by Lee Rourke
After I finish, I place the bin bags – twelve in total – outside by the door. If I’m up to it I’ll take them to 2nd Hand Rose. I feel like I’ve accomplished something at last. I take a shower. It feels glorious, as if I haven’t washed in weeks. I sit on the floor, cross-legged, motionless, breathing slowly, thinking of Laura, and let the cold water fall on me. I’m desperate to set eyes on her again. I know she’ll be at Toledo Road, and if she’s not there, she’ll be at the Sunset Bar. I’m getting closer all the time. I can sense it. There’s something about the guy who opened the door, like he knows I’ve been following her, like he’s seen me hanging around. It’s as if he knows just how much I need to see her. I continue to let the cold water fall on me. I crawl out onto the cold floor. There must be something I can use to dry myself. I grab some tea towels hanging over some boxes near the kitchenette and pat myself dry with them.
I wash Uncle Rey’s Dr Feelgood T-shirt in the sink with some washing-up liquid and dry it immediately with a hairdryer. Just as I’m about to get fully dressed for the evening my phone rings. It’s Cal.
‘Jon, how are you?’
‘Cal … Just sorting through Rey’s clothes … I’ll take them to a charity shop tomorrow.’
‘Oh, nothing you can sell, I imagine … Anything else?’
‘Yes, I found an amazing T-shirt, looks like it fits, too … He wouldn’t mind if I wore it, would he?’
‘Jon, the man was a tramp. Why would you want to wear his rags? Is there any legal stuff? You know, a will. Have you gone through his papers yet? There was a lot of stuff there, I remember.’
‘A will … Right …’
‘Yes … have you found anything like that?’
‘Oh, that … well, no … I’ve not got to any of that yet …’
‘You must have found something? You’ve been in that dump since Friday evening.’
‘Well, I’ve been cleaning the place, you know … and clearing away his junk first … I’ll get to all that stuff tomorrow …’
‘Okay … Well, keep me informed …’
‘Yes.’
‘Speak soon, Jon.’
‘Yes.’
What’s the point? How can I tell Cal Uncle Rey’s left me all his money? Everything Uncle Rey had he’s given to me. How am I able to explain that when I don’t even understand it myself? He’ll never believe me. He’ll think I forged something, or stole it, or whatever. There’s no point in telling him the truth. What does the truth matter? There’s no such thing. It’s best to keep quiet, to keep low, to move away. And I already know who I want to come with me. I have enough for us both, to start up a new life together somewhere, away from everything. As soon as I persuade Laura to come with me, as soon as I’ve taken her away from whatever it is she needs taking away from, as soon as my work here at the caravan is finished, we’ll vanish together. It’ll be like we never existed: there’ll be no more work, no more phone calls from Cal, just me and her, wherever it is we choose to go.
haunting
I’m back in Southend. I need to waste some time before I go to Toledo Road. The High Street is empty apart from a few stragglers and the odd man walking from the betting shops to the pub. Just before the railway bridge I turn left onto Clifftown Road and walk up it for no other reason than it looks like the sort of side road that might house a pub. And it does, by the look of it: an old Wetherspoons, a dive, toothless old soaks and the dregs of Southend. I walk straight past it to the railway station. From here I can see another pub: a huge Victorian building, dark and elegantly decaying: the Railway Hotel. I pick up my pace and head straight for its doors. There’re two men arguing outside. I stand beside them for a while, listening, then I attempt to walk into the pub, but a woman blocks my path. She must be in her late fifties. She’s wearing layer upon layer of clothing and has a yellow helium balloon tied to her right wrist. She’s in a world of her own, rather childlike, happily bumping into the door frame. She’s smiling, singing along to some song that’s playing inside, mouthing the words theatrically. In her left hand she’s holding a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale, which at first looks rather incongruous but then after a short while begins to make perfect sense. She stops in her tracks and stares at me for some time.
‘I’ve blocked your way … the Tupenny Bunters are on in a minute … Great little band …’
‘…’
‘You look so much like an old friend of mine …’
‘It’s okay …’
‘No really, it’s freaking me out, dearie … you really look like him …’
‘Really.’
‘He was a dear friend … A good, dear friend … lived on Canvey.’
‘Where?’
‘On Canvey … A good, dear friend.’
‘…’
‘He passed away …’
‘…’
‘So sad …’
‘Excuse me …’
I walk away. I can hear the woman calling after me but I don’t turn around to look. I can’t face the thought of it being Uncle Rey she was talking about. I run into Prittlewell Square and sit down on a bench facing the sea below the cliffs. The sky is dark and blackening quickly; it feels like I’ve reached the end of the world: nothing but the empty abyss before me. Even the cliffs are falling into it. I understand how clichéd and corny my thoughts are, how others have sat on similar benches and had similar thoughts, but I can’t help weaving myself into it, into the grid of others, lost in the same void, the same space. I’m seeing and thinking it right now, so it has to be real, surely? Even if I’m not the originator. I grip tightly on to my stick, so that I don’t fall away too, like the cliffs before me have. I sink back into the bench. I try to compose myself, but my head’s spinning, my heart is thumping, like I’ve been spiked with something nasty and fear-inducing, like someone has plugged me into the grid and everything that has gone in before me is now charging through me like all hell has broken loose.
some fucking present
Toledo Road is enveloped in blackness: a thick, deep black that even the street lamps can’t seem to penetrate. It’s one of the things I miss about London: the street lights are brighter there, and there are more of them, too. London resists night – it’s found a way of defeating the blackness. This place is continually surrendering itself to night’s pull. There’s no escape out here by the estuary.
