A Gift From Bob

by James Bowen

  I was writing out a few more Christmas cards so wasn’t in the chattiest of moods. But he was harmless enough so, more out of politeness than anything, I thought I’d better engage.

  ‘So what are the leaflets you are handing out?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it’s an invitation to a church service I’m speaking at on Christmas Eve,’ he replied, handing me one of his flyers.

  I recoiled immediately. I’d been raised in a strong Christian environment and had had some very bad experiences. I hadn’t rejected it as a religion, but I had distanced myself ever since. If pushed about my faith these days, I always said I was a Buddhist, which was kind of true. I’d read a lot of stuff by the Dalai Lama and found great wisdom and support in it, especially through some of the darker times in my life.

  ‘No thanks, mate, I don’t really do Christianity,’ I said, perhaps a little too sharply.

  I saw a quizzical look flash across his face. I could tell he was trying to work me out.

  ‘Not a problem, my friend,’ he said, standing up.

  ‘I’ll let you carry on with your Christmas cards. Thanks for letting me say hello to Bob.’

  I felt a little bit guilty. I hadn’t meant to be rude but equally I didn’t want to get reeled into a conversation on religion. Even at Christmas.

  I soon forgot about him. Almost immediately, one of my regular customers appeared.

  ‘Oh, hello, Jeremy,’ I said, recognising him. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  He too seemed genuinely pleased when I gave him a card. He opened it up and chuckled warmly when he saw the smiley-face Bob signature.

  ‘I’m sorry, James, I’ve got no cash on me at the moment,’ he said, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’ve been really generous through the year. I just wanted to give you a card to say thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, OK. Well Happy Christmas to the pair of you. I really hope you have a peaceful time.’

  In the space of the next half an hour, I had similar exchanges with about half a dozen familiar faces. I knew some of them by name, but others were just recognisable faces that, I knew, had bought the magazine off me at some point in the past. I gave each of them a card. Some had bought a magazine off me, but others, like Jeremy, hadn’t. I’d made sure to reassure each of them that it wasn’t a problem.

  The rush hour actually felt more like a rush half-hour this evening. I got the feeling that a lot of people had already finished work for the Christmas holidays and were wrapped up warm at home. Lucky so-and-sos.

  I’d been so tied up in talking to people that I hadn’t paid attention to the guy from the church earlier. I assumed he’d left. When I looked around, however, I saw that he was still there. He was now occupying a spot behind me. He only seemed to have a few flyers left.

  My conscience was still nagging me about the way I spoke to him earlier, so I got Bob to jump on my shoulder and headed over towards him, a card in my hand.

  ‘Here you go, mate,’ I said, walking over to him. ‘I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. Happy Christmas.’

  He accepted the card with a smile. He laughed out loud when he saw the smiley face.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said.

  There was a real lull in activity now, so I took the opportunity to light up a cigarette.

  ‘Smoke?’ I said, offering the guy my packet.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘So where are you from?’

  ‘London, via South Africa and New York,’ he said. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Life is,’ I smiled.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So what’s your sermon about on Christmas Eve?’ I said, drawing on my cigarette.

  ‘Messages the Bible can teach us at this time of the year. You know, the usual stuff.’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I had a bad time with Christianity when I was little.’

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘You don’t behave that way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s something very Christian, with a small c, about the way you behave.’

  I could feel myself bridling again at the prospect of getting into a religious discussion, but I didn’t want to appear rude a second time.

  ‘In what way exactly?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, as in Acts 32, verse 5,’ he smiled, as if testing me.

  ‘Go on, you’ve got me,’ I said. ‘What does it say in verse 5 of Acts, thirty-something?’

  He looked at me for a moment, again weighing me up. He then recited what I assumed was a direct passage from the Bible.

  ‘ “In all things I have shown you that by working hard in this way we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ”’

  I shook my head. I didn’t quite get it.

  ‘I overheard you talking to some of the people who came up to you. I could see how happy you were giving to them rather than just having to rely on their charity.’

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘And I thought to myself “there’s someone who has learned that it is more blessed to give than to receive”.’

  I just smiled at him. I wasn’t sure what to say.

  There was an awkward silence for a moment.

  ‘Anyhow, I have got rid of all my flyers. And I now have to go back home to work on my sermon. Who knows? You might be in it,’ he said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The parable of the Big Issue seller and the ginger cat, you must have heard of it?’

  ‘Now you’re taking the mickey, mate,’ I said, giving him an affectionate slap on the back.

  ‘Sorry. That’s a habit of mine.’

  We shook hands.

  ‘A Merry Christmas to you, erm sorry, I don’t know your name.’

  ‘James.’

  A Merry Christmas to you, James – and to you, Bob,’ he said, gently stroking him on the back of the neck.

  He was soon disappearing into the Tube station. It wasn’t long before we followed in his footsteps.

  For a change, Bob and I got the Tube back home. It meant a longer walk at the end of our journey, but it also meant Bob could do his business in a small park that he liked. I could also walk off the pain in my leg which had returned after standing in the cold for so long.

