by Chris Birch
‘I’m so sorry Chris,’ she said, over and over again.
I was the third person to be called into her office that morning, the rest had all left with red, tear-stained faces, it didn’t take a genius to work out that they were making redundancies.
In that surreal moment I just looked on in shock. I had seen people losing their jobs on films and on TV but never imagined it could happen to me. I had always been such a hard worker that I thought I was untouchable. Besides that, I worked in a bank, you couldn’t get a more reliable job than that, right?
‘We’ve got to let you go,’ she said, sadly.
Suddenly unemployed, I had a lot of time on my hands with nothing and no-one to fill it with. Slumped on the sofa in my house in Cardiff one morning I pressed the remote control and turned on the telly, a pale, middle-aged man with grey hair stared back at me.
'The bleak news continues in the financial world as many institutions say that we are fast approaching a recession,' his morbid tone perfectly matched his words.
'It spells disaster for every financial institution in the UK as banks look to lay off staff to recuperate some of the money they have lost,' the presenter warned, he was stood outside Canary Wharf, in the financial heart of London. Droves of people dressed in smart black suits marched behind him into the buildings, every now and then a worried face would turn and look at the camera.
I quickly grasped the remote control and changed the channel. An orange looking lady with bouncy hair and a dazzling white smile grinned back at me.
'Today we have lots of guests and an amazing cook to teach us how to make a real comfort food,' She said happily.
I rested back into my chair and tried to focus on the TV, the clock timer at the bottom of the screen said 9.25, I would have been in work by now, I thought. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a huge bowl of cereal. As I shovelled a spoonful of sugary cereal into my mouth another day full of nothing spread out in front of me. I had tried to stay positive to begin with, I got up at the same time every morning, got dressed, sat myself in front of my computer and searched for jobs. Don’t panic, you were good at your job, you’re bound to find something else, I had told myself. I had tried to keep some order to my day but four weeks later my enthusiasm for job hunting had disappeared. No banks were recruiting and I wasn’t qualified to do anything else. It’s not that I was picky, I applied to work in pubs, shops, restaurants but with unemployment rising I was up against dozens of people who were more experienced.
Something will come up, I told myself, it has to. I couldn’t contemplate not working, I had always had a job. Whether it was helping Dad at the weekend, or, my own part-time jobs whilst I was at school. I thought back to what Dad had told me once, If you work hard you’ll be rewarded.
My eyes fell on the TV again.
'So, today we are going to make apple crumble,' an enthusiastic woman in a chef’s hat said.
Good idea, I thought. I got up off the sofa, grabbed my keys and left the flat. I was determined not to become lazy, or sit and watch TV all day. I’ll make an apple crumble, I thought.
Some days I would just walk the streets of Cardiff, desperately trying to fill my time, browsing the shops despite not having any money to actually buy anything. To save money on petrol I walked to the supermarket, which took an hour and selected some bruised apples that were half-price. After walking home I rolled up my sleeves and busied myself in the kitchen. As I peeled the apples the smell reminded me of my nan, we always made apple crumble together. She was great at making cakes and pastries and as a child I would beg her to let me help her. I sighed and pushed the memory from my mind, it was too painful to reminisce.
My phone rang, I scrambled to answer it and hoped it would be about a job but when I looked at the screen it said Tom. My house-mate Tom had moved in with his girlfriend, so I had taken on the cost of the whole house. It had been affordable and I loved having my own space but now, unemployed, I had no money to pay the rent and Tom needed to meet his mortgage payments.
'Alright Mate?' Tom said casually.
'Yeah, great,' I said with a hint of sarcasm
'Any luck?'
I could hear phones ringing in the background, he must be at work. I looked down at my own sloppy outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, I envied him.
'Afraid not.’
There was an awkward silence. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The next month of rent was overdue and I had been stalling him.
'I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay.’
'I’m sure something will come up.’
'Well, it hasn’t and I don’t have the money to pay the rent.’
The line fell silent, I could tell Tom felt sorry for me but I didn’t want his pity, it only made me feel more pathetic. Besides, he had his mortgage to pay, he couldn’t afford to let me live there for free.
'There’s not much point me paying to rent a room in Cardiff when I don’t have a job here … it would make sense for me to leave.’
I tried to sound detached but the severity of the situation suddenly dawned on me and my eyes started to water.
'Right, okay, well if there’s anything I can do to help just let me know,' Tom said.
Inside, I wanted to tell him how worried I was, how lonely and desperate I felt. I wanted to tell him that I was scared I would end up sleeping on the streets, that I had nowhere else to stay. But something stopped me. I had lost so much over the past few years, my family, my friends, my job, I couldn’t face losing the little pride I had left, too.
'Oh, I’ll be fine,' I said, fake cheeriness masked the wobble in my voice.
'I’ll get my stuff sorted and be out by the end of the week.’
'Alright mate, if you’re sure,’
The fake smile I had plastered on whilst speaking to Tom, faded. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.