At the corner of Queensway and York Road stand a group of teenagers, all of them hooded-up, milling around in silence. I slip by them on the other side of the road, crossing when the traffic is between me and them, forming a barrier of machines. I hop over the central barrier and walk up the grass verge on the other side and head straight for Laura’s flat. I knock on the door without hesitation. Nothing. I knock again, this time much louder. I look over to the group of teenagers; they’re looking over at me, and a couple of them walk up the grass verge towards Toledo Road. I knock on the door again. This time there’s some movement behind the door. Seconds later it springs open: it’s the same man from earlier. He recognises me immediately.
‘You here for the girls?’
‘One girl in particular.’
‘Come. Follow me … Quick … In here. Come.’
I follow him into the communal hallway, waiting behind him as he opens the door to his flat. We climb the stairs. The place reeks of weed and body odour. I’m shown into a living room, where two other men are sitting on a stained sofa, both of them smoking weed, staring at the bare wood-chipped wall opposite.
‘You sit. Wait here for girls.’
The man points to a faux-leather armchair by the window, its ripped arms fixed with masking tape. The lights in the room are dim and the blinds are closed. It’s a depressing room. He walks out of the room slowly. There’s some shouting going on in a language I can’t quite put my finger on; not quite Polish, further east. It sounds like two or three men, and maybe about three girls. All of them shouting at each other in the same language. The man returns to the room and smiles at me. He c
licks his fingers, then waits, clicks them again and then shouts something into the other room. The shouting stops. The two men on the sofa get up and follow him out of the room, leaving me alone. I hear more shouting, this time at the back of the flat, then a number of footsteps going up some stairs into a loft. I sit staring at the floor, my stick resting against my knees.
After about ten minutes the man walks slowly into the room.
‘You here for girls?’
‘Well, no … yes, one girl … is there a girl called Laura here?’
‘Laura?’
‘Yes, a girl called Laura?’
‘Eh?’
‘Blonde hair … beautiful eyes …’
‘Ah, blonde hair … Blonde … beautiful … Yes, we have beautiful blonde for you … you must pay sixty pounds … One hour sixty pounds … You can do what you want, yes.’
‘I just want to talk to Laura.’
‘Yes, blonde … No stick.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Stick … No stick …’
‘Oh … this? … It’s okay.’
‘No fucking stick.’
‘Okay … Okay …’
‘You want blonde?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Blonde … You want to see?’
‘Oh. Yes …’
He shouts back into the other room. After a short while a girl walks in to join us: heavily made-up, black short skirt, white blouse, stockings and heels. I look at her; if it is Laura then the make-up makes her look different, but I’m sure it’s her. It looks like her, I think. It’s hard to tell, because her hair is tied back and her lips are now bright red with lipstick and gloss, her eyes blackened with mascara. It looks like her. I’m sure it’s her. It has to be her, she looks the same size. She stands there in front of me, staring at me, waiting for me to say something. She looks bored, emotionless, drained of life.
‘This is her. Yes. Blonde … Good … ass.’
‘I think …’
‘Sixty pounds, boss.’
‘Oh, I don’t … I just want to talk to her …’
‘Sixty pounds …’
‘Right, yes … Right.’
I take three twenty-pound notes from my wallet. I give him the money. As soon as he puts it in his own wallet she walks out of the room. I lean forward in my chair, trying not to stare at her.
‘Go … Go … You follow her.’
I get up and begin to follow her.
‘Stick … Stick … You leave your stick.’
‘Oh, yes …’
‘…’
‘…’
‘Follow … Follow …’
‘Ah, okay …’
I place my stick on the floor and walk up the stairs at the back of the flat, up to a small room, one of three crudely divided in the attic. I can hear the two men and a girl in one of the rooms. It doesn’t sound pretty. I gag a little, trying to regain my composure, but I can’t stop shaking. The girl waits for me in the far room, she points to the bed and I sit down on it. She puts some music on a stereo, some Euro-pop stuff that makes me feel queasy. Then she begins to undress slowly.
‘No … No … No …’
She stops, alarmed, looking at me like I’m crazy.
‘No … Not that … I just want to talk to you …’
‘…’
‘I don’t want that … I just want to talk to you … Talk … Do you speak English?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Oh … good … well … I just want to talk with you, I don’t want anything else.’
‘You can do what you want to me … You’ve got just under an hour.’
‘Good … That’s good … let’s talk … Is your name Laura?’
‘You can call me that, yes.’
‘Laura, do you remember me?’
‘What?’
‘The other day on the pier … You told me they were after you … You looked scared. Do you remember? On the pier, by the bell?’
‘What pier?’
