by Paul Gait
‘I’m not going to Cheltenham, understood?’ slurred James.
‘Cheltenham! What? He’s obviously lost it. This is the booze speaking,’ Ben thought.
‘I told that Andy, that I wasn’t going back to Cheltenham. Got it?’ he said, wagging his finger at Ben.
‘Yes. Whatever you say,’ Ben said, knowing that holding any sensible conversation with James now was going to be futile.
James suddenly stopped in the middle of the pavement and slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Bugger,’ he said. ‘I’ve just remembered. I’ve got to tell this Andy when I find you,’ James continued, swaying unsteadily against Ben. ‘Trouble is, I’ve just spent the phone money he gave me. Have you got any money?’
Before Ben could reply, a group of six drunken football supporters, wearing soaking wet England shirts, weaved their way along the pavement towards them.
Noisily chanting. ‘Ing-galund, Ing-galund, Ing-galund.’ They were spread across the whole width of the pavement, forcing other pedestrians to step into the road.
In spite of being worse for wear himself, James grabbed Ben’s arm and dragged him towards the kerb, out of the way of the drunken fans.
However, as he did so, one of the staggering yobs bumped into James and knocked the bottle of sherry from his grasp. The bottle smashed loudly on the pavement, scattering glass shards everywhere. He watched mortified as his precious liquid seeped into the cracks in the pavement.
‘Serves you right for getting in my way,’ the yob said aggressively. The others laughed.
Full of Dutch courage and fuelled by the contents of the previous sherry bottle, James remonstrated angrily with the thug.
‘You bleeding prat,’ he shouted. ‘That’ll cost you five quid.’
‘Fuck off,’ said the yob, pushing James off the pavement, and sending him flying heavily into a parked car. ‘You want to make something of it?’
‘Hey I reckon this guys a Paedo. Did you see him trying to interfere with this kid. Let’s show him what we think of Paedos shall we?’
At this inciting call, the group surrounded Ben, and the still kneeling, James.
‘OK kid. We’ll sort him out. Get out the way,’ said the leader of the Gang, grabbing Ben’s arm and pulling him out the way.
James struggled to his feet as the circle of violence closed in around him.
Ben pushed his way back through the mob, to stand in front of James.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ Ben pleaded. ‘He’s not a Paedo, he’s my father.’
‘Your father!’ The first yob said, not convinced.
‘Yes I’ve got to take him back to the hospital. He’s, uh… He’s just been diagnosed as having AIDS,’ Ben lied.
At the word AIDs, the group instantly moved back, as if they had received an electric shock.
‘He’s a fucking homo then.’ The yob who had knocked the bottle out of James’s hand said, vehemently.
At this, he picked up the neck of the broken bottle, and threw it at James. James attempted to duck, but the glass hit him on the side of the head, gashing an artery. Immediately, blood started pulsating from the injury site and cascaded down his face. James slumped to his knees holding his head, blood oozing between his fingers.
Meanwhile, the other yobs were looking for things to throw at the kneeling figure. Only the sound of an approaching police car, with sirens blaring, saved James from any more punishment.
The yobs quickly disappeared down a narrow street, laughing, as the Police Car sailed by, on its way to another distant emergency.
Ben immediately retrieved a handkerchief out of his pocket, and pulled James’s hands out of the way, applying digital pressure to the deep cut.
‘Don’t move.’ Just stay there,’ Ben instructed James, still holding the handkerchief to the cut. ‘It’ll stop bleeding in a minute,’ he assured him.
After a few minutes, Ben lifted the material and checked the wound. ‘It looks like it’s stopped. Here you hold it on now. Don’t rush, but when you’re ready, you can stand up.’
James staggered slowly to his feet, pressing the blood soaked handkerchief to his own head, as instructed.
‘You OK?’ Ben enquired, visibly shaking. ‘Do you feel faint or anything?’
‘That’s another good thing about alcohol. You don’t feel pain,’ said James, studying the blood saturated handkerchief. ‘I’m not sure whether being a Paedo, would have attracted a less painful beasting, than being labeled as an AIDs sufferer though.’
