After passing the male transsexual who Tom told looked pretty and made his or “her” day, they arrived at a shabby-looking building. Above the pale, wooden door, a sign read, ‘Soup kitchen for the homeless, open Saturday and Sunday 12-4’.
‘This way,’ Mark said, opening the door. ‘Mind the step…and the rubbish,’ he added, gesturing to some cardboard boxes as they walked down the dank corridor.
Amy could hear talking and cutlery clinking coming from behind the door at the bottom of the corridor and as Mark opened a door, she saw why. A vast difference to what would be a regular café, the place was as big as Winston’s two shops together, and not decorated nicely at all. It had an open kitchen in the corner where many homeless men and women were queuing at the counter. Amy watched as a scraggy-haired lady handed bowls of some sloppy mixture to them. A notice board behind indicated that it was hotpot.
The rest of the place was filled with old tables and chairs, most of them occupied.
‘Hello there,’ began a ginger-haired grizzly looking man who sat at the table beside them. ‘My name’s George.’
‘Hello,’ Tom replied. ‘I’m Tom and this is my mum, Amy.’
George coughed uncontrollably, bits of hotpot flying from his mouth, his huge belly shaking as he did.
Tom patted his back instinctively. ‘Mum, he’s not well,’ Tom announced, looking concerned. ‘Can he stay with us?’ he added.
Before Amy could answer, George raised his hand. ‘No, no,’ he spluttered, ‘I’m okay. I’m staying with Mark!’
‘Yes, unfortunately!’ Mark laughed.
‘Don’t be cheeky, sonny Jim!’ George said.
‘Who’s Jim?’ Tom asked.
‘It’s a saying,’ Amy explained.
‘Oh,’ Tom said, looking interested. ‘It’s okay, Jim,’ he added to Mark, ‘I’m Aleck!’ Tom raised his hand and gave Mark a high-five.
‘Why you here, Tom?’ George asked.
‘He’s helping,’ Mark boasted, looking at Tom fondly.
‘Get me another cuppa then!’ George ordered, unimpressed.
‘Course,’ Tom said, eager to have his first job.
‘Err, I don’t know if you should carry hot tea, Tom,’ Amy said.
‘I can do it, Mum. I’m twice the size I should be, and if I burn myself, I’ll just heal it!’ he offered, as though his reasoning was perfectly logical. Having no reaction to what Tom claimed, Mark looked at Amy for her answer. Amy, realising Mark must think this was normal behaviour for a child, or for just knowing Tom as well as he did, nodded.
‘Let’s get George that cup of tea then, shall we?’ Mark asked. They followed Tom to a table full of cups and saucers. Mark placed one under the hot drinks machine at the side of the table and handed it to Tom. Amy watched on tenterhooks as he crept over with the mug of tea and placed it carefully onto George’s table, expecting a clap…or a thank you…or something from George.
‘Well, get us the sugar, sonny,’ George ordered.
‘Oh, okay,’ Tom said, running back to retrieve it.
‘Ahh,’ George murmured, taking a big gulp and winking at Tom. ‘I needed that.’ Tom beamed at him and then turned to Mark, eager for his next assignment.
‘Come on, then,’ Mark said, leading them both behind the counter and, after introducing them to Joyce, the lady who was serving, he led them into another room in the back.
‘These need to be dished out,’ he instructed, pointing to a table full of bread rolls. He then grabbed a large wicker basket from the shelf. ‘You can carry them in this.’ Tom got to work straight away. ‘As for you,’ he said, turning to Amy, ‘first things first.’ He opened a drawer and rummaged inside. ‘Ah ha,’ he said, pulling out a bobble. ‘Turn around.’
Amy turned and, as his huge hands lifted her hair, his gentle fingers brushed her neck and a powerful, tingling sensation shot through her body, leaving her legs feeling like they’d lost their bones. He twisted the hair around and, after securing it up in scruffy bun, placed a chef’s hat on top.
‘Gorgeous!’ he stated, stepping in front with a sarcastic smile. As he took in her expression, his smile wavered. She didn’t know what sort of feelings had betrayed themselves on her face, but she was definitely in some kind of bizarre, extraordinary and extremely aroused state.
‘Shall I take more?’ Tom interrupted, making Amy jump. He must have been on full speed or she’d been gaping longer than she thought; either way it brought her back down to Earth.
‘Yes,’ Mark said. Amy was about to enter dreamland again of what a perfect dad he’d make for Tom when Mark turned to her, placing his hand on her forearm to get her attention. ‘Are you okay to help Joyce serve?’
‘Yep,’ she gasped, savouring his touch.
