind of their own. They were not going to let the thief get away with it.
Any thought that his legs might wobble or could give way flew out of his head as he picked up his pace after the man. He shouted out polite Excuse me’s and Coming through’s.
He negotiated his way around office workers carrying papers and briefcases, past Japanese tourists sporting saucer-size sunglasses and peering out from behind huge maps. He passed a girl with violet hair whose friend had green hair and several studs through her eyebrows. All of them showed little or no interest, as if they witnessed an elderly man running after a thief every day.
“That man has stolen my wallet,” Arthur shouted to no one in particular, pointing at the man. He sped on. His heart thumped in his chest and his knees jolted with each stride. The gray walls of the tube station, plastered with posters for the theater and opera, went by in a blur. Weaving and stumbling a little as his legs tired, he continued his pursuit.
But suddenly the passageway out of the tube station surged with people. His target had seemingly gone. This is no good, Arthur told himself as he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Just let it go.
He was about to stop, to give up, when he saw a flash of red underpants—a good tracking device. He willed his legs to continue. Go on, Arthur. Keep going.
He had a flashback to when Lucy and Dan were young. They were on holiday and Miriam stood at an ice cream van buying cones. The children were playing tag, slapping each other on the arm or back and then pelting away. Lucy ran with her hand outstretched to whack Dan on the leg but he swerved out of the way. He moved backward in small jumps, each time jerking out of the way of Lucy’s swipes. Farther and farther until he was at the edge of the pavement, then in the road. Lucy continued toward him, focused, oblivious to anything but her annoying brother and trying to tag him. A car drove past, then another, perilously close. An articulated lorry began to rumble toward them. Arthur stood rooted, unable to move as the events unfolded so quickly. He was twenty-five feet away. He shouted for Miriam but she didn’t hear. She licked raspberry sauce from around the rim of a cone. Arthur found an inner strength, almost a superpower that he hadn’t thought possible. Without knowing how he got there, he found himself yanking on Dan’s and Lucy’s arms, tugging them from danger. Superman. Dan glared, indignant. Lucy gave her brother a triumphant slap as Arthur all but threw the two of them back onto the pavement. A tear ran down his cheek. Unaware, Miriam bustled up and offered them each an ice cream. Only he knew what dreadful thing could have happened.
Tapping into that experience now he pushed his way out into the sunlight. Blinking against the brightness of the sun, he stumbled forward. The white light faded so he could make out a red double-decker bus, trees and a crocodile of schoolchildren wearing yellow high-vis jackets. “Stop, thief,” he cried out again.
The man was making good ground now; his strides were long. The space between them widened. Still Arthur ran. His heart and feet pounded. Uneven flags, upturned chip shop trays, empty crisp packets, feet, passed by. Then a pain hit him in his chest. Oh, God, no. He stumbled and came to a standstill. His heart felt as if someone was grasping it in their fist. Miriam’s voice was in his head. “Just let him go. It’s not worth it.” He knew when he was done. He tried to think what was in his wallet—his Visa card, ten-or twenty-pound notes, photos. He was lucky he hadn’t been stabbed.
As he stood panting, another young man loped toward him. He was dressed similarly to the thief in baggy jeans. He wore a green hooded top with a hole in the shoulder. His nose was freckled and his hair was the color of rusty nails. “Has he stolen something from you?”
Arthur nodded. “My wallet.”
“Right. Stay here.” The second man pressed a
loop of material into Arthur’s hand and then was gone. Looking down he found that he was holding a frayed pink strip of material, used as a makeshift leash and tied in a loose bow around a dog’s neck.
The dog was small and dithery. It had black wiry fur and stared up at him with bemused orange eyes. “I don’t think your master is going to be long,” Arthur said. “Don’t worry.” He reached down and scratched the dog’s head. It wasn’t wearing a proper collar and didn’t have a name tag. There was a tweed cap on the ground beside them, which the man must have tossed down there.
Arthur and the dog stood in the sunlight. There was nothing else to do. There was a jangle of money as a lady wearing a woolen purple cape gave the dog’s head a ruffle and then threw a handful of change into the cap. Oh, dear, she thought he was a beggar. Now he thought about it, he supposed he did have a look of a down-and-out about him. He hadn’t shaved for two days and his blue trousers were a bit grubby.
