by Gill Mather
Forcing one’s arms and legs into a range of uncoordinated garments, feet into ill-fitting trainers, looking into another bag and, finding it contained blankets and sheets, keeping that and wriggling out of the undergrowth, walking away out of the grounds of the building holding the big bag of blankets.
“Here! What’s your game?” a voice shouting. A male voice.
Running away again, away from the building, round some shapes in the middle of the road and thence along a long wide straight road lined with houses and trees, head down, keeping to the side.
CHAPTER 3
NORMALLY YOU DON'T peer at those less fortunate than yourself. Nor do you stare at strange men. Accordingly Orielle tried to ignore the young man she had started to see in the Castle Park most mornings and evenings. He had fair hair and scruffy clothes that didn't fit and he got grubbier and more hairy by the day. She assumed he slept there. He didn't look at her either to begin with but by the time about two weeks had passed, he was taking some notice of her and she hurried past him hoping he wouldn't begin to try to talk to her.
The evenings were darker now and she was looking forward to getting the promised car so that she could cut out especially the evening walk through the park. But the park was well lit and lots of people used it so she reasoned there was no need to be frightened. One evening she was late leaving the office and didn't see the homeless man. Most of the paths through the park were open but there were stretches she didn't like with shrubbery on both sides. Sticking to the middle of the path she was hurrying through one such section and was nearly in the open again when someone grabbed her from the bushes and pulled at her arm and her shoulder bag. She was so shocked she didn't even scream and when she opened her mouth to do so only a strangled bleat came out. Her first thought was that it was the homeless guy. He had looked quite thin and frail from what she had seen of him and she started to struggle. But the figure that emerged from the bushes was small, dark and stocky and definitely not the hobo. The bloke tugged harder at her bag with one hand and her arm with the other. Common sense dictated that she let go of the bag in case he hurt her, but stubbornness made her hang on and a rather ridiculous tug of war ensued. It was stupid of her as he was stronger than her and the bag was slipping from her grasp when, further along the path, a figure appeared. He just stood there and remarkably the attacker looked at him, released her and the bag and ran away.
Orielle, staggering a little, walked towards him.
“He was displaying violence. Towards you,” the young homeless man said watching as the attacker fled. His voice was quite deep and accentless.
“Oh thank you so much,” said Orielle. “I wouldn't have stood a chance if you hadn't come along. Funny he just ran off though without you doing anything.”
The young man looked at her but didn't say anything.
“Well thanks. I…..er….can I do anything for you?”
“There’s no obligation. I didn't save your life. He wasn't going to kill you. Just take your purse probably. Or maybe your clothes.”
She gave a small laugh. “Oh, I don't think he would have wanted my clothes.”
“Clothes are very necessary. The police will chase one for not wearing any clothes.”
“What?”
“I got these clothes from a large container outside a shop. A supermarket.”
“Goodness.”
“People were leaving them there so they obviously didn't want them.”
“No. Er….are you all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. Are you…sorry to ask….but are you a homeless person.”
“I have never had a home. It’s unnecessary.”
Orielle let that pass. “So where are you sleeping?”
“The fifth bench from the entrance. I’ve actually been trying not to sleep but sometimes I haven't been able to help it.”
“But it’s cold isn't it?”
“I have a stash of blankets in a plastic bag in the bushes.”
“You might get arrested for sleeping on a park bench too. You know? Or at least moved on.”
“Arrested. Moved on,” he said as though considering the expressions.
“Look. I couldn't help noticing. You seem to be getting thinner. Do you have enough to eat?”
“I have been drinking water.”
“Water?”
“Yes. From that body of water over there.” He gestured towards the little boating lake.
Orielle had been trying not to smile before but she burst out laughing at this.
“You can't do that,” she said trying to stop with little success. “It’s dirty. You’ll catch something.”
“No,” he said. “I won't. I think I can control the bacterial absorption.”
“But what about food?”
“I’ve been all right so far,” he said vaguely.
Orielle looked at him. Close to he was taller than she had thought, he was about mid-twenties like her, the grimy hair was pale golden in shade as hers was and his eyes were bluey green like her own. She thought he looked rather like Kurt Cobain from old photos and videos she’d seen of him or perhaps a young Axl Rose, serious and rather romantic looking, though those others had rather Nordic looks whereas this man’s nose was slightly aquiline. He didn't smile but he didn't look at all aggressive. He appeared harmless enough. Gentle even. And he had come along at just the right time to stop her having her purse pinched.
“Look. I’m very grateful to you for stopping me from being mugged. Would you like to come back and have some dinner at my house. I’d feel guilty not to offer you something. I’m sure you’ve been getting thinner in the last couple of weeks when I’ve seen you.”
“Your home?”
“Well. Yes.”
“I’ll walk with you. It’ll be safer for you with people about who may attack you.”
