by Nick Corbett
“Wow! What is it with your family and great views?” asks Joe. Luke just shrugs.
“The roofs look like a massive beehive,” Joe adds. “London’s so old.”
The sun breaks through the cloud. Slate tiles shimmer and steam; morning dew evaporates.
Luke brings out a cooked breakfast, which requires their full attention. It is quickly devoured. They remain sitting on the balcony for a while, observing London’s landmarks.
“I can see Big Ben!” remarks Joe excitedly. “I can actually see the Union Jack on the Houses of Parliament.” Then he spots the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum. Luke has a good understanding of the topography of London and the surrounding area. He explains the shape of the city to Joe, pointing out Primrose Hill.
“Do you see the green haze over there, in the distance?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Wimbledon. The faint purple rise on the horizon is the Surrey Hills.” Luke turns around and points up to the sky, where there are four aeroplanes circling.
“They’re waiting for their landing slots at Heathrow.” Luke leans over the balcony and points to the west. “You can see where they land, well, almost.”
Joe leans over the balcony to look, he’s awestruck all over again.
“It’s so green, you’ve even got a forest, like at Lullingdon.”
“Oh, that’s Holland Park, it’s where I go jogging.” The canopy of Horse Chestnuts undulates close to the balcony, large wet leaves interspersed with conical shaped white blossoms.
The cooked breakfast heals Joe’s headache. He continues to drink in the view, it lifts his spirit, but he can’t ignore the gnawing feeling that brought him to see Luke.
“So what’s been going on with you then?” asks Luke, as if reading Joe’s mind.
Joe takes a moment to structure his words.
“Well, London looks beautiful from up here, but it’s got a dark side too, you know? I’ve seen it.”
“How’d you mean?”
“I was out with Archie last night, or was it two nights ago? Anyway, we weren’t far from here, we got separated, I ended up at a rave.”
“Do people still go to raves?”
“Apparently, yeah, people were having a great time, at least on the surface, but then…”
“What?”
“It was like looking into the abyss, people were desperate. I could see it in their eyes. This one lad in particular, he was totally wasted, grabbing my feet. He needed help, but there was nothing I could do. What would happen if he couldn’t get home? I think someone spiked my drink. What if I didn’t make it home? The people you feed on the streets, are they the ones that never make it back?”
“I guess so. You’ve seen the dark-side; but there is light too, Joe. ”
“I’d like to help those homeless people, maybe I could give some money.” Joe’s voice begins to shake. “If I’m honest Luke, I just feel very lonely.”
Luke looks Joe in the eye. “I’ve felt lonely too before, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, of course, but now I’m doing stuff that I’d never have imagined doing. These homeless people, they’ve all got a story to tell. Don’t just give them money, why not come with me, take the time to listen to their stories.”
Joe looks hesitant. “I’m not sure…”
Luke continues. “What have you got to lose? I’ll tell you what, meeting Serena really changed my life. It’s through her that I’m part of a community. She’s knows lots of good-looking girls, we could do some introductions for you.”
Joe looks more interested. “Really?”
“Yeah, look, I’m doing my voluntary work today, you’re more than welcome to come with me.”
Joe stands up, scratches his head, leans against the balustrade, sits down again, pulls his chair towards the table, leans forward, holds his head in his hands, mumbles that he doesn’t feel great.
“Perhaps another time then,” says Luke.
“No, I need to get my head sorted out. You seem to have found something. I’ll go with you today.”
“That’s great.”
Joe looks out across London. What will this day have in store for him?
Half an hour later, Joe and Luke walk briskly towards a gatehouse. It guards a very distinguished street. Fresh air, blue sky, sunshine, it’s a glorious morning. Imposing Victorian mansions stand in large gardens, along an avenue of London plane trees. This is the most expensive street in Kensington. Most of the houses are ambassadorial residences; it’s a street of the nations. Distracted by a couple of female joggers, the uniformed guards don’t give Luke or Joe a second glance. They walk on in silence, not noticing a black taxicab pulling up beside the security lodge. A guard exchanges a few words with the driver. There is a young woman sitting in the back of the cab, engrossed in paperwork. It’s Hannah, on her way to a meeting at the Lebanese embassy. She woke up an hour ago in Cathy’s Bayswater flat. She tiptoed around a heavily snoring Archie, who was on the floor, with a duvet thrown over him.