“Is this your job, then?” he said to the dog. “Do you sit here and wait for people to pay you?” The dog blinked.
Arthur now longed to sit down. What on earth have you done to me? his body said.
Another ten minutes passed. He began to formulate plans in his head for if the man didn’t return. He would have to take the dog to the nearest police station and drop it off. He couldn’t take it on the train back home. Were dogs even allowed on the tube?
Finally the man reappeared. He held out Arthur’s wallet. Arthur stared at it in disbelief. “You got it back?”
“Uh-huh.” The man was out of breath. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. “I’ve seen that bastard thieving here before. He picks on helpless old people or foreigners. Scum of the earth. I managed to catch up with him. I stuck my leg out and he flew right over it.” He gave himself a congratulatory chuckle. “That taught him a lesson. Next time, keep a firm grip of your wallet.”
Arthur’s immediate reaction was to insist that he was neither old nor helpless, but that wasn’t true. “I will do,” he said meekly. “I feel rather foolish.” He felt his knees buckle. The need to sit down overwhelmed him.
The young man picked up his hat, then shot his arm out. He wrapped it around Arthur’s back to steady him. “There’s a bench over here. Come on.”
Arthur let the man guide him. He sank down on the bench. The dog pushed its way between his legs and sat on the pavement, resting its head against his leg.
“Ah, look at that. She likes you. That’s pretty rare. She’s usually a timid beast, scared of her own tail.”
“She’s lovely.”
Bernadette had tried a few times to persuade him to get a dog, telling him that it would give him purpose to his life. But he had resisted. It was hard enough to look after himself, let alone something with four legs. In the past few years Miriam had mentioned getting a pet; he had said, “It will just outlive us.” So they hadn’t bothered.
“What’s her name?”
“It’s Lucy.”
“Ha,” Arthur said.
The man raised an eyebrow.
“Lucy is my daughter’s name.”
“Oh. Sorry. An ex-girlfriend chose it.”
“Don’t be. It suits her. They have the same demeanor. My daughter is quiet and thoughtful, too.”
“I think that this small dog worries about me more than I worry about her. I opened my front door one day and she was sitting there like she was a guardian angel or something. I said to her, ‘You can do better than me. Go find someone half-decent with a job.’ I showed her out of the building. But the next time I opened up, she was there again. She trotted inside my apartment and sat down and we’ve been together ever since. She can see something in me that I can’t.”
Arthur closed his eyes. The sun felt warm on his lids.
“I’ll get you a coffee,” the man said. “I bet you need a drink after that incident. You should think about reporting it to the police.”
“It’s all my fault. I doubt they’d even be interested.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve had my run-ins with the coppers. Always moving us on. Me and Lucy are just trying to make a living.”
It was now that Arthur saw the flute sticking out of the man’s pocket. “A lady threw some money in your cap,” he said.
“Great. Well, I mean, it’s good someone bothered. Not going to make me a millionaire, though.” He shrugged.
“I’ll buy the coffees. I owe you a big thanks.”
“Whatevs.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Mike. I take it black with three sugars.”
“Arthur. Arthur Pepper.”
“Do me a favor, Arthur. Take Lucy with you. She could do with a piddle. I don’t like her doing it near the tube entrance.”
Lucy seemed happy to trot after Arthur. Her claws made a lilting tapping sound on the pavement as they walked on. There was a van selling coffees and hot food just across the road. Arthur asked for two coffees and then added two sausage sandwiches to the order. As he paid, he batted away the thought that Miriam used to hate people eating food in the street. Mike looked like he might not have eaten for a while.
Arthur followed flute music until he found Mike sitting cross-legged on the grass with this cap at his feet. He put down his flute as Arthur approached. “Thought I may as well earn some cash while you were gone. Here—” he felt around in the cap and took out a two-pound coin “—for my coffee.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s on me. I got you a sausage sandwich, too.”
Mike’s eyes lit up. “With ketchup?”
“Of course.”
