Counting Sunsets

by Paul Gait

‘Let’s track James down and get him off the streets. At least the other two have got a fixed abode,’ proposed Geoffery.

  ‘OK, where is he?

  ‘London.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be fit enough to travel that far?’ quizzed Andy concerned.

  ‘Yes I think so.’

  ‘Mmm I’m not so sure. I notice you appear to get exhausted very quickly these days.’

  ‘I’ll be OK,’ Geoffery said unconvincingly.

  ‘Well, I suppose we could get a private ambulance so you could at least rest on the journey there,’ Andy suggested.

  ‘On the other hand I could always get the Investigators to bring him here,’ Geoffery proposed.

  ‘Do you think he’d get in a car with strangers, and allow himself to be driven a hundred miles, to see somebody he hasn’t seen for years or probably can’t even remember?’

  ‘No probably not,’ Geoffery agreed, accepting Andy’s point.

  ‘Would it be helpful if I went to London and spoke to him first, perhaps persuade him to come here. What do you think?’ Andy suggested.

  As if to reinforce the fragility of Geoffery’s worsening health he deposited his breakfast into a sick tray that Andy deftly materialised and positioned under Geoffery’s chin.

  ‘I guess that answers that,’ Andy said. ‘I’ll get you another anti sickness tablet,’ he said purposefully and left the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Tuesday September 30th – Sunset count 30

  Andy met the former policeman at the prearranged rendezvous at the exit of the Russell Square underground car park.

  The investigator was portly, several stone overweight, like a lot of policemen who had spent too many hours on surveillance and not enough in the gym. The ‘number one’ haircut made Steve look menacing, like a night club bouncer.

  ‘You must be Andy,’ said the investigator, stretching out a hand.

  ‘Yes, pleased to meet you,’ Andy said, shaking the proffered huge hand, feeling a little unnerved as Steve looked him straight in the eye as if doing an instant character assessment.

  ‘I spotted the Mercedes as soon as you turned in. Nice motor. How was your journey?’

  ‘This rush hour traffic is awful,’ said Andy glad to be out of the mayhem. ‘They all drive like maniacs around here. No politeness on the road’.

  The thought of driving in London had petrified Andy. He had wanted to travel by train but a drivers’ strike had thwarted his plans. Geoffery’s impatient frustration and worsening condition had got Andy to reluctantly agree to take Geoffery’s car. The assistance of the car’s sat nav finally persuaded Andy to give it a go.

  ‘You soon get used to it. You’ve just got to go for it round here, not like driving in the sticks is it? No tractors here boy,’ he said, in a mock country yokel accent.

  Andy ignored the inference.

  The doorway where they stood reeked of stale urine. ‘In my trade I have to deal with a lot of unsavoury smells, but this is gross. Can we move somewhere else?’ Andy said, already walking away.

  ‘Just one of the many drunks piss houses I’m afraid. They stagger out of the pubs, urinate here and get into their cars and drive home. I’m surprised there aren’t many more deaths on the road the way they abuse themselves.’

  ‘Talking about people abusing themselves, where do we find James?’ said Andy cutting to the chase.

  ‘Well normally at this time of day he’s just tucking into his next bottle of White Diamond. Depends on how much he’s managed to beg or whether he’s been to A & E for stitching up.’

  ‘Stitching?’ asked Andy puzzled.

  ‘Yes either fallen over blind drunk or been beaten up by somebody.’

  ‘Not much of a life is it?’ said Andy thinking this was a world apart from his own home comforts.

  ‘It’s the only one he knows.’

  ‘How did you find him? London is massive?’

  ‘I’ve still got my contacts in the Met. Police. Once you know the way they are, it’s all pretty predictable. They normally keep to their own territory.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘It’s down this way.’

  They set off down Southampton Row avoiding the line of hemorrhaging black plastic rubbish bags that stained the cracked, uneven paving stones.

  Although it was just a short walk from the car park, Andy already felt uncomfortable, threatened in these unfamiliar surroundings. Having the former policeman with him at least helped.