The assault had had a sobering effect on James.
‘Sorry! It was the first thing that came to mind,’ Ben said, putting his arm around James’s waist, as the other swayed suddenly. Ben fought the nausea of the wet dog smell, coming from James’s coat.
‘I’ve got to give it to you kid. You’ve got some balls. Thanks for standing up for me. By the way, my name is James. Some people call me Lord Jim.’
‘OK. Um, James.’
‘Just as long as you don’t start calling me. Dad. We’ll get on, OK.’
‘Right!’ Ben said, his mouth still dry with fear.
‘See kid. This is what living on the streets is like. When you’re down here, you’re scum. Society’s kicking post.’
‘What about the police?’
‘Well, for a change, they came by at the right time didn’t they? But they aren’t interested in the likes of us, street folk. It doesn’t help their crime stats.’
‘I think you’ll need a stitch in that,’ Ben said, examining the cut. ‘It’s very deep, and it’s cut your ear as well.’
‘I don’t want to spend hours down at A & E,’ James said, returning the bloody hanky to his head.
‘What about Andy? Where did you say he was staying?’ Ben asked.
‘In Russell Square. But he won’t want to…in any case I thought you didn’t want to see him.’
‘This is different. You need somebody professional to look at that cut, and if you won’t go to the hospital. Then, it’s going to have to be Andy.’
‘No. I’ll be alright.’ But, as if to undermine James’s words, his legs went from under him, forcing Ben to tighten his grip around the others waist.
‘Come on. Don’t be a martyr. You need help.’
‘Just leave me here. I shall be OK in a minute. Just need to catch my breath,’ James said, leaning heavily against the boy.
‘I don’t think that’s wise. What if those yobs come back? Come on, how far is it?’
‘Not far but….’
It took them over an hour to travel the two miles to Russell square. The anaesthetic effect of the Sherry was wearing off. James was moaning, his head lolling at every step. He was obviously in pain.
‘Where is Andy’s hotel?’
‘Over there,’ he pointed. The one with the steps,’ said James through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve got one hell of a hangover.’
‘Come on. Just a few more steps then,’ said Ben encouragingly.
‘No. I’ll wait here. They won’t let me in there, anyway.’
‘But they’ll see that you’re hurt!’
‘That won’t matter to them. They don’t like my sort upsetting their guests. I’m likely to get a kicking from their security man, to add to my injuries. Just put me on that bench.’
‘Do you know his room number?’ Ben asked, urgently.
‘No. You’ll have to ask at reception.’
Ben lowered James gently on to the bench, and ran across the square and up the chipped concrete steps. The revolving door refused to budge. A shaven headed security man lumbered to the door and unlocked the latch.
‘Yes?’ he demanded.
‘I need to see Mr Spider,’ said Ben, side stepping the overweight guard and moving towards the reception desk.
‘Is he a guest here?’ said the guard, following Ben closely to the desk.
‘Yes, but I don’t know his room number.’
With the room number grudgingly given by a foreign sounding receptionist, Ben
ran up the creaking staircase. It’s former grandiose glory now long gone. The threadbare stair carpet, stained and dirty. Ben ran along the corridors looking out for the room numbers on faded finger posts. Eventually, he found it, knocking loudly on the door. Over the sound of his hammering heart, Ben heard movement from within the room. After few minutes, the door opened cautiously. A face appeared. Much to Ben’s delight. It was Andy.
‘Ben! Ben! Come on in. Are you OK? How did you find me? How did you know I was here?’ Andy gushed.
‘It’s James. He’s hurt. He needs your help.’
‘James!’ Andy said, frowning. ‘James who?’ I don’t think I know…’
‘Yes you do. He’s the tramp. The one you’ve been talking to, about me.’
‘Oh Lord Jim! James of course. So he found you then?’ Andy said, ‘the penny at last dropping.’
‘Yes. But you need to come quick. He’s in a bad way. Some yobs hurt him…..’
‘Just a second,’ Andy said, alarmed at the news. ‘I’ll just get some street clothes on.’