Joe and Luke approach Kensington Palace, a red brick edifice behind an extensive green lawn. A clock tower chimes like a monastic call to prayer. They could be walking in a medieval Tuscan cloister, rather than twentieth century London. Luke nudges Joe and points to a large, chauffer driven, black BMW, pulling out from the palace.
“That’s Princess Margaret.”
They stop for a moment. The BMW approaches them. At the last moment the single, elderly female passenger, turns to face them; smiles. She wears glamorous make-up, has manicured, black hair, but looks rather frail. It’s clearly Princess Margaret. She is headed to Heathrow for her last trip to Mustique. The guards at the lodge stand to attention and give her a formal salute.
They walk on through a narrow archway in an ancient garden wall, into Kensington Gardens. These are the historic grounds of the palace, now a public park. A few months earlier, they were filled with flowers for Diana. They walk across lawns and meadows, under mighty trees. Their trainers are soon drenched, but it doesn’t bother them. They approach a round body of water, in the middle of the park; lots of swans, ducks, and a few toy sailing boats. They follow a path alongside the edge of the pool. An old man, red face, bushy side-burns, is ensconced in a deck chair. He holds what looks like a joystick. He is diligently sailing a remote control boat. When he’s not sailing, he is a porter in Luke’s mansion block. He breaks off from his nautical manoeuvrings and bids Luke good morning.
Luke and Joe continue their walk. After circumnavigating the pool, they admire a spectacular equestrian statue. A young black woman walks towards them, dressed in designer clothes and rectangular spectacles. She holds hands with a small boy and a girl. Luke knows them too. He turns to Joe.
“This is Sonya, she’s also a volunteer with the homeless people.” then he turns to greet her. “Hi Sonya!”
“Hi Luke! I’m in a rush, got to drop the children off at their grandmother’s. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Luke nods. “Okay, I’ll introduce you to Joe later,” he says before turning to the little boy. “Respect.”
They touch knuckles.
“Respect,” the boy replies before he’s dragged off.
As they walk off Joe turns to Luke.
“It’s bizarre how you know so many people. I thought rich people were supposed to keep themselves to themselves.”
“I’m not rich,” replies Luke.
Joe is puzzled. Is he being serious?
The illusion of their rural idyll is now interrupted rudely by the sound of roaring traffic. After a few more minutes, they are at the end of the park. They cross over a busy main road. After following shortcuts down alleyways and across cobbled mews, they arrive at a little churchyard. The ancient church looks as if it belongs in rural Hampshire rather than central London. People of varying sorts mill around the place, but most of them look well off. Luke points to a single-storey modern annex.
“That’s where the team meets, in there.”
“Oh, right.” Joe looks apprehensive.
A middle-aged couple come up to Luke; they need to speak to him about something.
Joe’s attention is drawn to the sound of singing, coming from within the church. His curiosity gets the better of him. He walks over to the entrance, steps inside. He is surprised to find a plush carpeted interior. There are no pews, just comfy chairs. He stands alone at the back, sensing something different about the atmosphere.
Joe looks rather forlorn, sitting in a plastic orange chair, at a Formica table in the church annex. Volunteers are busy all around the place, preparing things, trying not to stare at Joe’s odd clothes.
“It is smashing to see a rough sleeper helping on the team,” says a posh lady.
Joe is relieved when Serena, Luke’s girlfriend, comes over to him and squeezes his arm. She’s got a lovely smile. Luke is very busy. Every now and again he manages to introduce someone to Joe. Sonya, from the park, reappears, without her children. There is a young man called Paul, originally from Oxford, who’s something in the City. Mike and Brenda are an older couple from Brixton. Joe is curious to meet them all, and to see this other side to Luke’s life. It’s a world he knows nothing about. A nagging thought does keep arising, though.
