“Was this recently?” She spoke with a faint Scottish accent, the syllables rising and falling in the soft singing way of the north.
“Um, 1994 or 5. I’m not exactly sure, I was young at the time… when he left.” The blush deepened as Alex realized how little she knew. Expecting to be sent away, she picked up her backpack from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.
“Why don’t you come into the office, and we’ll see what we can find out. Just hold on a tic, I’ll let you in.” The woman disappeared and a couple of seconds later, the No Access door opened. “Come on in,” she said, leading Alex inside.
They walked up a short hall and into an informal room with comfy sofas and a television in the corner. Several people were lounging about drinking coffee and tea, eating and watching the snooker on the box.
“Be back in a minute, okay?” she said, a couple of heads nodded, a few others stared at Alex as the woman led her away. “Staff room,” she explained and ducked into the next room. Alex felt a chill as she spied a wisp of blue smoke coming from one of the men. Before he could clap eyes on her, she hurried after the woman.
This had more of a hospital feel. A large plain desk filled one end with an old screen taking up most of the worktop. The woman sat down and indicated Alex take a seat.
“I’m Juliet,” she said with a smile, and pulled a keyboard out from under the screen. “What was your father’s name?”
“Harry Walker.” Alex was amazed, she didn’t think finding him would be this easy.
“And you have some identification?”
Alex nodded and unzipped her bag. “I hadn’t a clue what I’d need, so I’ve brought my provisional driver’s license—as my ID.” She dipped into her bag a second time. “I’ve got my birth certificate because my dad’s name is recorded there, and my parent’s marriage certificate. I’ve also got a bill with my mum’s name—a gas bill, our address is at the top. That’s the same address he would have given when he came here. I’ve also got my last bank statement and my mobile phone bill—it has my name on it. I know they don’t count for much, but I’m only nineteen. I don’t have much else.” With that, she shoved the pile of documents over. She sat nervously on the edge of her seat, and waited as Juliet sorted through everything.
Under the desk, she crossed her fingers. She couldn’t believe he might still be here. Maybe she’d be seeing him in a few minutes.
Juliet typed into the computer, copying some of the details from the pile of papers and then handed everything back. “You know, I recognize the name…” She stopped typing and stared into the screen. “Harry Walker. Harry Walker,” she mumbled, staring off into the distance. “Now I remember why, he was admitted here just after I started. Friendly bloke. He stayed on the ward for…” She leaned towards the screen. “Here’s his last entry, almost two years ago.” She tapped the monitor. “He got well enough to be released back into the mainstream. I have his address here, only we don’t get updates, so he could be anywhere by now. Still, gives you somewhere to start.” She scribbled on a pad. “So what happened to your arm?” She ripped the paper off and handed it over.
“My arm?” Alex echoed and stared at her bandaged right forearm, while holding her father’s address in her left. Now she had the address, she wanted to get out as fast as possible. If Clive found her here, with her father’s details, openly disobeying his orders… well, she didn’t want to think about how much more he could hurt her.
“Yes, the bandages. I can see something weeping under there.” Juliet said and pointed to a spot where wetness had begun to seep through.
“Um … I spilled boiling water on my arm. I rinsed the burn under cold water and put cream and bandages on it.” Alex floundered, not sure of what to say, wanting to avoid the small talk and leave.
“You need a different kind of dressing.” She leaned forward and examined the edges. “Shall I redress it for you?” She mused for a second then got up from the desk. “We’ve got everything here, come on.”
With a nod of her head, she indicated that Alex should follow, and led her out of the office and into a third room. This was obviously a type of medical treatment room, with a bed and many locked cabinets. A strong smell of bleach almost masked the underlying scents of vomit and feces. If Clive turned up and she turned and fled, would this nice woman follow? Alex willed Juliet to hurry.
“So you’re Harry’s girl. There’s a likeness,” she said, slipping on a pair of latex gloves before pulling gently at the bandage.