“Well. Thank you for that too.”
They walked along in silence. It didn't seem to bother him but Orielle felt compelled to continue some sort of conversation.
“So where have you come from?”
“Most recently or before?”
“Well I don't know. Before I suppose.”
“That would be difficult to explain. Most recently before I came to this park, I was in another part of this town. Colchester.”
“Have you tried to get into a homeless hostel? Or maybe the YMCA?”
“No.”
“Erm….would….I mean do you know where they are?”
“No.”
“Right. Let’s take this short cut and we’ll be home in a jiffy.”
“Your home.”
“Yes. My home.”
SHE SAT HIM DOWN and went and made some coffee. She rootled around in the freezer and put a couple of ready meals in the microwave.
Coming back into the sitting room with the coffee she found Georgina had come down and was regarding the man suspiciously. She’d put the TV on and he was watching it avidly.
“Who’s he?” she mouthed at Orielle frowning.
“Oh, what’s your name?” Orielle said to him. Georgina rolled her eyes.
Instead of answering, the young man peered at the coffee. “What’s this?” he said
“Just coffee. Sorry didn't you want milk in it? I should have asked.”
“I believe coffee contains a stimulant,” he said.
“Well yes. But it’s not harmful. Are you on some sort of medication then?” Orielle said. Georgina looked alarmed.
“No. But I can't drink coffee.”
“Tea?”
“No thank you.”
“Orange juice? Coke?”
“No thank you.”
“How about a beer? Glass of wine?”
“I won't drink alcohol.”
“Water?” Orielle said with an edge to her voice.
“There’s no need to bother. There’s plenty of water outside. In the park.”
“What’s he on?” said Georgina’s expression and she mouthed “
Get him out of here.” Orielle ignored her.
“Well I’ll get you a glass of water anyway. I’m heating up chicken casseroles for dinner. Will that be OK?”
“Animal flesh? So this chicken will have been alive at some time."
“Well yes. But cooked. Of course.”
“I don't know about eating anything.”
“But you’re very thin. If you don't eat something, you could…you might get ill.”
“But food goes in, and it has to come out at the other end doesn't it.”
“That’s the general idea yes.”
Georgina was sitting listening open mouthed.
“I don't want that to happen.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Defecation. I don't want to have to do that. Urinating’s bad enough.”
Finally Georgina couldn't stand it any longer. “What planet are you from? You’re pissing us about aren't you.” She said it quite heatedly.
The young man looked at Orielle. “She’s exhibiting aggression. Is she safe for you to be with?”
“What? What did you say? What did he say?”
“Oh yes,” Orielle laughed. “She’s more or less house-trained. She won't knife us in our beds at night.”
“Us! What’s this “us”. He’s not staying here is he?”
“Well he’s been sleeping on a park bench. He saved me from getting mugged in the park and my bag stolen. It seems heartless not to offer him somewhere to put his feet up.”
“Christ! You and your waifs and strays. Cats and budgerigars I can take. But not tramps. I draw the line.”
“You’re saying I should spend the night here? In a home?”
“It’ll turn into a home if we’re not careful. A home for the mentally impaired. He’s not staying here!”
The man got up and went and looked out of the window. In the light from the sitting room could be seen a range of disparate outdoor furniture on the small paved area just outside, beyond which the garden was a jungle of weeds and brambles.
“There’s something like a park bench out there. I suppose I could sleep on that. Although as I said I’ve been trying not to sleep.”
“Perhaps it’s sleep deprivation that’s disorienting you,” said Orielle. “No you can't sleep outside.”
“Would I be arrested there? Or moved on?”
“No. No. But….at the very least you can take the settee.”
The man turned from the window and considered the settee critically. “It’s not very long. But park benches are very hard. On balance I think I’d prefer the settee.”
“But you’ll have to have a bath or shower,” said Orielle.
“Oh yes, a bath. To remove the detritus. Bacteria, dead skin, body odour, urea, dried sweat, grease. That sort of thing.”
“He’s not going in our bath to deposit his bacteria and dead skin in it!” Georgina said.
“He can use the downstairs shower,” said Orielle. “You hardly ever use it. And I’ll have to wash your clothes.”
“Oh. All right.” And he started to undress. Georgina spluttered and walked out.
It looked to Orielle as though the young man wasn't wearing any underpants. “Can you wait a bit,” she said quickly. “Before you get undressed I mean. We’ll have dinner first.”
“I don't know about animal flesh. Although I do feel…I suppose it’s hungry. I wasn’t really aware of it before. Anything living has to be nourished. I wish it didn't. I’m not going to like defecating. Is it painful? In your terms?”
“In my….? Um. No. It doesn't hurt.”
“Not even the first time?”
“Look. Er….what’s your name? Anyway. These are really weird questions. If you keep it up, Georgie really will insist that you leave.”