The following week I carefully packed all of my clothes into boxes and loaded them into the small boot of my Vauxhall Tigra. Everything I couldn’t fit into the car, like my boxes of DVD’s and CD’s, I took to the local pawn shop and sold. Tom helped me load the car when he came to collect the keys.
‘So, that’s it then.’
I dropped the keys into his hand and forced a smile onto my face.
'Alright mate, well, best of luck.’
Tom shook my hand and I got in my car. I somehow managed to keep the fake grin on my face as I drove down the street. It wasn’t until I got to the end of the road, faced with nowhere to go, that my mask dropped. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to swallow the tears that were fighting to escape.
I found myself driving towards Bargoed. My subconscious had taken over, I was desperate to go home. I imagined opening the front door to my mum’s house, her giving me a big hug and telling me everything was going to be fine.
‘We will get through this Christopher, just you wait and see,' Mum had told me after the stroke.
God, I thought, I would give anything to hear her say that now.
All I wanted was a hug from my mum. But before I reached the turn off for Bargoed I had steadied myself. I couldn’t face her shutting the door in my face again. She doesn’t want to see you, I told myself.
A signpost for an industrial estate flashed up on the side of the road, I had been there once to visit the dump when Dad was clearing out his shed. That’s as good a place as any, I thought. I followed the directions and ended up outside a factory unit. I parked the car, turned the key. As I looked around the desolate car-park, with my only possessions piled up behind me, I felt totally and utterly lost. Huge, violent sobs hijacked my body as the reality of the situation dawned on me. I was homeless.
I spent the next few hours staring out of the window at the buildings in front of me, following the odd passer-by, watching the seagulls picking over litter as if it were a nature programme on the TV. With only a hundred pounds left in my account and no idea when, or, how, I would get any more money, I couldn’t afford a hotel. So, a few
hours later, when the industrial estate became flooded with bright street lights, I reclined my drivers seat, pulled a blanket over me and tried to get to sleep.
'It’s just for one night,' I said out loud.
The noise of my own voice, within the darkness of the car, gave me a fright, it was the only voice I had heard in the hours since I had left Cardiff.
It was impossible to get comfortable, my two-seater car was full to the brim with stuff and so the seat didn’t recline properly and I couldn’t stretch my legs out. Every time I moved my arm it hit the gear stick, if I tried to shift my legs they banged the bottom of the steering wheel. Every time I managed to get into a semi-comfortable position my mind would race with thoughts.
How did it come to this? I’ve worked hard all of my life, I’ve never been out of work, it’s not fair. My mind fixed on an image of my mum. Eventually the stream of tears that had been steadily falling from my eyes since I drove into the industrial park dried up, there were no tears left. My sadness became prickled with anger. I don’t deserve this, I thought. This is their fault. How could they do this to me? I punched my fist against the steering wheel as hard as I could and the stinging sensation in my hand gave me a momentary distraction. I thought back to all the bad luck I had had recently, losing my job, my family disowning me, losing the house. It all traced back to me having the stroke. A dark thought settled in my mind. It would have been better for everyone if the stroke had killed me, I thought.
I cast my mind back to that sunny day, two years ago, when I had landed at the bottom of the hill in a heap and blacked out. I let my imagination run away with me and imagined Simon unable to wake me, calling an ambulance, then my lifeless body lying in a hospital bed with Mum, Nan, Simon and Dad at my side…..
I imagined Mum holding my hand, her eyes red and puffy, as if she had been crying.
’Please wake up darling.’
Dad sat on the end of the bed, stroking my lifeless leg.
'Come on Son you’ve got to pull through.’
A man wearing a white doctor’s coat appears behind them, he has a grave expression on his face, he rests his hand on Mum’s shoulder.
'I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Birch, your son has brain damage, the only thing keeping him alive is these machines.’
Mum bursts into deep sobs as Dad tries to console her.
'We aren’t giving up on him, we’ll be waiting right here until you wake up Son,' Mum says.
I smiled. If only my daydream were true. If I were laying in a hospital bed right now, lifeless, my family would still be at my side. Old Chris meant more to my mum half dead then I did.
To help me sleep I tried to imagine I was in my bedroom at home, buried underneath my huge blue duvet cover, with my old posters on the walls above me. But as my eyes blinked closed I heard a rustling noise at the rear window and then a tap on the glass. Someone’s trying to break in, I worried. My heart raced, my mouth was dry, I checked my wing mirrors but couldn’t see anything. What if there is someone there? I panicked, what would I do? I looked out of the dashboard window. What if they have a knife or a gun? My imagination ran away with me as I worried my life was in danger. But then the panic subsided, I realised that it didn’t really matter if I was attacked and it didn’t matter if they broke into the car because I didn’t really care if I lived, or, died.
I was startled awake. The bright artificial street lights had been swapped for the sun, I must have fallen asleep, I realised. My back ached from being hunched in the same position, I opened the car door and stretched myself out.
Right, it’s a new day, pull yourself together, I told myself. I needed to register for Job Seekers Benefits; I didn’t want to get state handouts but I didn’t have much of a choice. I scrabbled around in the boot and tore through bin bags until I found my suit then got changed inside my car. When I arrived at the job-centre everyone else was wearing tracksuits and jeans. I stood out like a sore thumb.