Carefully, she unraveled Alex’s attempt into a messy pile on the floor. The last dressings fell away and revealed the extent of the damage. Get on with it, Alex thought, and glanced around the room. Still just the two of them.
“Wow, you did a good job here. I think you should have gone to A&E. This is a serious burn, you know.” She reached over for a can of sterile water and squirted it over the burn, ignoring Alex’s winces. Juliet grabbed her wrist and twisted the arm to get a good look. “Huh. Do you see that?” She twisted the arm back again. “Tell me I’m wrong, but is that shaped like the print of a giant hand?”
“Could be. A little bit.” Alex stared at the wall. “What did Harry look like?” She didn’t want to talk about the claw print on her arm. The wound would probably scar, and she’d be left with a mark forever, showing what her defiance did.
Juliet pulled a set of keys from her pocket and opened a cabinet. She gathered a few items and put them on a stainless steel tray. Quickly, Alex thought. No need for fancy wrappings. Her eyes darted to the door and back.
“Harry?” Juliet asked as she twisted the top off a tube of cream. “This is specially designed for burns, you’ll need to go to your local doctor’s surgery for a fresh dressing in a few days.” She squeezed out some cream and carefully spread it around. “Harry was a funny guy, fab sense of humor. Had a nose like yours, but he had brown hair, not blonde like you.”
“Oh,” Alex winced as Juliet placed sticky orange squares of mesh all over the burn. “Do you get burns here a lot?”
“Enough that we keep supplies. They get a little restless sometimes, fights start, things happen.” She shrugged her shoulders as she grabbed a roll of bandages and began wrapping the arm.
“Will it take much longer?” Alex glanced at the door again. She needed to clear her mind of the demon. Her very thoughts might trigger his appearance.
“Why? You in a rush?” Juliet pulled the bandages tight, making Alex gasp. “Sorry.”
Alex shook her head. “No worries. I’m… I’m just eager to go find my father.”
In an attempt to try and calm her nerves, Alex read the words on the paper Juliet had given her. The address was for somewhere in southeast London, maybe a couple of hours journey away from where she was now.
“Was he really crazy?” Alex asked, still staring at the paper. She glanced up at Juliet. The nurse was finished covering the wound. With a smile, she fixed the bandage in place with pieces of tape.
“He saw people that weren’t here, hallucinations. Most of our patients suffer from them. We put him on the right meds, and the people disappeared. We sent him out with a life time’s prescription and orders to not miss a dose.”
“Oh,” Alex said and touched the bandages carefully. Her entire arm throbbed.
“He was a good guy.”
“Do you remember who he saw?”
“Who he saw? Good God no. Pretty soon after he came here, the meds stopped the hallucinations. For the life of me, I can’t remember who he saw.” She looked away, thinking. “It’s been years. No, I don’t remember. You know we’ve got a guy in here who thinks he’s Elvis?”
“Really?” Now she wanted to go. Alex itched to get moving, and shuffled to the edge of her seat.
“Yup, sings all the time. Got a pretty good voice as well. Insists on having a sparkly suit otherwise he goes ballistic. He’s a lifer, he’ll never leave here. Your father, he just had a rough couple of years, and got over it with help. I’m sure you’ll f
ind him fit and well somewhere.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. The word didn’t seem sufficient as Juliet ushered her out of the medical room and to the No Access door. The nurse took out a key and opened up to the reception room.
“Good luck finding Harry, tell him I say hello.” She smiled back as Alex left, the address still clutched in her hand.
Outside, her heart beating hard, Alex walked quickly away from the hospital. If Clive showed up now, her search would have been in vain. Thankfully, the train station wasn’t far from the hospital, and the butterflies came back to life in her stomach as she walked down the long driveway and back to the main street. Each step made her feel more secure about not having her visit discovered. She turned her attention back to the address, still clutched in one hand. Her father, she thought. He was out there somewhere, waiting for her. Suddenly desperate to find Harry, she waved down a taxi.