  Standing in the busy train carriage, I found myself staring at one of those ‘Poems on the Underground’. I often read them. I found them quite inspiring. This one was a modern piece, however. I didn’t quite get it. Instead I found myself thinking about my day and in particular my encounter with the guy from the church this evening.

  Of course I’d heard the main message of that passage he’d recited before. I’d actually seen it in one of the Christmas cards that I’d been given. I’d thought it was just one of those seasonal slogans that someone, probably a Victorian, had come up with. I hadn’t realised it came from the Bible. Which was pretty stupid of me, really.

  I wasn’t going to suddenly become a born-again Christian. He would have to deliver his Christmas Eve sermon without me in his congregation. But there was something admirable about the guy’s quiet wisdom and his gentle, non-confrontational manner. It made such a pleasant change. He was also dead right about me; I had learned a precious lesson in these past couple of days. Giving out those cards had given me such a kick. It had been a real joy to see so many people’s faces lighting up. He, or more accurately, the book of Acts, was spot on; sometimes it really was better to give than receive.

  Chapter 6

  The Office Party

  There were now only two days until Christmas Day. I’d decided to spend a few hours busking in Covent Garden. I also had a few more Christmas cards to give out and was hoping that I might see one or two of my regulars from there.

  It had been another long, slow bus journey because of the weather and, to make matters worse, Bob and I had been forced to get off in the middle of Oxford Street because of a diversion on the roads. It was li
ke stepping into a scene from Bedlam.

  With Christmas almost upon us, Oxford Street was crammed full of anxious-looking people, rushing frantically along as they tried to get their shopping finished.

  Almost as soon as Bob had climbed on to my shoulders and we started walking, we passed a Salvation Army band and choir singing carols. One of the singers was carrying a placard that read ‘Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All Men’. There wasn’t much evidence of that in the air. As far as I could tell, it was a dog-eat-dog scramble to buy as much stuff as they possibly could and people didn’t care who stood in their way. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  People were overloaded with bags of all shapes and sizes. I saw one guy laden with what looked like a dozen giant sacks from fancy shops like Selfridges and John Lewis. Goodness only knows what he’d spent so far, but to judge by the harassed expression on his face as he shouted into his mobile phone, it wasn’t enough.

  ‘It’s sold out everywhere I’m telling you,’ he said, presumably to his equally wound-up wife. ‘No, I tried that. I’m not joking. It’s not anywhere.’

  He looked like he was ready to have a heart attack. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for him and everyone else being driven to distraction by the last-minute rush. At least the desperation I had felt these past few days was mainly based on a real, physical need – to eat and keep warm. These people were in a frenzy over things that, in all likelihood, they or the recipients didn’t really need at all. I didn’t envy them. Quite the opposite in fact, I thought it was rather sad.

  Bob was soon getting anxious at the number of people brushing past and bumping into us. He let out a loud eeeeew when one fraught-looking lady knocked into my left shoulder spinning me through thirty degrees and almost dislodging him. She didn’t stop to apologise, she just ploughed on down the road, weighed down with her precious Christmas cargo.

  ‘Oh, sorry for being in your way,’ I said sarcastically, watching her disappear and shaking my head at her rudeness.

  ‘Come on, Bob, let’s get out of this madness,’ I said, turning off Oxford Street towards Soho Square. This was a shortcut we often took, partly because Bob enjoyed doing his business in the park. In the summer he also adored staring at the birds in the trees, but there was none of that today. The trees were barren and there was hardly a hint of green beneath the snow. Bob was picky about where he went to the toilet and took an age to find a patch of soil that wasn’t as hard as iron.

  We headed down towards Old Compton Street from where I intended to move on towards Cambridge Circus. It was much quieter here, thank goodness. This wasn’t a shopping district; it was mostly bars and restaurants, many of which seemed to be winding down for Christmas. There were a few pockets of partygoers but it was pretty quiet, which was why the gravelly sound of a man’s voice cut through the chilly afternoon air so easily.

  ‘Oi, mate,’ I heard it shout from an alleyway. I looked round and saw a figure emerging, flicking a cigarette to the floor as he walked.

  He was a thickset, thirty-something guy dressed in a long, black leather coat with a thick tartan scarf around his neck. I knew pretty much instantly what he was up to; he was selling drugs.

  ‘Ain’t seen you in ages,’ he said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I remember you, man. I been away.’

  I put two and two together. He must have been a dealer from years back when I was at my lowest. I couldn’t remember him, which was hardly surprising. I’d been so far gone at that stage, I barely remembered what day of the week it was let alone who supplied me with my drugs. He’d probably been serving time in prison and had just re-emerged. Clearly he’d not mended his ways.

  ‘Listen, wanna early Christmas present?’

  He looked around, checking that the coast was clear, then produced a little white wrap which he proceeded to dangle in the air at arm’s length in front of me.

  ‘It’s the business, man. It’ll blow your head off.’

  I immediately took a step back.

  ‘Whoah, no thanks, mate. I’m clean these days.’

  He looked at me for a second, a contrived, confused look on his face.

  ‘It’s on me. Free sample. Serious.’

  ‘No, no.’

  He looked cheesed off.