What am I doing here?
“Okay, it’s time to go!” shouts Luke.
Joe gets up from his orange chair and he tries to look busy. Bags of clothes, boxes, and large containers of food are packed into the back of a white minibus. They are a jolly group but Joe still has concerns. He still can’t believe he’s actually volunteered to feed homeless people at Waterloo Bridge. Luke comes alongside him, puts a hand on his shoulder.
“We’re going to feed a lot of people today, Joe.”
“How many?”
“At least a hundred.”
“Really?” Joe is staggered.
“The sun’s out, it could be a lot more. Come on, sit up front in the minibus with me.”
Everyone gets aboard and the sliding door is slammed shut. Luke starts the engine, the minibus rattles into life. They pull out onto the main road and disappear into the London traffic. They’re in high spirits, as if heading off on holiday.
“Are we nearly there yet?” someone jokes from the back.
Luke takes Joe through the procedures. It’s clear to Joe that he’s not going on a holiday.
“Not everyone we feed is homeless,” Luke continues. “Some of them used to be, but now they live in hostels, some have even got their own homes.”
“Why do you feed them is they’re not homeless?”
“They still need a good meal and a bit of support. Everyone needs someone to talk to now again.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“We don’t turn anyone away. There aren’t too many rules, just stick together with the team, that’s the main thing.”
Joe goes quiet, mulling things over, mentally preparing himself. He resolves that he will serve others, at least for a couple of hours.
“You okay?” asks Luke.
“Yep.”
“Cool. Will you serve the stew for us?”
“Eh, yeah, what does that involve.”
“Well, you stand behind the serving table, greet people, then serve stew into the beakers. Serena will be next to you, serving the spuds. She’ll look after you.”
Joe turns to face Serena who is sitting directly behind him.
“Is that okay with you?” He adds a smile, trying to cover his last-minute nerves.
“Perfect,” she replies, returning his smile.
Luke shouts various requests to the others sitting at the back of the minibus. It’s agreed that Mike and Brenda from Brixton will serve tea and coffee. Paul from Oxford will serve the sugar. Sonya will serve the bread.
“Can you give out the chocolate too please, Sonya?” shouts Luke.
“She always eats half of it!” Paul interjects.
“Tell you what Sonya, keep some of it back for all of us, we’ll need it at the end of the day,” adds Luke.
“We’ve got apples too, shall I keep some back for the team?” asks Sonya, but they agree they should all be given out; they’re only interested in chocolate.
“What will you be doing Luke, while all of this is going on?” asks Joe.
“I’ll try to make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll talk to the guys too. After the food’s served we’ll all chat with them, you should join in too. Just stick together though, don’t go wandering off.”
Joe nods intently, staring forward. The windscreen of the minibus is like a wide-screen cinema. Passing by are the landmarks of London - Harrods…Buckingham Palace…Trafalgar Square…Parliament...
“Are you enjoying the tour Joe?” shouts Mike from the back of the minibus.
“Yeah, very impressive. I’m glad we took the scenic route!”
At last they approach Waterloo Bridge.
“Okay, everyone get ready, windows up!” Luke speaks with an air of authority. He turns to Joe, smiles. “Stick close together, okay?”
This insistence to stick together is making Joe feel more nervous; what would happen if he didn’t stick together? He nods loyally and turns the handle to close his window. He can see a long line of homeless people, waiting in an orderly queue. There are so many of them, mostly young men, more than a hundred; it looks apocalyptic.
These are the ones that never made it home.
The queue stretches for about fifty metres along the pavement beside Waterloo Bridge, and then it disappears down a ramp leading to a subway. A scruffy, bearded man waves in front of the windscreen, clutching an orange traffic cone. Luke gives him the thumbs up sign as he parks the minibus. The bearded man runs around to the back of the bus and the cone is positioned as a warning to other motorists. Volunteers clamber out; everyone gets on with setting things up. Joe isn’t sure what he should be doing so he stands beside the bus, bracing himself against the stiff river breeze. A few metres away is a dark, brooding subway. Joe shudders.