“The train station please,” she told the cabbie. He stepped on the gas before she’d even sat properly, St Patrick’s disappearing from sight within seconds. “Thanks Juliet,” she thought and settled back for the ride.
Getting off the train at Croften Park Station in southeast London, Alex stared first one way, then the other. She stood at the top of a hill, houses and shops stretching out in all directions. Old tarnished buildings covered in posters, and gum stained pavements covered in people seemed to be the norm.
There were so few Podis here. Alex stepped aside as a fresh flood poured out from the exit of the station, listening as yet another train screeched to a standstill. Two or three had the blue smoke in their eyes, and they didn’t even notice her standing there, tucked out of the way. Still not entirely sure whether the Podis actually existed, she simply thanked God that the main infection zone really seemed to be Reading. Shrugging her stripy backpack onto her shoulder, she searched for a better place to secrete herself while she orientated with the A-Z map. She found a doorway not totally awash with litter, and stood out of harm’s way.
Alex got her map out and flipped through the pages, finally arriving at the page pinpointing her father’s last recorded residence. Small flutterings filled her stomach. She took a piece of gum out of her pocket and popped it in her mouth, enjoying the minty fresh flavor. Chewing seemed to help calm her nerves for now.
Once again, thanking the powers that be that Clive hadn’t appeared, Alex turned the map upside down as she tried to figure out her orientation. Alex studied the street names in the A-Z and decided which way to go, took a steadying breath and joined the rush hour masses. She headed down the road, got caught up in the tide of people and was swept away down the street. After a short walk, she veered onto the side streets. Down a bit of a hill, she turned right onto another, even smaller road, and left onto a larger road. London was far more of a maze than Reading. She’d left the crowds on the main stretch behind, and took her time, examining each street name as she passed. After twelve long years, she was going to find her father.
She was amazed at the feeling of relief not to have blue smoke blowing in towards her all the time, or strangers staring as she walked by. Happy with her new found anonymity, she looked around, soaking in the shapes, sizes and array of passing faces. She wondered if one was Harry and searched each for familiar features as she slowly made her way down the street. Further on than she thought, she found Graham Avenue, took a right, and found herself standing in a tree lined avenue with tall three story Victorian terraces looming overhead. Impressive staircases led a person up to the ground floor, basement flats with pokey windows desperate for the sun below, the top two floors with views towards central London if you were lucky, she supposed.
This is the area where Harry lives? Her heart fluttered, and without warning, Alex froze. She stood on the street for a while, too long, unable to start walking again. Yet too afraid to leave, in case she never made it back to this leafy road in the backwaters of greater London. And afraid to keep moving, in case she didn’t find what she wanted—her father.
A few minutes after Alex stopped, a woman opened the door near where she stood and called out to her.
“Missy, you okay missy?”
Alex followed the line of the stairs, past the curled wrought iron balustrade and up to the woman peering out of her partly open front door. Her skin was as dark as night, with a face that suggested age, but only that she was more than thirty. She might have been sixty and Alex wouldn’t have known any different. The woman with the ageless face stared back, and Alex realized that she needed to answer.
“I’m okay thanks. I’ve come to find my father. I’m a little apprehensive I guess,” Alex replied, glad to have someone to speak to.
“You looking for your father? How long since you seen him, girl?” The woman opened the door a little more, curious now.
“Twelve years. He left when I was seven.”
“Twelve years?” She opened the door still further and came out to stand at the top of the steps. “You’ve not seen your daddy in twelve years? That’s a real shame, int’it,” she said making tutting noises.
Alex smiled, comforted by the stranger’s words. The woman descended a few steps, into a stray ray of sunlight, and Alex was blinded by the almost pure white of her cotton dress. The white contrasted with her perfect dark skin, and in the light Alex spotted a few bristly grey hairs stuffed into the bun at the back of her head.
“It is a shame, I hardly remember him. He lives near here…”
“Where does he live, child, and what’s his name?”