‘The other day … we were talking to each other … You told me that you weren’t happy, at least I think you did … But you seemed scared of something … of someone …’
‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about … Do you want to fuck me?’
‘No … No … No … I want to talk to you, Laura …’
‘You can fuck my arse if you want, rub your dick on my breasts … You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘No … Please … I can help you. I can help you get out of here. I know it was you on the pier the other day, then swimming in the creek … I followed you to the strip club today … It’s you, I know it’s you …’
‘You followed me? What do you mean you fucking followed me?’
‘No, I mean, I saw you today …’
‘I’ve not been out today … If you’ve followed me I will tell them downstairs, they’ll throw you out …’
‘No … No … I’ve not followed you like that … I just need to talk … Please, trust me, I can stop all this, I have the money to get you away from here …’
‘Money?’
‘Yes, money, we can move away from here …’
‘How much do you have?’
‘Enough to help you …’
‘Do you have money on you now?’
‘Yes …’
‘I’ll talk if you pay me …’
‘How much?’
‘How much do you have?’
‘I’ve got more than a hundred on me … Look, take this twenty …’
‘Thanks.’
‘Do you remember the pier?’
‘Oh, yes, the pier. Yes. Whatever, yes.’
‘No, seriously … Do you remember the pier?’
‘…’
‘Do you remember talking to me on the pier?’
‘Er … Okay. All right then … Yes, I remember talking to you on the pier, yes.’
‘By the bell?’
‘Yes, the bell.’
‘We talked about the pigeons …’
‘The pigeons … Yes, we did.’
‘And Canvey …’
‘Canvey?’
‘Canvey Island, you remember?’
‘Oh … Yes, Canvey Island. I remember now.’
‘And then you said to me, you became scared as you said it, you said you shouldn’t be talking to me, and that you might be seen … Do you remember?’
‘Oh, yes, I remember now.’
‘Who didn’t you want to see you talking to me?’
‘What?’
‘You were frightened you might be seen talking to me … Who, who was that?’
‘What?’
‘Who are you scared of?’
‘You have quite a few of those twenty-pound notes, yes.’
‘Here … Now tell me …’
‘Thanks … Them … I was scared of them.’
‘Them?’
‘Downstairs, them downstairs … I was supposed to be working, I shouldn’t have been out, I should have been here.’
‘Listen, I can get you out.’
‘How?’
‘We can move away … They’ll never find you. I have enough money to disappear, to start a new life with … please, you’ve got to trust me.’
‘I can’t just leave.’
‘Why?’
‘Er … They’ll come after me.’
‘No they won’t … they’ll just find someone else to take your place …’
‘I can’t just leave …’
‘Please … I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen … I’ve thought that from the first moment I set eyes on you, on the pier …’
‘Well, mister, if you think that, why don’t you want to fuck me now … here?’
‘Because it’s not about that …’
‘What’s it about then?’
‘I don’t know … I can’t explain it. Something is happening to me in my life and it’s like I have no control over it, like I’m being controlle
d, like each of my footsteps is being continually written out for me … I just know I have to do this … That I have to save you … Does that make any sense?’
‘I get this from men a lot, especially older ones …’
‘Get what?’
‘That I need to be fucking saved. I mean, what’s all that about? I don’t need to be saved. I can take care of myself … All you lonely men … What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m not lonely … I’m not like other men.’
‘You’re all the same … A fucking viper’s nest inside your heads …’
‘No … No … No … I’m honest … I’ve never felt anything like this, for anyone … Not even my wife …’
‘See … You’re married … Typical … You’re a fucking cliché.’
‘I’m not, she left me for another man, she was having an affair with another man she met at work … She was seeing him for over a year before she left me … with nothing … I had nothing.’
‘It’s not my problem.’
‘I am different …’
‘I don’t …’
‘Please … let me take you … We can go to Canvey tonight …’
‘I don’t want to go to Canvey …’
‘Please … Anywhere, then?’
‘Stop it … I don’t like this … I only have to shout and you’ll be thrown out of here.’
‘Please, Laura, please …’
‘Stop calling me that … My name isn’t fucking Laura … I hate that name …’
‘But the pier …’
‘You freak …’
‘But …’
‘What fucking pier? … I’ve never been on that fucking pier … I hate Southend Pier.’
‘Please … I can help you …’
‘Fuck off, you’re scaring me …’
‘Please, there’s nothing to be scared of …’
Before I can finish what I’m saying the door bursts open and the two men from downstairs pull me off the bed and drag me out of the room. I bang my head on the door as they scramble me out. I think I black out in the process, for a few seconds or a minute or two because the next thing I know I’m sitting on the doorstep with one of the men shouting something at me, as the other pokes my stick hard into my gut before pulling me down the porch and onto the pavement, throwing my stick out onto Toledo Road. I stumble to my feet and pick it up, using it to steady myself. I run over to the grass verge and then onto Queensway without looking back at the house, stopping the traffic on the road. I run up York Road towards the High Street, through the gang of youths who were standing on the corner of Toledo Road near the phone box earlier – one of them tries to trip me up, but I somehow manage to dodge his foot. I can hear them laughing at me. I keep running, faster and faster, up the hill towards the bus station.