For the rest of the afternoon, Amy served and washed pots while gaping at Mark and admiring Tom, who rushed around without making a mistake. Just before closing, a skinny, scraggy-haired girl around eleven walked in. She looked around the place, her honey-brown eyes showing how nervous she felt, then sat in a chair by the door.
Amy stared at her and thought about the girl’s parents. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than having a child who lived on the streets. Amy crept to her table and slowly sat on the chair opposite, noticing how pale she was behind the dirt on her face.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ Amy asked, her tone gentle.
The girl looked over to the canteen area and shook her head.
‘You don’t have to pay.’
Her eyes lit. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.
‘Have you got somewhere to sleep, sweetheart?’ Amy asked, taking her hand. The girl pulled her hand away.
‘It’s a secret place!’ she whispered, her sad, doe-like eyes full of fear. ‘I won’t tell you where it is,’ she added, slowly shaking her head. ‘I don’t like people near me when it’s dark.’
‘Can you tell me your name?’ Amy asked.
The girl considered Amy for a moment and then abruptly stood. ‘I’m not going back,’ she said, grabbing a dirty, pink bag from her side.
‘What do you mean?’ Amy said, panicking.
‘You’re asking my name so you can send me home! That’s what happened last time and I ran away again and…’
‘Please, sit down, Lucy,’ Tom interrupted from behind Amy. ‘We won’t do anything you don’t want us to. We’re just here to bring you some food, aren’t we, Mum?’
‘Yes,’ Amy said, trying to convince her. ‘No more questions, I promise.’
‘I’ll bring you a hot chocolate if you like.’ Tom smiled.
The girl looked from Amy to Tom while clutching her tatty bag then, after consideration, sunk into the chair.
Amy left her at the table with Tom and, after taking her a bowl of hotpot, went to find Mark, who was in the back, counting up the small contributions. Amy quickly told Mark about the girl and how she was worried about her. He nodded in sympathy.
‘It’s going to go dark soon and she’s sleeping on the streets,’ Amy said. ‘We need to phone the authorities.’
‘I understand,’ Mark answered. ‘I’ll get some details and we’ll see what we can do for her.’ He walked over to her table but, taking one look at him, she dropped her spoon and ran. Mark ran straight out after her.
‘Wait here with Joyce,’ Amy instructed Tom, who nodded in agreement.
Mark called the name Lucy but the girl wouldn’t wait. She ran up Canal Street, across Portland Street, through the bus station and onto Piccadilly Gardens without any concern for her safety. Amy weaved through the traffic that had slowed in response, then watched in amazement how not one person who sat watching the fountains took any notice of a six foot man chasing a young and obviously frightened girl.
The girl was fast. She sped through the gardens onto Market Street and then raced her way up the full length of Tib Street onto the outskirts of town. As Amy reached the main road, she had to stop to take a breath.
With her hands on her knees, Amy watc
hed Mark dash across the busy road and finally catch up to the girl. No sooner had he placed his hand on her shoulder, she stopped to talk to him like they were the best of friends. Keeping his hand on her shoulder, he then led her down the side of a row of shops and out of sight. Amy took a deep breath and crossed the road wondering why he hadn’t turned back.
They had now crossed another main road farther up and were walking behind the skate park. She passed the back street car parks and old factories and ran across the road and, before she reached the skate park, she imagined there to be more car parks and old factories behind it. As she turned the corner they had ventured down, however, she jumped back in shock. To her utter bewilderment she somehow stood at the foot of a clover covered, meadow-type hill, under a white lattice archway bearing the words ‘Garden of Need’, looking down onto a beautiful, perfect square, which could have easily held another four car parks, of what could only be described as a botanical paradise.
The square garden was made by a gigantic stone wall draped with climbing vines, lush flowers and an abundance of colour, blocking out all the surrounding area. There were stone and marble statues situated next to stepped water featured areas, and in the centre of all the magnificent surroundings was an oblong, grey stone three-storey high building.
Amy turned back confused. Behind her was the busyness of town, with its main roads, old factories and shops, and in front of her was what looked like the hanging gardens of Babylon. Amy hadn’t a clue such a place existed. She didn’t realise there were any greenbelt areas in the middle of town, but it was obvious why it was never allowed to be built on. With masses of colour flooding the entire area, the place was like a treasured oasis.
For a moment, Amy wondered who could possibly live in such a beautiful building like this until she noticed Mark and Lucy walk up the steps leading to the double doors of the building, and Mark take out a set of keys. When he opened the door and led Lucy inside, Amy became even more confused. Amy stood in shock on the clover-covered hill to fully take in the place.