Andy changed quickly, grabbing his small first aid kit and followed Ben outside. The security guard lowered his paper briefly, as the two dashed past.
James was slumped on his side, on the bench. Kneeling down in front of him, Andy could smell the familiar, alcoholic breath.
‘Well, he’s alive. What did you say happened?’ asked Andy, gently moving James’s head to get a better look at the still weeping cut.
‘Some yobs threw a bottle, and cut him. It was bleeding very badly. Like a fountain. I did my first aid on him. I remembered to apply digital pressure to staunch the flow, just like you taught us.’
‘It looks like your quick action probably saved his life. The cut appears to have severed the temporal artery.’
‘Can you do something for him? Is he going to be alright?’ asked Ben concerned.
‘Yes, don’t worry. Judging by his breath, he’s just sleeping the booze off. But he’ll have a sore head in the morning. Give me a hand to carry him to my room. It will be easier to treat the cut where we’ve got some better light.’
‘What about the security guard? James said he wouldn’t let him in.’
‘One thing I’ve learnt in London, is money greases palms,’ said Andy, lifting James’s semi-conscious figure. ‘You did well to get him here,’ Andy added, to a very relieved Ben.
CHAPTER FORTY
Tuesday October 28th – Sunset count 58
It had cost Andy fifty pounds, to bribe each of the suspicious Hotel employees to turn a blind eye, allowing him to take the ungainly James back to his room.
Ben was sitting, slumped in an armchair as Andy finished dressing James’s wound. ‘Ben, I’d book you a room of your own for the night,’ he said, looking at the dozing teenager, ‘but I’m frightened that you’d run off again.’
‘No. I’m done running,’ Ben said tiredly. ‘London isn’t the place I thought it was going to be.’
‘We’re both on the same square there, Ben.’
‘Why do people make it out to be such a great place then?’
‘It’s OK if you’ve got money. Otherwise it’s tough,’ Andy added.
‘It’s a shit hole,’ Ben said, continuing his negative assessment of the capital. ‘Smelly and noisy.’
‘Talking about smelly and noisy. I doubt either of us will get any sleep, with James snoring his head off on my bed.’
‘No,’ Ben agreed, looking at the sleeping figure.
‘How did he find you?’ Andy asked.
‘We ended up on the same park bench. He told me that he had been with somebody who was looking for me. I thought it might be you, so I was going to go back to my squat.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘He scared me off, talking about nutters that sometimes go into these squats.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. But why didn’t you ring me?’
‘I was going to but…I didn’t know what to say.’
‘But we’ve known each other for a long time. I’m not an ogre am I?’
‘No, it’s just that I feel… I let you down.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve been so kind to me and… well…that old bloke…’ he said awkwardly.
‘At the risk of sounding like a school teacher, I did tell you what would happen.’
‘Yeah I know, and I feel bad about it. But it was only a bit of fun.’
‘For you, maybe. But not for the old man. He could have fractured his skull…’
‘Yes I know, and I’m sorry,’ Ben said, eyes filling up. ‘I wanted to apologise, but I didn’t know what to say,’ he added, wiping his tears with the palm of his hand.
‘I know saying sorry is difficult, sometimes. But we all make mistakes Ben, and we have to face up to the consequences of our actions. You’re fortunate the gentleman doesn’t want to press charges. All you need to do, is say sorry to him and the matter will be over and done with.’
‘OK,’ Ben said forlornly.
‘So, are you going to come back with me tomorrow, um later ?’ Andy corrected, looking at his watch.
‘Yes. If that’s OK with you?’
‘Sure it is. But I’m not sure about James,’ he said looking at the dishevelled figure.
‘I might be able to persuade him to come back with us,’ Ben said. ‘We were getting on OK. Those yobs frightened me when they attacked him. I thought they were going to kill him!’
‘And they probably thought it was a bit of fun too,’ Andy added.
‘Yeah. OK. Point taken,’ Ben conceded.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Wednesday October 29th – Sunset count 59
‘Geoffery, are you sure you’re alright?’ Kay said, concerned, as she led Geoffery slowly into her front room. ‘I would have come to the hospice, if I’d have known you wanted to see me.’
