by Jodi Taylor
Andrew sighed and pulled out a notebook. ‘We’ll make a list.’
‘I am very sorry,’ said Tanya. ‘I have told him this is not acceptable behaviour in public. Usually he only does this in the privacy of our home. I am mortified.’
‘So,’ said Andrew, unheeding. ‘Rings. Register Office. Flowers. Guest list. Reception. Honeymoon. Pay your vet. How much of this have you actually already organised, Russ?’
The silence spoke for itself.
Russell roused himself to sudden activity. ‘Right. Jenny. You, me, tomorrow, buy rings, make an appointment at the Register Office – we both have to go. Do you want flowers? I’m a bit skint at the moment.’
I opened my mouth.
‘No, it’s a generous offer, but I’ll pay for our wedding. If you want to, you can buy your wedding dress, but that’s it. OK?’
‘I was going to say I don’t want flowers.’
‘Oh. Well. That’s OK, then.’
‘I have a very good idea, Jenny.’ said Tanya. ‘On Friday, my day is free. If yours is too, would you like to shop for your dress? We can make a day of it with lunch as well. There will be no men. It will be a very nice day.’
‘Can I come?’
‘Of course you can.’
‘Yes,’ I said gratefully to Tanya. ‘That is a very good idea.’
‘How can it be a very nice day,’ objected Andrew, ‘if I won’t be there? On the other hand, of course, Jenny – sensible girl – is obviously tired of you already, Russ. I’m only amazed it took her so long.’ He tore the page out of his notebook. ‘There you go, mate, Wedding 101. You’ll live to be grateful to me yet.’
I leaned over to look. ‘Does it have sub-titles?’
Andrew regarded me severely. ‘I used to think you were too good for Russell but now I think you deserve each other.’
We split up outside, going our separate ways. I got a hug from Tanya and a peck on the cheek from Andrew.
Russell and I set off for his Land Rover. The rain had finally let up, but it was cold and we walked briskly.
‘Down here,’ said Thomas indicating the alley behind the post office. ‘It’s much quicker.’
I automatically turned off and Russell, in the middle of telling me how he’d come to buy that collection of rust known as his Land Rover, turned with me. Ten paces in, a dark shadow slipped out from behind a wheelie bin.
It wasn’t that dark; there was a lamppost at each end and they easily gave out enough light to make out the knife being waved in a curiously non-threatening manner. A slightly squeaky voice said, ‘Give me your bag, lady.’
Russell pulled me behind him. Thomas stepped forward. I really should have been scared, but everything happened so quickly. I peered out to see what was going on.
‘Give me your bag.’
I said, ‘I haven’t got one.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true,’ said Russell calmly. ‘She doesn’t carry one. She expects me to pay for everything.’
The knife now pointed at Russell.
‘Then give me your money.’
‘All right. I’m going to reach for my wallet now. I’ll do it slowly so don’t be alarmed.’
‘Just do it, mister.’
Russell pulled out his wallet and offered it up, deceptively casual. The next second, he’d knocked the knife away with one hand and punched our assailant on the nose with the other.
The knife fell to the ground with a clatter and he kicked it away under the wheelie bin. The figure took two quick steps backwards, sat down hard and burst into tears. I picked up his wallet.
‘Jenny, would you go and stand over there, please.’
I did take two paces to the side, but no further, because I wanted to see what would happen next.
‘Did you see that?’ said Thomas. ‘Pretty cool. You can tell he’s been in the army.’
I’d forgotten that.
For a long time there was silence in the alley apart from the distant swish of traffic in the still wet streets and the odd gulping sob.
Russell stood with his hands on his hips, quietly waiting. For what, I don’t know, but Thomas and I stood quietly too.
Finally, he said, ‘Come on, lad, don’t sit there in the wet. Stand up now.’