“Harry Walker. My dad’s called Harry.” Alex glanced up hopefully. Maybe she talked to her father in the shops, fought over who got the dryer next in the launderette.
“Nope, don’t know any Harry. Sorry lovie. What street he on, anyhow?”
“That one,” she said, pointing at the next one over.
“Good luck finding him,” the lady said and retreated back up the steps.
“Thanks,” Alex said and waved a little. After a moment, she sighed and put one heavy foot in front of the other. Not far to go now.
Harry’s road appeared much the same as the last road, and she walked slowly, reading all the numbers as she searched for number 72. At last, she came upon a small row of shops raised up a few steps from the main pavement. She climbed the steps and started her final countdown.
There were only four shops as two had been converted back into houses. Or flats, she supposed. This was London after all, and as she drew closer, she saw three appeared to be used as office space. Her pace grew steadily slower and heavier as the numbers jumped from sixty-six to sixty-eight to seventy…
She stopped at the next part of the terrace. A small general store was on the ground floor, the type packed up to the ceiling with so many products it was hard to find what you wanted, as everything else constantly distracted. The window wasn’t much better, stuffed to the gills with display racks and then hidden by notices and posters and small postcards with scribbled words of things for sale. Alex read a couple and found one over two years old.
“Hello?” Alex walked in, a bell attached to the door announcing her arrival. She worked her way through the maze of aisles, the faint scent of kerosene and the stronger odor of cigarettes greeting her.
“Can I help you?” a voice called out. Alex rounded a last misplaced aisle and arrived at an outdated counter with cold items in a glass display on one side and chilled sandwiches and the like on the other. In the center was a tatty wooden hatch. A tiny round woman with frizzy black hair curling into an afro stood behind the counter, clutching her cigarette and framed from behind by dozens of large jars, each filled with different kinds of sweets.
“Hi,” Alex had finally arrived at the place where her father lived, and now nerves clamped down on her, silencing her words.
“What do you want, darling, I haven’t got all day you know.” The woman dragged on the cigarette, the glow illuminating up her face momentarily in the feeble lighting of the shop.
“A pack of Silk Cut pl
ease,” Alex blurted out, unable to ask for what she wanted.
“You want a lighter with that?” The shopkeeper had a funny accent; East London mixed with Latin something. Probably Italian. Suddenly she remembered the demon, and her heart jumped in her chest. Stay away, she thought and tried to concentrate on the shop woman.
“Sure. I mean, yes please. I’d like a lighter.”
“You not from around here,” the woman said as she rang in the items on a clunky old till.
“How can you tell?” Alex wanted to ask: Why, do I remind you of someone who lives here? But she didn’t have the nerve.
“It’s in the eyes,” she replied, pointing two nicotine stained fingers towards Alex. “You look like this is your first day in London.” She smiled as Alex handed over a twenty.
“Actually it is,” Alex admitted.
“You’re kidding me, first time!” she snorted a laugh. “Hey, Gerald, I was right, I told you,” she called out behind her into the other room from where the smell of kerosene came.
“Okay Nicoletta.” A short indifferent response echoed back.
Alex waited to see if the dispute was over, and the proven was proved.
“So why you here? I mean London’s a big place, lots of galleries, clubs, why you out here?”
Alex took her change and the cigarettes and crinkled the plastic cover between her fingers. “I came looking for my father.” Those words again, she could hardly believe she was here at Harry’s address.
The woman named as Nicoletta took an eager drag on her fag, eyes lighting up at the possibility of a tale of human woe. More likely she was after some respite from her companion out in the back room.
“Your father?”
“Yup, he left when I was seven. That was twelve years ago, and today I was told that this is his address.” Alex found the story easier to tell the second time.
“Really?” Nicoletta turned her round body just a little. “Hey, Gerald, she’s looking for her father, says he lived here…” the shop keeper turned back, “…what’s his name?”
My Demon Page 22
