How to Save a Life

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ I ask him. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘I live on the streets, mate. Every day is trouble. I do what I can to get through it, yeah? And no offence, but how I manage that is my business. If you really want to help, a bit of change is always useful.’

  ‘I’d rather buy you a sandwich, Tommy. Are you hungry?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not right now.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t have any change,’ I say, not willing to fund his next drug binge. ‘I only have a card with me. But seriously, I’ll happily buy you a coffee or whatever, if it’s not food you want.’

  ‘Maybe next time. Gotta go.’

  He pats me on the shoulder and, before I can stop him, darts off.

  Feeling dazed by our encounter, I stand there alone on the pavement for a minute, gathering my thoughts. And then my mind turns to Nora. Dammit. How long have I been gone? I need to get my arse back to that café sharpish.

  CHAPTER 23

  I’ve got to know a few more of my neighbours, thanks to Doreen. She’s pally with several of the block’s older residents and, since we’ve become friends, she’s been introducing me to them in her own unique, direct way.

  So, for instance, I was picking up a couple of bits from the supermarket for Doreen the other day, which I seem to do quite frequently now, and her friend Pauline was there on my return. I vaguely recognised her, but I’d never spoken to her or known her name until that point.

  Doreen introduced me by saying: ‘Pauline, this is Luke, the one I was telling you about.’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ I replied, shaking Pauline’s limp hand.

  ‘Well, exactly,’ Doreen said. ‘You were pretty ominous until recently. I’d written you off as a grumpy, selfish sod until I finally got to know you and realised how nice you are.’

  I nodded. ‘Right. I, um, don’t quite know what to say about that.’

  ‘Oh, sit down and join us for a cuppa, Luke,’ Doreen said. ‘I was showing Pauline your handiwork in the bathroom earlier. She was very impressed, weren’t you, love?’

  Pauline nodded and, before I knew it, I was agreeing to replace the sealant around her kitchen sink.

  Today, on my Monday morning off, I got roped into helping their friend Sylvia – another older, single resident of our block of flats – rearrange the furniture in her lounge.

  It’s not just me and loads of pensioners living here, by the way. There are plenty of younger folk too, but they tend to be out a lot: at work or partying. As a man on the cusp of turning forty, I guess I fall somewhere in between the two camps.

  The funny thing is, I quite enjoy helping Doreen and her friends. The jobs I’ve done for them are only little tasks, which don’t take me long, anyway. And they’re always so appreciative, often plying me with tea and cake in return or even, in Sylvia’s case, handing me a four-pack of lager. To be clear, it was supermarket own-brand beer that went out of date twelve months ago – but it’s the thought that counts, right? And I was only there for half an hour or so, anyway, lifting the lighter stuff and sliding the settee, etc., a few metres across the room.

  I also managed to ‘fix’ Sylvia’s iPad for her, which she said was broken, although all it needed was a quick reboot. I reckon she thinks I’m some kind of computer whizz now, which definitely isn’t true.

  If Mum and Dad were still alive, I’d probably be doing things like this for them all the time. I often hear people my age moaning about how their parents treat them like an IT helpdesk. It makes me want to scream how lucky they are to still have them around. I wish I had phone calls like that. Still, at least I’ve found a way to be of help to others now rather than simply dwelling on the past, seething and moping.

  That’s one of the most surprising, rewarding things I’ve found so far about being positive; about saying yes instead of no and opening myself up to new people and possibilities: it makes me feel good.

  It’s the same in the barbershop too. I’ve started listening more to what customers tell me. I’ve asked some questions back, if that’s what they seem to want, and I’ve offered the odd piece of advice. I may even have smiled and laughed a few times.

  ‘So how long have you been into collecting comics?’ I found myself quizzing one guy last week after he mentioned his hobby. ‘And do you own any really rare issues?’

  An hour later, I was advising a Glaswegian on a business trip about where he might buy his wife a nice gift. ‘What kind of thing are you looking for?’