“Do you have anything for oral hygeine? Dental plaque and so on.”
“Oral…? Oh yeah. We’ve probably got a spare new toothbrush.”
“He’s not having that,” Georgie shouted from the kitchen. “Give him the one we usually use to clean under the toilet rim.”
“Just ignore her,” said Orielle. “I’ll go and dish up the dinner. Watch the TV. Look. It’s Harry and Paul.”
“WHAT DID YOU WANT to bring him home for?” Georgie hissed. “If he’s not on something, then he’s a loony. I think we should `phone the police and see if someone’s escaped from a mental hospital or a secure unit or something.”
“He’s been living in the park at least two weeks. I’ve seen him every day on the way to work. If he was wanted for something or escaped from somewhere, I reckon he would’ve been picked up by now. And you must admit, he’s not bad looking.”
“You seem to have strange tastes in men. But this beats everything. There’s clearly something wrong with him. Other than that, someone’s playing an elaborate trick on us and secretly filming our reactions and they’ll spring out on us at any moment and go “You’ve Been Framed” or whatever.”
“Very elaborate to get him to live in a park for two weeks. Anyway. I’ll see if I can get him to eat something.” And she started to walk out with the plates.
Georgie called after her: “Haven’t you ever read that novel by Nick Hornby where someone persuades the whole street to take in homeless people and they mostly get ripped off?”
“This is different. He’s nice. He saved me from getting mugged by someone.”
“Well perhaps they work as a team. One pretends to mug someone and the other pretends to save them and thereby gain access to their houses to see what they’ve got. Or something.”
“Wouldn't it just be easier to grab the purse and run?”
“I don't know. But seriously Orie. He might be dangerous. If you’re really set on having him stay here for the night, I’m going to lock my bedroom door tonight and I suggest you do the same.”
“OK.”
Back in the sitting room, the man sat up when Orielle walked in.
“They’re wrong you know. About string theory.” He was watching a scientific documentary on BBC4.
“Oh well. Here’s your dinner. Try and eat some of it.”
The man took up the fork, fiddled with it, watched her eat and then put a forkful in his mouth. He made heavy weather of it, chewing it laboriously and he seemed to have trouble swallowing it. He took up the glass of water Orielle had given him and drained it.
“I can't eat any more,” he said in a croaky voice.
“Oh. That’s a waste. I’ll cover it up and put it in the fridge and maybe you’ll eat some more later or tomorrow. Do you want to have that shower now. It’s the door opposite off the hall.” The man looked blank. “All right I’ll show you.” He followed her out into the hall.
“Look, I’ll put the shower on at a reasonable temperature. There’s some shower gel in there that you can use as shampoo as well. You know to wash your hair? Throw your clothes into the hall when you’ve undressed so I can wash them. There’s an old bathrobe hanging inside the door. Put that on when you’ve finished. OK?”
The man nodded. “Is there anything for this hair on my face? I have to keep scratching it. I suppose it must be itching me.”
“I expect it is. I think Georgie’s got a lady shaver. You know, for her legs. But I doubt if she’d lend it to you. I don't think I’ve got anything myself but I’ll go and check. Just stay here for a sec.”
Orielle came back with an old disposable razor she’d found under some stuff in the bathroom cupboard.
“Here you are. I hope it isn't too blunt. You’ll have to use ordinary soap to work up a lather. Or the shower gel….er. Look I’ve got to call you something. What is your name?”
“I don't know. Not here.”
“Have you lost your memory then?”
“No. It’s not that. I just don't have a name.”
“Well I’ll call you…er…I dunno….Tristram. All right?”
“But you’re not Isolde. Is there an Isolde here?”
“Look just have your shower OK.”
“ORIE,”
SAID GEORGIE, “you know you should tell the police there’s someone loitering in the park who attacked you and tried to steal your stuff.”
“Well it wasn't much of an attack really. He didn't hurt me. He just tugged at my bag until,” she inclined her head towards the downstairs cloakroom-cum-shower room, “he came a long.”
“Still. He might really actually hurt someone. You should call the police. It’s your public duty,” Georgie finished sanctimoniously.
“Oh. All right. I’m tired though. I’ll put his clothes in the wash first.”
After much hanging on and being transferred, the police were moderately interested. She said she didn't think she’d want to press any charges herself if the attacker was caught but agreed to help further if needed by giving a statement. She told them a stranger had intervened. Brought up to tell the truth to policemen and school teachers, nevertheless some instinct told her to say as little as possible about the man who had scared off the attacker. She said she didn't know who he was and didn't think she could describe him well. She said truthfully that he’d left no name or address and implied that he had left the scene quickly. Certainly she didn't say that he was even as they spoke taking a shower in their downstairs shower room while his clothes were swilling around being washed in their kitchen.