‘I had a bit of a funny turn, but I’m feeling a bit better now, thanks. I needed a change of air. Is he here?’ he said looking around.
‘No. I’m pleased to say, he’s out, at the gym,’ Kay said, delighted at being able to give Geoffery some positive news.
‘I won’t dally. I’ll come straight to the point. Kay, why did you lie to me?’ said Geoffery earnestly.
‘Sorry!’ said Kay, taken aback. ‘What do you mean?’
‘About George leaving you and Tim!’
‘I didn’t, George abandoned us. That’s the truth.’
‘But, what about the reason for him leaving?’ said Geoffery, probing.
‘No, Geoff, leave it. It’s all dead and buried. It was a long time ago.’
‘Not for me, it isn’t.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You told me George left you because he couldn’t cope with the idea of a son with no legs.’
‘Yes, that’s right. He couldn’t.’
‘Perhaps! But it’s not the whole truth. Is it?’
‘What are you getting at?’ said Kay, fidgeting uncomfortably in her chair.
‘Your divorce papers…..’
‘What are you doing, digging into my personal stuff?’
‘Your divorce papers say ‘reason for Divorce, adultery with unknown.’
‘How did you know that? Why are you prying into my life?’
‘Just doing a bit of research that’s all!’
‘Well. Getting a divorce wasn’t easy in those days. We had to invent something and I agreed to…’
‘To be the fall guy?’ Geoffery said, finishing off her statement.
‘Yes. If you want to put it like that.’
‘So, why do George’s solicitors papers, suggest that George was not Tim’s father. If Tim’s birth certificate, says he is?’
‘Where did you find that out?’
‘I have my sources.’
‘It was all OK. Until they were preparing for the operation, and cross matching Tim’s blood type.’
‘Go on,’ Geoffery urged, moving to the edge of his seat.
; ‘George said, that mine and his blood types, couldn’t possibly have been the ones to create Tim’s. It devastated him, us. I couldn’t deny it because of what happened with … with you and me. I knew it could be true.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Geoffery, squirming.
‘Geoff. We destroyed Tim’s life.’
‘No. That’s not right. We might have been stupid but…’
Geoffery’s memory flashed back to that fateful day. It was a happy day. The weather matched the radiant beauty of the lovely bride, Kay. The wedding reception was held in the old Cotswold stone rectory next to the church. The summer sun shone through the old leaded windows, reflecting off the sloping Cotswold stone window sills. Over the centuries, the stonework had become, stained, shiny, from the touch of countless hands, as people gazed out at the rolling countryside beyond. Particles of dust danced in the sun’s rays, carried aloft on small thermals.
Geoffery had been drinking before the service, with some of the other guests. He had gone into the backroom alone, to regain his composure, after seeing his former lover marry his friend.
He was surprised by his heavy heart. He thought he had got over her, a long time before. But the ceremony had penetrated his protective emotional veneer.
Suddenly, the door had opened and in she came. She was looking beautiful in her white, full length, strapless wedding dress, its long train rustling majestically behind her.
She was all giggly. The champagne they had drunk at the top table, had obviously, gone to her head. Geoffery and Kay used to laugh about her inability to hold her drink. He had often taken advantage of her, due to her alcoholically subdued resistance.
‘Oh,’ she said, spotting him sitting in the corner. ‘You made me jump. I’ve just come in to change out of this thing. It’s so hot. What are you doing in here anyway? Why aren’t you enjoying the party?’
‘I thought it might be a bit cooler in here,’ he lied. ‘I’ll just go back and let you change.’
‘Before you go, can you unzip my dress,’ she said innocently. ‘I can’t quite reach the zip at the back.’
‘OK,’ he said, crossing the room.
She turned away from him, lifting her long hair to expose the zip. He gingerly held the thick material at the top of the bodice; her perspiration had made the dress damp. With trembling fingers, he unhooked the small hook at the top of the dress and slowly pulled the zip down. The warmth of her body escaped as the dress gaped open. Her perfume filling his head. Small droplets of perspiration glistened on the soft down that covered the white skin of her slender back.