  ‘How do you put up with the noise of all this traffic?’ he said, shouting over the constant roar. ‘The streets are filthy, choked by people, constant traffic noise, and smelly exhaust fumes. Why would anybody in their right mind want to live here instead of the countryside?’

  ‘You just get used to it,’ the other replied. ‘It’s got a buzz to it, difficult to explain really.’

  ‘Tell you what though, I’m dying for a coffee,’ Andy said, hoping to get some respite from the noisy environment. ‘Do you know anywhere around here?’

  ‘Here, look. It’s not quite Starbucks but it does a reasonable brew and the cakes are pretty tasty too.’

  Steve led them into a dingy looking café. Andy hesitated on the threshold as he took in the shabby interior. The place looked like a breeding ground for Salmonella.

  Every alarm bell of his professional hygiene standards screamed danger. Nevertheless he still followed Steve in.

  ‘How do you like your coffee?’

  ‘Black please.’

  The service was quick, but served by a sour faced woman who had obviously eaten too many of her own cakes. They found a small table in the back of the coffee shop. Uncleared cups littered the stained, chipped plastic table top. Pushing them aside, the Private Investigator took out some photographs from his lightweight jacket and handed them to Andy.

  ‘Here’s your man,’ he said. ‘James Charles, known locally as the ‘Lord.’ cos he talks posh.’

  ‘Lord Jim of the park bench, eh!’ Andy said reflectively, thumbing through the photos. ‘He looks a sight doesn’t he?’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this all about?’ asked the former Policeman gazing over his coffee cup.

  ‘Mr Foster has asked me to talk to James to see if he will come back to Cheltenham and meet him. He’d like to help him. Get him off the streets.’

  ‘Pardon me for being sceptical but thirty five years in the police force tells there’s more to this than that. People don’t suddenly want to make contact with a ‘down and out’ for no good reason, just to offer help,’ said Steve suspiciously.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ said Andy, feeling uncomfortable at that questioning.

  ‘Go on, I’m all ears,’ said Steve sitting up.

  Andy explained as best as he could about Geoffery’s crisis of conscience to the attentive investigator.

  ‘Oh well, anytime he wants to give me any help or guidance, he’s more than welcome,’ Steve said astonished. ‘That’s a new one on me.’

  ‘Do you think you can take me to him now please?’ Andy said, putting his empty cup down, keen to leave the scruffy cafe. ‘I’ll pay,’ he said as they got to the counter, ‘I’m on expenses,’ he said excitedly.

  Emerging back into the noisy London street, Andy wondered how he’d let Geoffery talk him in to doing this. Perhaps kidnapping James by a streetwise Steve might have been a better answer after all.

  ‘We’ll start in his usual haunt and wander around from there,’ suggested the Investigator.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  As the two made their way down Southampton Row, Andy was keen to make small talk to distract him from the shabby surroundings and mismatch of grubby looking shop fronts.

  ‘How did you actually find where he was?’

  ‘Former colleagues, still in the force with access to the Police National Computer system, tracked him down from his criminal records. He’d used his real name and gave his dwellings as the park just around the corner fro
m here.’

  ‘I suppose he had nothing to hide.’

  As they approached a set of traffic lights Andy could see the small tree lined park. Across the other side of the road, on the same bench that he recognised from the first picture he had seen, sat the same dishevelled character.

  ‘Right, there’s your man,’ Steve said, pointing across the park to James. Unless you want me to stay, I’ve got stuff to do.’

  ‘To be honest, I could do with a moral prop,’ Andy said, embarrassed at displaying his fears.

  ‘Yeah, OK, um, no problem. I’ll hang around here then and keep an eye on you. He’ll run a mile if he sees me otherwise.’

  ‘OK thanks.’

  Andy made his way across the surprisingly litter free park until he stood in front of James.

  ‘Excuse me, are you James Charles?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘And pray, what’s it to do with you, if I am?’ the clipped voice responded.

  Although already aware of Lord Jim’s nickname, Andy found difficulty in associating the posh voice with the scruffy character who spoke.

  ‘Who are you? Another one of those Celebrity on the streets TV researchers? Looking for some mug to make a fool of on your TV programme?’