  ‘Yeah? You sure?’ he said, squinting at me, as if waiting for me to crack. But I wasn’t going to give in, I’d come too far in my life to do that.

  ‘Yeah, I’m totally sure,’ I said, repositioning myself so that Bob and I could get past him.

  That should have been the end of the conversation, but he obviously wasn’t going to take no for an answer and placed himself in my way, blocking my exit. There was no one else around, which was a concern. I didn’t know what he was capable of.

  I knew the score here. Dealers like this prospered at Christmas time. An addict reaches this time of the year knowing there will be a ‘drought’ during the holidays and saves up extra money to buy enough supplies. The nature of addiction, however, means that the temptation to ‘do’ it all in a few days is always there. Dealers know this and capitalise on it – big time. They make fortunes on the back of addicts’ dependency and weakness often by charging the same for smaller amounts as they would for larger ones at other times of the year.

  This guy was on a fishing expedition. He wanted me to take the bait and then, once I’d bitten, he’d reel me in so that I would buy a load of his merchandise. A few years ago, I’d have been a prime ‘mark’. There was no way I would have been able to resist a ‘free’ hit. I’d have been reeled in with ease. But I was a different person now. I wasn’t going to fall for it. No matter what ideas this guy had.

  ‘Look, mate. I’m good. I don’t want anything. I just want to get on my way and get to work.’

  It was inevitable, I guess, but his mood suddenly turned dark.

  ‘Come on, man, come on. Let’s do some business here. Let’s help each other out,’ he said, jutting out his chin and angling his head towards me.

  He then pushed himself even closer, grabbing my arm with one hand then waving the little wrap closer with the other. He was now within inches of me – and Bob. That was his big mistake.

  It happened in a split second, so fast, in fact, that I didn’t see it properly. All I heard was an almighty weeeeow followed by a torrent of expletives. I then saw the guy dancing around, waving his hand violently.

  It took me a few moments to work it out, but it was soon pretty clear what had happened.

  I’d been aware of Bob throughout, he’d seemed restless from the moment the guy appeared.

  As the guy had pushed himself forward, however, he’d clearly made a decision. Bob had taken a swipe at him and had caught him on the hand.

  For a moment the guy just stood fixed to the spot, inspecting his hand – and us. He was in a state of shock, but then the shock gave way to anger.

  ‘What’s that f***ing thing, a f***ing tiger?’ he said, leaning in towards us from a few feet away.

  Bob hissed at him, forcing him back half a step.

  ‘He’s just watching out for me,’ I said.

  There was no blood, or at least I couldn’t see any. He was lucky. Bob had kept his claws in. He had just given him a warning. If he wanted to he could have hurt him.

  He started pacing around, swearing and waving his hand. He was clearly calculating his next move, but I’d already worked out mine.

  I pushed past him and set off as quickly as I could down the road in the direction of Cambridge Circus. I didn’t know whether he’d set off in pursuit, but I didn’t want to risk it so I headed off down the icy pavement. There was a group of people on the corner of the street about twenty to thirty yards away. I figured if I could get near to them the guy would definitely give up the ghost.

  I felt Bob readjusting himself on my shoulder so that his tail was hanging over my front. He was looking back, obviously monitoring the guy’s movement. We’d travelled about ten yards when he made a loud hissing noise that suggeste
d the guy was following us, or at least thinking of doing so. I sped up, drawn by the prospect of the crowd that I could see in the street ahead.

  It was one of those situations where time seemed to slow down. It could only have been seconds, but it felt like minutes before we got to the junction and the safety of the crowds gathered there.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We were in the clear.

  It took me a few minutes to calm down. My heart was pounding. It was the sort of situation I’d found myself in almost on a daily basis when I was an addict. But those days were long gone and I had been thrown by the guy’s aggression. Dealers like that really were the scum of the earth, as far as I was concerned. They preyed on the weakest and most vulnerable. They thought nothing of taking every penny that a homeless person had to his or her name. When they locked him up they should have thrown away the key.

  My emotions were in a jumble for the rest of our journey to Neal Street. I was shaken, but I was also relieved. Most of all, though, I was grateful. Grateful to Bob.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d taken a dislike to someone who he sensed was up to no good. At Angel and around Covent Garden, he’d always had a knack for picking out people who he instinctively knew were a threat. It was a kind of radar. It had clearly been operating here, thank goodness.

  I was determined that the incident wasn’t going to ruin my day, however. I was feeling so much more positive about the world. I didn’t want to lose that feeling. So I found myself a spot on James Street and started busking Christmas songs.

  My usual playlist was full of modern, slightly dark songs. I sang stuff by Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails. ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis was always a favourite. But I knew the usual set-list wasn’t really appropriate at Christmas so I’d been practising a few, more seasonal songs on the guitar at home. I figured that people wanted to hear something cheery at this time of the year, especially as it was so cold. I wanted to play stuff that maybe warmed them up and put a Christmassy smile on their faces. I also wanted them to stop and donate some money, of course. Again, it was a reflection of how I’d started to embrace the spirit of Christmas a little more. I’d never have dreamt of playing that sort of music a few years ago. It would have been anathema to me.