The figure shambled to its feet and unfolded. I caught just a glimpse of a frightened, white face, covered in dark blotches, a thin, stick-like body and big hands and feet. He must still be growing because his wrists and ankles stuck out from his clothing and his ears stuck out from his head like wing mirrors. His hair was just a dark, clogged, dirty mass. Not designer dirt, just ordinary, sleeping in an alley dirt. He was a pitiful sight, shaking with fear and cold. Blood trickled from his nose.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Thomas in distress, and went to do what he did best. The lad had no idea he was there, but something must have got through, because the gulping slowed to just the occasional sniff.
‘Well?’ said Russell. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
He just shook his head, staring at his feet. I knew that feeling.
‘Come on, you were full of it five minutes ago. What’s this all about, then?’
There was no reply.
‘Last chance before I hand you over.’
He muttered something.
‘What? What did you say? I haven’t got all night and this lady’s cold.’
‘I was hungry.’
He was too. I could see it in his hollow eyes and cheeks. I know most teenage boys look like toast racks, but this was a different kind of hunger. A desperate kind of hunger. And there was a really bad smell. Not just stale body and dirty clothes, but a sharp tang of urine, as well. I wondered if he’d wet himself when Russell hit him.
‘So what’s the story here?’
He sighed and knuckled his eyes, like a child. He looked exhausted too. And now that I could see him more clearly, those dark blotches were bruises. He’d been pretty well knocked about even before Russell had a go at him.
‘You on the streets?’
He nodded.
‘So what’s the money for? Drugs? Booze?’
He shook his head. ‘Food.’
‘There’s shelters. I think there’s one near St Stephen’s Clinic.’
He nodded. ‘I went.’
‘And?’
‘I was too late for that night. When I went outside they were waiting.’
I grew suddenly fearful. Thomas looked at me, but I nodded for him to stay where he was.
‘Who was waiting?’
‘Some men. I didn’t really see. They hang around to have fun with … When I came out they pushed me over. Grabbed my things – what I had. Kicked me around a bit. Then they pissed on me and walked off.’
More silence. Thomas moved a little closer. Unconsciously, the boy leaned towards him. I looked at Russell to see what he would do. It never occurred to me that he would hand the boy over as he threatened. I don’t think it occurred to him either.
I shivered again and that broke the spell.
‘Come on.’
‘What? Where? Where are you taking me? I’m not going anywhere with you.’ He started to back away and collided with the wheelie bin.
Russell sighed. ‘Relax, will you. Jenny, tell him.’
I did my best. ‘He’s OK. A … bit odd. Noisy. Shouts a lot. Don’t worry.’
He turned to me. ‘A bit odd? You describe me as a bit odd?’
‘It sounds better than totally … bizarre. I was trying to reassure him.’
‘By telling him I’m odd?’
‘You want me to lie? Fine.’ I turned to the boy. ‘He’s completely … normal.’
Thomas was laughing. ‘Just offer him a meal and he’ll go anywhere.’
I struggled a bit. It had been a long day and it wasn’t getting any shorter. ‘We’ll … give you … food.’
‘What?’
‘She’s tired and sometimes words aren’t easy for her. She’s saying come with us and we’ll gi
ve you a hot meal.’
‘Can I get my stuff?’
‘I thought it was all stolen.’
‘It was. This is other stuff I need.’
He disappeared behind the wheelie bin and came back with a large flattened cardboard box and a carrier bag full of what looked like damp rags.
‘What’s that?’
‘What’s left. They didn’t want this’
‘You don’t need the cardboard box.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s hard to get one this size.’
That was wet too. He struggled to get it under his arm. Russell told him he wouldn’t need it, but he wouldn’t let it go, so off we set.
Russell made him walk in front of us. We walked along behind and Thomas brought up the rear. I said to Thomas, ‘What’s the box for?’
‘He sleeps on it. The ground can be very cold and wet.’
‘Oh.’
‘And he needs to hang on to it in case it gets pinched.’
‘By whom?’
‘Other people on the streets, or those who regard the homeless as legitimate sport.’
‘Oh.’
‘For some people, the world is sometimes not a very nice place.’
Russell made him sit in the back and promise to behave. He nodded, still clutching his bed and bag.