  Before Andy could respond, the other continued, his words slightly slurred.

  ‘Well if you are, you can bugger off. We’ve had your sorts around here before. You make a load of promises to improve our living conditions; do your filming, bugger off and forget us and your promises.’

  ‘Well no I’m…’ Andy tried to say.

  ‘Oh of course you’ll be a social services do-gooder then,’ James interrupted. ‘Who’s your minder?’

  ‘Look I’ve come from Cheltenham…’

  ‘Ah Cheltenham, sweet gentle Cheltenham. I once played cricket for the school eleven at Cheltenham College when I was a fourth former.’

  ‘Geoffery Foster has sent me to find you,’ Andy said, finally getting a word in edgeways.

  ‘Geoffery Foster! Geoffery Foster!’ James said, trying to recall the name. ‘Now where do I know that name from? Oh, of course. Geoffery,’ he said, digging deep into his fuddled memory. ‘How is he? Still on the Monaco circuit?’

  ‘No. Unfortunately he is no longer in Monaco; he is in a hospice near Cheltenham. But he would like to see you and possibly help you before he…While he can.’

  ‘Wants to help me? Why after all these years would he want to help me?’ James said incredulously. ‘In a hospice you say. Poor old chap, but that’s life isn’t it? Ha, that’s life,’ he repeated, smiling at his inadvertent ‘black’ witticism. ‘Bit of a mixed metaphor there eh, what?’

  ‘Yes I’m afraid he’s seriously ill and…’

  ‘Seriously ill, bad luck that. But I’ve had my share of death too.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘How do you know? Are you, some sort of investigator?’

  ‘No I’m Geoffery’s nurse from the hospice. He asked me to help him find you.’

  ‘So now you’ve found me, you can go back to Cheltenham and tell him mission accomplished.’

  ‘He has asked me to take you back to see him, because he can’t travel very far.’

  ‘Come back with you? Whatever for? I have a nice park bench here and lots of real friends, street friends. Forget it. Sorry, we have nothing in common anymore, not that we were that close anyway.’

  ‘Look, this isn’t the best place to discuss this. Why don’t we go for a coffee?’

  ‘Come for a coffee!’ James said, savouring the idea. ‘Umm, well that’s a grand idea but no cafe’ will let me in looking and smelling like this,’ he added realistically.

  ‘OK I’ll tell you what. I’ll go and get some ‘take aways’ and I’ll be back shortly,’ Andy said, trying to think of another way of establishing an empathetic relationship with Lord Jim. ‘What do you like?’

  ‘I recall I used to drink the finest Columbian coffee. But a couple of bottles of White Diamond would be better.’

  ‘Black Coffee it is then,’ Andy said, ignoring the request for more alcohol.

  ‘Couldn’t spare us a couple quid could you? Only I’m a bit short at the moment.’

  Andy found some small change in his pocket and gave it to James and headed back to the waiting Steve.

  ‘Is everything alright? Is he going to come back with you?’

  ‘No I don’t think so. I’m not sure Geoffery would want him in his car smelling like that anyway. I’m just off to get a couple of coffees. Do you want one?’

  ‘No I’ll clear off unless you want me to hang around anymore?’

  ‘I think he’ll be OK. Seems like a nice bloke underneath that layer of filth.’

  After apathetic service from a local fast food shop that failed to match the concept of the name, Andy returned to the bench, with two cardboard cups of coffee, to find the bench empty. James had gone.

  ‘Oh blast! Now where’s he gone,’ Andy said under his breath scanning the park.

  Hoping that James would return Andy found a part on the bench that didn’t bear any suspicious stains and sat down to drink his coffee thinking about what to do next.

  ‘Well I’ve found him, talked to him, what more can I do?’ he thought. ‘Perhaps I ought to call Geoffery and report in.’

  Just as he reached into his pocket for his mobile, James reappeared with a bottle of white diamond to his lips.

  ‘You were too slow. A man could die of thirst by the time you got your act together,’ he said, slurping the cider.

  ‘I was just thinking I’d lost you. Here’s your coffee if you still want it. I’m afraid it’s not your Columbian though,’ Andy said, giving James the carton.