  ‘Jewellery always goes down well,’ he replied. ‘But she tends to prefer the more unique, artisan kind of stuff.’

  ‘I know just the place,’ I said. ‘And as it happens, it’s run by my very talented cousin, Meg. If you mention my name, she’ll take good care of you.’

  ‘Fantastic. Thanks, Luke. I wish my regular barber back home was half as helpful as you.’

  ‘I do my best,’ I said, feeling pleased with myself.

  On another day, a customer actually enquired if I’d won the lottery.

  ‘Um, no, sadly not,’ I replied. ‘If so, I’d be drinking cocktails on a sunny beach right now, not working. Why do you ask? Is it because of my snazzy outfit?’

  The man – a big chap in his mid-forties – looked me up and down in my old jeans and T-shirt, then threw his head back in the barber chair and gave a booming laugh. ‘You must be getting laid, then, mate. Something’s definitely changed for the better. You’re like a different person from the last couple of times I was in here. You barely said two words to me then, frowning like it was going out of fashion. And on the last occasion, I remember you ripping the poor postman a new one because some parcel he delivered was soaking wet from the rain outside.’

  The scary thing is I don’t even recall that particular incident. I’ve bitten off too many people’s heads over too long a period to remember them all.

  The old crotchety me does still come out from time to time, especially first thing in the morning before I’ve had a couple of coffees, but I am really trying to stay upbeat.

  I don’t know whether it’s down to that or the fact the barbershop has been busy of late, but I’ve been finding my working days have been flying by when they often used to drag. I’ve certainly got no regrets so far about the life changes Iris has inspired in me.

  I’m still beating myself up about the way I dealt with Tommy when he was on spice, though. Disowning him was cowardly and selfish. Yes, he was in good hands when I walked away – professionals trained to deal with that kind of thing – and, based on what he told me in the street yesterday, he doesn’t even remember me finding him in that state.

  And yet if I’d stayed, maybe I could have made a difference. If I’d been there when he’d come to his senses, perhaps he’d have opened up to me about his issues. Who knows? It’s all pointless speculation, because I don’t have a time machine at my disposal, so I can’t change the past. If I could, I would. Anyway, at least I’ve got another Rebus book for him, as promised, which I’ll keep at the barbershop until I next see him.

  I get a phone call from Nora as I’m walking to work at around 12.30 p.m.

  ‘Good morning,’ I say. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Great, thanks. It was good to, um, see you yesterday. I enjoyed our coffee, despite the lack of brownies and the grumpy waiter.’

  I laugh. ‘Me too. Sorry again for leaving you alone with him while I chased after Tommy.’

  ‘You’re forgiven.’

  I’m about to suggest we should do it again sometime, but I hesitate and then the moment’s gone.

  ‘So,’ Nora continues. ‘I wanted to let you know that Rudy’s new photos have turned out really well. I sent them over to my contact in London—’

  ‘Ooh, that makes you sound like a spy,’ I interject. ‘You’re not, are you?’

  ‘If I was, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?’

  ‘True. Sorry, you were saying?’

  ‘Yes, before you so rudely interrupted me, I
was about to tell you how much they love the pictures too. They’re definitely going to run the piece next Sunday.’

  ‘Great,’ I say. ‘That’s good timing, as the next free haircuts session is the following day. You’re welcome to come along again if you need anything more.’

  Nora falls silent before replying to this and, in that pause, I immediately regret what I said.

  ‘Oh, um, right,’ she responds eventually. ‘Yes. I, er, think I’ve got everything I need for now, to be honest, Luke. I’m not sure whether we’ll be able to get the story anywhere else, although you never know. Someone might see this one and want to follow it up. All the same, I think I’m good. Hope it goes well.’

  ‘Cheers, no problem,’ I say as casually as I can. ‘Thanks for the update. Fantastic news. I’ll see you around, yeah?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay. Bye, Nora.’

  ‘Bye, Luke.’