We achieved escape velocity, hurtled round the Whittington roundabout, and sling-shotted to Frogmorton. When Russell opened up the back he was sprawled on the floor.
‘Oh, sorry, mate.’
He scrambled out and stood looking around him. The light was still on in the kitchen.
‘Come on,’ said Russell, and we all trailed after him.
Mrs Crisp was in her dressing gown making cocoa.
‘There you are, just in time. Would you like some cocoa? She broke off as she got a good look at the guest. ‘Who’s this?’
‘That’s a point,’ said Russell. ‘Who are you?’
‘Kevin.’
We waited, but there was no more.
‘Just Kevin?’
He nodded, defiantly.
‘Police looking for you, Kevin?’
Mrs Crisp pulled the neck of her dressing gown closer and looked round for a rolling pin. Or possible a steak hammer.
He shook his head.
‘Anyone looking for you?’
Even I could feel the sudden sadness. ‘No, no one.’
‘No parents?’
He stared at his feet. ‘No.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I was eighteen last week.’
I felt so sorry for him. Other teenagers have parents who throw parties for their kids’ eighteenth. Or mark it with a special gift or a trip of some kind. Even I’d got a laptop. This kid had spent his eighteenth birthday on a wet pavement getting kicked and pissed on.
Mrs Crisp bustled forward. ‘That’s enough. Can someone please organise him a good hot bath and a change of clothes?’ She glared at Russell until he got the message.
‘Right, this way, Kevin.’ They disappeared into the house. I could hear them climbing the stairs. Mrs Crisp went to the fridge and started pulling out eggs, bacon, tomatoes – all the makings of a good breakfast.
Not wanting to intrude, I said shyly, ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you. Perhaps you’d like to make the toast. Lots of it, I think, and plenty of butter.
I found the toaster and bread and set to, carefully buttering the toast and stacking it over the range to keep warm. I found the marmalade, and under Mrs Crisp’s instructions, laid the table. Thomas took himself into the corner out of the way.
About twenty minutes later they were back. Kevin wore an old black jogging suit with the cuffs turned back and the legs pooling around his ankles. His hair was wet and a surprising dark blond colour. The downside was that without the protective covering of dirt, the bruises were much more visible. He’d had more than a bit of a kicking.
‘There you are. Come and sit down.’ She pulled out a chair for him and, as he sat, laid a heaped plate in front of him. ‘Eggs, bacon, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms, and there’s plenty of toast and marmalade. Dig in.’
He did. It was a kind of feeding frenzy.
‘Slow down,’ said Russell, not unkindly, ‘or it’ll all come back up again. I’ll admit it’s good value to see your food go by more than once, but in this instance, it’s a bit of a waste. No one’s going to take it away from you so just slow down a bit.’
Kevin nodded, broke off to gulp down some tea, took a deep breath, and made an effort at table manners.
Russell, obviously feeling his guest eat shouldn’t eat alone, made himself a bacon sandwich and tucked in as well. I had a piece of toast and marmalade and Mrs Crisp got up and came back with a lemon drizzle cake and we all had a piece of that too.
‘So, Kevin,’ said Russell. ‘What’s your story then?’
It was more a question and answer session than a coherent narrative and he stopped for tea and another piece of cake. It all boiled down to a familiar and sad story. His father left. His mother, desperate for money and obviously feeling that any man was better than no man at all, took up with a man she probably wouldn’t have looked at before. It was made clear to Kevin that he was no longer welcome in his own home. Reading between the lines, his mother never lifted a finger to save him. Only seventeen and with poor exam results, he’d been unable to find work. He spent a little time staying with friends, but that petered out. Unable to get a job, he couldn’t find anywhere to live and, unable to provide an address, he couldn’t get a job. This was his first winter on the streets. Even after the bath, he still looked grubby. The dirt was more than skin deep. He looked exhausted, desperate, lonely, and deeply afraid. He kept looking around the kitchen, half afraid to stay and very afraid to leave. I wondered what Russell would do.