I was finally called to my appointment but when I explained my situation the advisor behind the desk shrugged.
'You can’t claim benefits if you don’t have a home address,' he said.
‘What am I supposed to do then?’
‘Call your family, maybe then can take you in?’
I shook my head.
‘We’re … estranged.’
‘Sorry.’
I left the job centre utterly depressed. I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of the mess I was in. As I walked along the streets I realised I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t face going back to the industrial estate, it was 11am, a day of sitting in my car thinking wasn’t going to make me feel any better. I wondered how I was going to waste the rest of the day and then felt a pang of hunger, I hadn’t eaten anything for 24 hours.
I walked to the supermarket and scanned the shelves for the cheapest, most filling, items. I settled on a 25p bottle of water, a loaf of bread for 50p and a bag of battered bananas that were reduced to 69p. I desperately wanted to splurge the last of my money on a readymade sandwich and a huge chocolate bar but I knew I had to be sensible. I didn’t know how long I was going to have to live off what was left in my account.
Outside the supermarket I sat on a bench and eagerly bit into a piece of bread, a woman walked past and shot me a look of pity. I realised that she had probably looked at my unwashed, messy hair, crumpled suit and bag of cheap food and assumed I was homeless. I wanted to stop the woman, tell her she was wrong, explain my situation and that, until recently, I had been just like her. But then I realised, most homeless people probably felt exactly the same. I had always thought I was somehow different to people I saw begging on the street, that it could never happen to me, how naive I had been.
For two weeks I lived like a shadow. I slept in my car in the industrial estate and spent my days walking around the town desperately trying to occupy my time. At night I huddled up in my car under a blanket and prayed for some good luck.
One morning Tracey text me to invite me to her house for dinner. In need of a friendly face and a home cooked meal I bought five pounds of phone credit so I could reply to her message, it was a big spend for me but I knew it would be worth it.
I washed my face in the supermarket toilets and wore the cleanest t-shirt I had but when Tracey opened her door and saw me her face fell.
'You look awful,' she sighed and pulled me in for a big hug.
It was the first human contact I had felt for two weeks, in fact, it was the first time someone had give me proper eye-contact since I had become homeless. It had begun to feel like I didn’t exist so seeing someone who knew me and was happy to see me, immediately lifted my spirits.
'I’m okay,' I lied.
But Tracey wasn’t falling for it, she sat me down at the table, poured me a large glass of wine and sat next to me.
'What’s been going on?' she said, seriously.
I took a huge mouthful of spaghetti bolognese, the sensation of hot, flavoursome food gave me a surge of energy and I dropped my guard.
'Well, I’ve not had the best few weeks … ’
I forced out a fake chuckle and hoped it might lighten my news somehow.
‘I’m homeless … but on the plus side I don’t have to clean my house any more.’
Mum had always said it was better to laugh than cry.
Tracey’s mouth dropped.
'Why didn’t you tell me?'
I just shrugged.
'Why didn’t you go and stay with your mum?'
I hadn’t told Tracey how bad things had got between Mum and I, I was embarrassed and didn’t want her to feel sorry for me.
'Well, me and Mum had a bit of a row, she’s not speaking to me.’
'She’s your mother Chris, she won’t see you out on the street. No matter what has happened, trust me, I’m a Mum.’
I had been sure that Mum wouldn’t speak to me but now, having heard how certain Tracey was, I started to doubt myself.
Maybe she’s right? I thought. Mum wouldn
’t want to see me homeless, surely?
'Give her a call right now, go on, get your phone.’
Tracey ate another mouthful of her dinner and then passed me my phone from the table.
I was so desperate that I was willing to try anything. I found her contact details, pressed to call and listened to it ring, growing more and more nervous with each second. I wasn’t sure what I would say so when it clicked onto her answer machine I stumbled over my words.
'Hi Mum … look, I know we haven’t spoken but I’ve….I’ve lost my job, I need somewhere to stay for a few days … please give me a call.’
'She will call you straight back. Just give her a minute, you’ll see.’
I smiled back and hoped she was right.
'But either way, you’re staying here tonight,' she said.
My natural instinct was to refuse her offer. Tracey had two children, there was no space for me, I didn’t want to burden her or get in the way. I had never had to accept such a large favour from anyone, it meant I had to admit that I couldn’t look after myself. But the thought of a warm bed was too much of a temptation to refuse so I swallowed my pride and nodded my head.
'Thank you Trace,' I said.
It was hard to swallow my pride but it was a relief to not have to face another night in my car.
That night it was easy to trick myself into thinking that nothing had ever changed. Surrounded by the comfort of Tracey’s home, sleeping in a warm bed, I happily pretended the nights spent in my car were just a nightmare. If Tracey was right Mum would be in touch and I could put it all behind me. But I didn’t hear from Mum that night, or the next day, or the one after that. I text and called her a dozen more times over the next week but kept getting her answer machine. In a moment of panic I wondered if she had got a new phone and I had the wrong number. So, I withheld my number and tried her again. She answered the phone after two rings.