  I frown at my phone before shoving it back into the pocket of my jeans. Wow, that ended awkwardly. Analysing the conversation, I wonder if my spy comment was misjudged. Surely she realised it was a joke, but was her ‘rudely interrupted’ remark semi-serious? And why on earth did I ask her if she wanted to come along again next week? Idiot. She probably thought I was angling for her to help out. As if she hasn’t already done enough for me.

  Just as well I didn’t ask her out on a date. That would only have made things even more embarrassing. Bloody Meg. I wish she’d never put the idea of Nora liking me in my head. It’s clearly nonsense. Yes, we might seem to get along well, but that’s what journalists do, right? They’re specialists at getting on the level of their interviewee in order to get the best out of them. Based on that phone call, I wouldn’t be surprised if I never see or hear from Nora again. Oh well. C’est la vie.

  As I approach the barbershop, I notice someone waiting in front of the door.

  They’re keen, whoever they are.

  Drawing closer, I recognise the forlorn figure, hands in his coat pockets and eyes firmly focused on the pavement, as Connor.

  ‘Hello there,’ I say once I’m within earshot. This causes him to look up, alarmed, but he relaxes again when he sees my face.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Luke.’

  ‘I’m glad to see you, mate. I was worried about you after last time.’

  Connor’s only reply to this is to shuffle awkwardly on the spot as I open up.

  He follows me inside and takes a seat in the waiting area. I’m wondering what he’s here for, as it’s only been a few days since I last cut his hair, but I don’t question it, not wanting to scare him off.

  ‘Right, I’m ready for you,’ I say a short while later, gesturing towards the barber chair.

  He looks better than last time. He’s had a shave for a start and his shirt, while not perhaps as perfectly ironed as usual, is passably smart.

  ‘Oh, okay. Great.’ He walks over and sits down; I cover him with a gown, like his returning so soon is the most normal thing in the world.

  ‘What are we doing today?’

  Connor fidgets in the chair as he tells me, with a catch in his voice: ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m back again already. It’s Mother’s funeral tomorrow morning, you see, and I, er, want to look my best.’

  ‘Of course. So you want me to tidy it up?’

  He nods without saying anything, but his face twitches here and there like he’s struggling to keep a neutral expression.

  Treading delicately, I wait until he settles down again before adding: ‘I know you find it hard to talk about, so don’t feel like you have to say anything in response, but I must tell you that you’re in my thoughts and I hope you get through the funeral all right tomorrow.

  ‘I know how hard it is to lose a parent, having lost both of mine. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. I’ll give you my mobile number before you leave. You can call me any time.

  ‘I won’t say any more now, because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I had to say something. I hope you understand.’

  Connor’s fighting back the tears as he utters a strained ‘Thanks, Luke’, meeting my eye for the briefest of moments and then looking away again.

  A short while later, another customer arrives to wait his turn, making me glad I said what I did while the two of us were alone.

  True to my word, I don’t say any more about Connor’s loss or the funeral. To put him at ease, I even make a bit of the kind of small talk I traditionally avoid, about the weather and so on.

  At the end of the cut, I give him my number as promised and refuse his money. He looks confused at this, so to clarify, I say: ‘It’s on me. No debate.’ With a wink, I add: ‘But don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time only reward for my most loyal customer. All the best for tomorrow, yeah?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispers.

  ‘Of course, and make sure you use that number, if you need it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I think about Connor a lot for the rest of that day and the next. I’m glad he called in. Was it really because he wanted another haircut? Possibly, knowing how fastidious he can be. However, part of me wonders if he simply fancied seeing a familiar face and doing something normal, which I would totally understand. Normality is something you miss when you go through the grieving process. Well, that was my experience, at least.

  Maybe it was a chat he wanted, despite the fact he didn’t end up saying much.

  Whatever the reason, I hope I’ve helped him, even if only a tiny bit. I certainly feel better about the situation than I did after his last visit.