Obviously the bacon sandwich had lubricated his brain cells. ‘We can offer you a room for the night,’ he said. ‘It’s not very much but it’s dry and warm. Mrs Crisp will look you out some blankets. You’ve already got towels. We’ll give you breakfast tomorrow and then have a bit of a chat. There is a lock on the door if you want to use it.’
The poor lad was suddenly shattered. After nights without proper sleep and then a big meal on an empty stomach, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He did, however, remember to thank Mrs Crisp for the meal. Underneath the world’s most inefficient mugger was a nice boy.
We gathered up various bits and pieces and made our way to the stable block on the other side of the yard. Russell led the way, so when he stopped dead, I walked into him and Kevin walked into me. Thomas neatly sidestepped all of us.
‘I’ve just thought, do you smoke?’
‘No.’
‘You sure? It’s not a problem if you do, it just means I’ll put you in another room, but I need to know if you smoke.’
He shook his head. ‘No. Never tried and now I can’t afford it.’
‘OK, then.’
He opened the door to the stable block. In his big box at the end, Boxer stirred and stuck a sleepy but curious head out to look.
‘Oh, neat. A horse.’
Kevin dropped everything onto the tack table and went off to look. Boxer lowered his head and sniffed.
‘Good job he’s had a bath,’ muttered Thomas. ‘You have no idea how snooty ex-racehorses can be.’
‘Wow, this is really cool. What’s his name?’
‘Boxer.’
He reached a tentative hand and Boxer deigned to have his nose gently stroked.
Russell looked at me and wiggled his eyebrows. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
‘Come on, Kevin. This way.’
We climbed a rickety stair and he opened a door at the top and switched on a light. This must, once upon a time, have been the old feed store. It still retained a certain – atmosphere, but being made of wood, it was warm.
‘You can sleep here tonight. There’s a sleeping bag and a couple of extra blankets. Jenny has the p
illows. I’m sorry there’s no bathroom. If you get caught short nip downstairs and pee in one of the buckets. You can blame it on Boxer.’
He smiled, but it was a poor effort.
‘Don’t rush to get up in the morning. Come over when you’re ready. You can use the bathroom and we’ll give you breakfast.’
He stopped.
Kevin was looking at him. I could see him thinking – then what?
I was wondering that myself.
‘OK, got everything you need?’
He was unpacking his sad little carrier bag. There were a couple of grimy T-shirts which he carefully spread out to dry, three socks (he’s a man, they can only do socks in odd numbers) and a battered Harry Potter with an old photo being used as a book mark. He put this on the floor and stood politely, waiting for us to go.
Russell seemed to be in another world again, so I pulled his sleeve.
‘Oh, right. Good night then.’
As we crossed the yard, I said, ‘Russell, he’s sleeping in an outbuilding on … the floor.’
‘He’s dry, warm, fed, and safe. It’s the best thing that’s happened to him in weeks.’
‘What about tomorrow?
‘Don’t know, Jenny. I’ll have to think about it. I’ll drive you home.’
I was glad to go. I was tired too.
It was well past midnight when we got back. I fumbled anxiously for my key. Russell walked with me to the door. Various lights came on as we walked up the path. Russell stopped and looked around us but said nothing.
I was too tired to ask.
Finally, he said in a whisper, ‘It’s very neat, isn’t it?’
I looked around with new eyes. After the shabby cheerfulness of Frogmorton, I suppose it was. Uncle Richard and Aunt Julia lived in a solid, respectable, detached house on the solid and respectable side of town and their property was immaculate. The extensive gardens, front and back, belonged to the conifer and heather style of horticulture, which means they required minimum maintenance, were always neat and looked exactly the same during all the seasons of the year – dull.
We tiptoed up the path and Russell opened the door for me. ‘Goodnight, future wife,’ and before I had time to worry about goodnight kisses, and with the unerring sense of timing that all men responsible for unwed females seem instinctively to possess, Uncle Richard appeared. He wore pyjamas and dressing gown and carried the local newspaper. He said nothing at all in a very meaningful way, but Russell remained unabashed.