What’s down there? He’d like to know.
Stick together. The words echo in his mind. He turns away and forces a smile up at the bright blue sky.
A fifty-metre run of dented guardrail separates the minibus from the queue of homeless people. The volunteers pass the gear over the rail to the people in the queue, who then position it on the pavement. Luke is busy supervising events on both sides of the guardrail, which he frequently vaults over, impressively. Mike turns to Joe.
“Do us a favour Joe, pass us the large brown food containers over, would you? They’re in the back of the bus.” Joe is pleased to have something to do. He lugs the first one out and rests it on top of the guardrail. A skinny, pale man on the other side of the rail calls for Joe to pass him the container. “It’s very heavy,” replies Joe, “Sure you’ll be okay?”
“It’s a free workout init? Saves on me gym bill.”
Joe hands the man the container; it’s then that the smell hits him. A sickly sweet mix of sweat, alcohol and urine, it’s almost overwhelming. Joe quickly gets a grip of himself and resolves he isn’t going to let it bother him.
Just accept it, just serve these people, it’s only one afternoon.
Joe attempts to vault over the guardrail, as Luke did. He can do it, surprisingly well. Paul also manages to do it. Serena, Mike, Brenda and Sonya all walk the long way around. After a few minutes, the serving tables are set up and they are ready to begin. Joe stands beside Serena at the first serving table. In front of them are two enormous, steaming tubs, one full of boiled potatoes and the other full of stew. Additional tubs are stashed under the table. Joe fidgets with a large serving spoon; he is feeling apprehensive. A young man, second in the queue, stares at him intently. In a strong Liverpudlian accent, he asks.
“Wat’s fer dinna, eh?”
“Oh, beef stew and potatoes.”
“D’ya make it yerself?”
“No, som
e nice ladies in the church made it.”
“Ah, tought so, give ‘em our compliments will ya? We likes the ladies.” This is followed by a coarse Carry On! style laugh.
“You aint even tasted it yet av ya Scalley?” says an old man, first in the queue.
“Ah, Paddy! It’s always great stuff!”
Mumbles of agreement are heard echoing down the line, but people at the far end of the queue are getting restless. A rebellion seems to be stirring.
“Hurry up!” someone shouts.
Joe is relieved to have the serving table between him and them.
Paddy, at the front of the queue, has a face that is almost purple. A large squat nose and lack of teeth give him a theatrical, medieval appearance. There is a strong smell of alcohol but he’s got kind eyes.
“Would I give tanks for what we are about to receive?” he asks. Joe’s not sure how to respond.
“Er, okay.”
The old man makes the sign of the cross, hands visibly shaking, mumbles an Amen. Serena nods and smiles at the old man, she presents him with a plastic cup full of potatoes. His old watery eyes dazzle bright blue. He concentrates hard on handling the container, as if it’s full of precious gems. His eyes continue to sparkle as he speaks to Serena.
“So, how are ya m’ Darlin?”
“Oh, I’m fine thanks Paddy. How are you?”
“Oh, I mustn’t grumble luv. And how’re they treating ya in that theatre of yar’s?”
“Oh, okay.”
“And who’s this fine young fella you’ve bought with ya today?” he winks at Joe.
Then the Liverpudlian butts in. “Will you get a move on Paddy!” he yells. “You’ve got all day to chat up women.”
“Alright, alright Scally, can I not have a moment’s civilized conversation now?”
Joe soon gets the knack of serving the food. The people seem to warm to him, as if he’s one of their own. He keeps being asked the same question.
When’s the chocolate coming out?
Joe mentions the apples, but they are frowned upon. One man demands chocolate, adamantly rejects an apple.
“Why not an apple?” Joe asks.
“I aint got no teef, has I?” replies the man with a gummy smile.