  Poor Connor. I wouldn’t wish what he’s going through on my worst enemy.

  CHAPTER 24

  ‘Thanks so much for your help, Rita. You’re an absolute star.’

  ‘I enjoyed myself,’ she replies, giving me a hug goodbye. ‘Sorry I couldn’t tempt Sharon along again. She was a bit overwhelmed by it all last time. At least my car didn’t let me down today.’

  ‘No, I totally understand about Sharon. I think it was perfect with the two of us, anyway: just the right amount of busy. See you later.’

  ‘Bye, love.’

  I lock the door behind her and set to finishing off the cleaning up, which is almost done.

  So that’s the third free haircuts for the homeless session completed. It came around in no time and, despite the fact I had a bit of a private meltdown about it yesterday, everything went well in the end. The reason for my panic was that I feared I might have to go it alone and wouldn’t be able to cope. I knew Meg wasn’t able to make it due to work commitments, and Rita didn’t confirm that she was coming until this morning.

  Anyway, it was all right on the night. Definitely not as hectic as the time before – thank goodness – but plenty busy enough to keep Rita and me on our toes. I’d have struggled by myself, put it that way.

  The article went in The Sunday Times Magazine, as promised. Thankfully, Rita said she and the rest of the family were happy with the content and appreciated me telling them about it in advance. It was a good spread, using several of Rudy’s photos, so I feared it could lead to another mad rush that I wouldn’t be able to handle alone. Realistically, though, homeless folk probably aren’t the biggest readers of Sunday supplements; I doubt it made much of a difference to the numbers we saw this evening.

  I was fine once I knew Rita was coming. She was brilliant, like last time: her bubbly yet no-nonsense personality every bit as useful as her cutting skills. Having her by my side really helped me to relax and take things in my stride.

  Rita’s presence also proved useful when Steph and Ralphie, the only two homeless people who came along to the first free cutting session, turned up again this evening. As I gave Ralphie another short back and sides, Rita managed to convince Steph that, unlike me, she was up to the task of giving her shoulder-length brown hair a cut.

  ‘Come on with you,’ she said. ‘I don’t blame you for not letting Luke near it – he’s a barber, not a women’s hai
rdresser – but I used to run my own unisex salon. I’ve got plenty of experience with hair like yours, honestly. You’ve nothing to worry about. I don’t even have to take much off, if you don’t want me to. How about a little trim to tidy it up?’

  ‘Okay,’ Steph replied. And after a few minutes in the chair, it was wonderful to see her unwind and start to open up.

  Until then, I’d considered Steph a tough nut to crack, but in Rita’s hands, she lowered her defences, chatting about the harsh reality of her life.

  ‘It’s not easy living like this,’ she said. ‘You’re always watching your back and feeling edgy, wondering when the next bad thing’s going to happen, but I just get on with it. My life has been hard for as long as I can remember. My mum was a junkie and I never knew my dad. Mum died when I was a teenager, but I’d spent most of my childhood in care by then, so I was used to being alone. I’ve always felt homeless, if you know what I mean.’

  Later, when Rita had finished working her magic on Steph’s hair, she asked: ‘What do you think, love? Ideally, I’d have liked to wash and condition it for you too, but I’m afraid we’re not kitted out for that.’

  Watching Steph turn her head left and right in the mirror and then crack a satisfied smile was priceless.

  ‘It’s really nice,’ she said after a long pause, sounding a little choked up. ‘Thanks a million.’

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ Rita replied with a catch in her voice.

  ‘Amazing!’ I mouthed at her, a swell of emotion also catching me unawares as a sudden sense of us touching people’s lives – making a difference – washed over me.

  Back in the present, cleaning done, I’m about to switch the lights off and head out when there’s a knock at the door. That’s the only part of the shopfront where I haven’t yet lowered the shutters. The sound makes me jump and when I turn around, half-expecting to see Rita again, maybe because she’s forgotten something or having more car trouble, I’m surprised to see someone else.