  Downing the last dregs from his bottle, James dropped it noisily on the ground and reached for the proffered carton of coffee. As he did so, his stained coat rode up his arm to reveal a series of nasty weeping sores.

  ‘How did you get these?’ Andy said studying the open wounds. ‘They need treatment.’

  ‘What? Oh these. They’re nothing,’ he said, dismissing Andy’s concern. ‘The yobs think its good sport to set fire to our cardboard houses and give us a good kicking as we emerge,’ James said indifferently, as if he was talking about the weather.

  ‘Look I’m a trained nurse. I’ll fix these for you, but I need to go and get some stuff. Are you still going to be here when I get back?’

  ‘Yes of course. If I’ve got my own Florence Nightingale, why waste time waiting in A & E. It gives me more drinking time.’

  ‘But before I go, will you speak to Geoffery on my mobile?’

  ‘If I must. What do I have to do?’

  ‘I’ll call him and then I’ll hand the phone over, OK.’

  ‘Go on then!’

  Andy rang Geoffery’s number and was answered almost immediately.

  ‘Geoffery, I’m with James now. Yes he’s OK. He won’t come back with me though. Perhaps you’d like to talk to him? OK. I’ll hand you over.’

  At the other end Geoffery steeled himself to speak to his Godson for the first time in decades.

  After explaining what James needed to do, Andy handed the phone over, making a mental note to sterilize it before he used it again himself.

  ‘Hello James, how are you?’ Geoffery said full of apprehension.

  ‘Hello Geoffery, long time no speak Old boy,’ James replied loudly. ‘I’m OK, but I gather you’re on your way out.’

  Geoffery was taken aback by the bluntness of his words.

  ‘I’m in a hospice yes but…’

  ‘Your man here thinks I drink too much. He reckons I’ve given myself a death sentence, but I gather you’re already ahead of me on that one.’

  Geoffery ignored the observation on his mortality. ‘Look James, I gather you’re down on your luck and I’d like to help you.’

  ‘A tanker full of white Diamond will do, so I don’t have to go dry. That will do for a start.’

  ‘You know that won’t help you. I
was thinking of something more practical. How about a roof over your head?’

  ‘What, a hostel? No thank you, they’re full of down and outs. They’d cut your throat soon as look at you.’

  ‘Perhaps something that would help you ‘dry out? Get you off the streets and into a clinic.’

  ‘Dry out? Why would I want to dry out? As your man here has found out, my world’s a shit place; it’s the booze that keeps me sane,’ James said dismissively.

  ‘But surely anything would be better than the dangers of living on the street!’ ‘Dangers! Dangers! You can’t tell me anything about dangers!’ James became animated as he shouted down the phone. ‘Your so called ‘normal’ world is fraught with them. Let’s see now; there’s the pain of rejection, the agony of desertion, the hurt of two timing deception.’

  ‘James, I know…’ Geoffery said trying to interject calmly.

  James carried on getting angrier and louder, flecks of spittle spraying onto his matted beard. ‘…The hateful lies, the dagger of mistrust he thrust deep into my heart. The pain was unbearable. It was as if I was being dissected alive. On my street there are no beautiful creatures here anymore; No delicate emotional butterflies. No chance of broken hearts ever again. My antidote to your cruel world is the inside of a bottle.’

  ‘But James listen…’ Geoffery tried again in vain to interrupt.

  As quickly as he had become angry and animated, James suddenly became calm and said to an astonished Geoffery. ‘I’m sorry old chap must fly, missing out on drinking time.’

  James thrust the phone at Andy and quickly scuffed his way out of the park.

  ‘James. James, your arm,’ shouted Andy at the departing figure. ‘I was going to dress your arm.’

  ‘Don’t worry; the booze is a good antiseptic. It cures most things,’ James shouted without turning round.

  Wiping the phone subconsciously on his trousers Andy spoke to Geoffery again.

  ‘Well I’m not sure what you said but you’ve frightened him off. Now he’s gone.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll think about what I’ve said and change his mind. Get him a mobile so we can keep in touch with him.’

  ‘But he’s gone.’