There was nowhere else to sit so Arthur sat on the grass, too. He tore off a piece of bread and threw it to a one-legged pigeon. He was immediately surrounded by a further fifty of them. One pecked at his shoelaces.
“You shouldn’t feed them. They’re pests. Flying rats. They have to clear tons of pigeon shit off Nelson’s column each year. Did you know that?”
Arthur said that he did not.
They sat and ate together. If Miriam could see him now, sitting in the sunlight with a young man and his dog, basking and eating sausages in bread. She would certainly disapprove. Sorry, Miriam.
“So, what’s your story, Arthur?” Mike batted a wasp from his copper hair.
“Story?”
“Uh-huh. Those do not look like your trousers. You’ve obviously never been to London before, yet you’re here wandering around on your own without a map, waving your wallet around. There must be more to you than meets the eye.”
At first Arthur thought about spinning a loose yarn about being in London for a spot of sightseeing but it seemed wrong to lie to this young man who had just put himself in danger. So Arthur told Mike a brief version of his actual true story, about Miriam and the bracelet, about Bernadette and the man with the tigers and the man with the books. Then he asked Mike about himself, but Mike just shook his head.
“I have nothing to tell you as interesting as that,” he said. “I’m just a simple man trying to earn a living. Though I do know someone who knows about gold bracelets. He’s got a shop not far from here. We could take your bracelet to him, if you like. He might be able to tell you something about it.”
Arthur was really not in the mood for trying to catch a train again yet. There was no rush to get back. He was at a dead end with leads for the remaining charms. “Why not?” he said. “It’s a lovely day for a walk.”
It was only when they reached yet another side street with polystyrene fast-food cartons trodden underfoot and dubious smells that he began to doubt his own trusting nature. Could it even be that Mike was in cahoots with the mugger? That this was some kind of setup, for them to get more than just a wallet out of a foolish old man. They seemed to have been walking for ages and he had lost all sense of where he was. Turning a corner, all the people who had been milling
around them dried up. It was just Arthur, Mike and Lucy heading down a gloomy, cobbled street. Brick buildings bared down on them either side. The sun dipped behind a cloud. Arthur slowed his pace.
“Am I walking too fast for you? We’re nearly there now.”
Images from the musical Oliver! popped into Arthur’s head. Young dirty boys pickpocketing, Fagin and the dog with the black eye. What was his name? Oh, yes, Bullseye. Praying on unsuspecting folk in Victorian England. He steeled himself, waiting for a hand to shoot out of a doorway and batter him on the head with a truncheon. He had always wanted to believe the best in people. Now he was going to be mugged again for his trouble.
But then his hopes lifted. At the end of the passageway, there was a market. The street teemed with shoppers and stallholders selling mangos, e-cigarettes, earmuffs, colorful skirts flapping in the breeze. Shops and cafés lined the road.
“Here it is.” Mike stopped and pushed open the doorway of a tiny shop. It had dark windows emblazoned with gold lettering. Gold. Bought and Sold. New and Old. A bell jangled overhead. Arthur could smell meat pies and polish. “Jeff,” Mike hollered into the shop. “Jeff. Are you in here, mate?”
There was a creak and a rustle from behind a beaded curtain and a man with a face as beaten and brown as an old handbag pushed through. His shoulders were so wide it looked as if he was wearing a yoke under his red tartan shirt. “Mike, mate. How ya doin’?”
“Good. Good. I’ve brought my friend Arthur to see you. He has a bracelet for you to look at. A nice gold piece.”
Jeff scratched his head. His fingernails and knuckles were black. “Okay. Let’s have a gander. Not like you to bring me nice stuff, Mike.”
Arthur reached into his pocket and his fingers curled around the bracelet. Mike and Jeff stood waiting for him. They were an intimidating presence. If he was in trouble here there was no escape. Still, it was too late now. He placed it on the counter.
Jeff gave a low whistle through his teeth. “That’s a real beauty. Very nice indeed.” He picked up the bracelet, handling it with great respect. Reaching into a drawer he took out an eyeglass. “There, I can see it even better now. This is very fine craftsmanship. Very fine indeed. How much are you looking for it, Arthur?”
The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper Page 13