It wasn’t a mansion as such, but the symmetrical building had two huge windows either side of the double doors, five medium-sized windows on the second floor and the same on the third, with white shutters and curtains up at each. Beautiful flowered baskets hung beside the front doors like it attempted to be a house, yet it wasn’t quite. Amy walked down the hill and around the pond and, as she climbed the steps to the building, her heart rapid, the home seemed to grow in size.
Above the doors, a placard stated the place was an orphanage that opened in 1730. If she stepped down from the porch she wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the windowsills so if she wanted to know what was going on, she would have to knock. She thought about it for a second as she looked around. There was no one else in sight. The town had vanished, and there was no noise except the sound of flowing water. No visitors at all; just her. With a creaking noise, one of the double doors opened.
After looking at it for a moment, Amy edged forward, trying to get a peep inside. Just as she did, a wild, frizzy-haired woman pounced in front of her and screamed, ‘Whatcha doin? Don’t yer know I’m mad?’
Amy stumbled back, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the crazed woman in front of her. With protruding, unfocussed eyes and a deranged crocodile grin, she poked her bony, nicotine-stained finger into Amy’s shoulder and Amy stumbled down the steps of the porch back onto the path. The woman twitched her way down the steps after Amy, her wild, frizzy mane wafting along behind her, the light revealing how bald she was underneath the few strands she had but before she reached Amy, Mark came to the door.
‘What are you doing, Mad-Doris?’ he asked calmly.
‘I’m telling this ‘ere madam that I’m maaad,’ she hissed, shaking her head and acting like a pirate. ‘I won’ be ‘avin no messin’ roun’ ‘ere!’ She placed her hands on her hips, her chin whiskers bent up towards him.
‘Amy,’ Mark said, rolling his eyes. ‘This is Mad-Doris. She’s a bit mad and she doesn’t like no messin’!’ He winked at Amy for her to humour the woman as he took her hand.
‘Okay,’ Amy stammered, nervously climbing back up the steps. ‘Nice to meet you, Doris.’
‘It’s Mad-Doris, fank yer very much!’ she quacked, obviously insulted.
‘Sorry—err, nice to meet you, Mad-Doris.’
Mad-Doris studied Amy for a second, then her shoulders relaxed. ‘Yer look like a nice enough money grabber girl. Yer can come in.’ She smiled as if the screaming insult hadn’t entered her speech and cleared the doorway.
‘O…kay!’ Amy said, wide eyed.
‘Mad-Doris has recently discovered Tourette Syndrome,’ Mark scowled, indicating it was more of a self-inflicted syndrome, but he looked amused. ‘Come in.’
Mark opened the door to reveal a magnificent hallway. A perfect square, it had a gleaming white marble floor, which underlined a massive rich oak staircase. Open-mouthed, she took in the rest. At the top of the staircase, a balcony ran off to either side of the second floor. On this floor were two more staircases, which ran off left and right, leading to the third floor. A giant widow in the ceiling allowed light to highlight the intricate detail carved into the colonial spindles of each staircase.
To the left and right of the hallway were large, matching archways that led into wide, open rooms. Underneath the balcony, which would be the back of the house, were two closed doors, leaving the inside as stunningly symmetrical as the outside.
‘Are yer sure you wanna risk it?’ Mad-Doris said from behind, making Amy jump. ‘We’re all a bit mad in ‘ere!’
‘Hey!’ boomed a man’s voice to her right. Amy turned to see a middle-aged gentleman at a table in the alcove beside the entrance doors. Under his trilby’s shadow was a well lived-in face and a prudent smile. ‘You’re the only mad one around ‘ere woman.’
‘Oh, that’s righ’, I aaam!’ she said. Her bulging eyes happy that he’d pointed that out, she ran through the left archway that led into a huge kitchen with a rectangular red oak table.
‘This is Harold,’ Mark announced. ‘Harold, this is Amy.’
‘How do?’ Harold said, lifting his trilby to give Amy a friendly nod.
‘Come through,’ Mark instructed. Grabbing her hand, he led Amy past Harold, who was shuffling a deck of cards, and under the right hand archway, which led into the largest living room she’d ever seen.
Although everything in the room was old, it had three televisions with seated areas, a pool table and a dartboard. It had the huge main window at the front, three medium-sized windows along the side looking out to the wonderful landscape, and one at the back that led out to an even brighter patch of land full of trees and tropical flowers. As Amy sat, she could see Mad-Doris across the hall who now sat at the kitchen table.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ she asked naturally, like the place wasn’t overwhelming. ‘If that’s actually her name.’
‘It is. I’ve sent her upstairs with Justine. I’ve given her a key to a room she can have until we sort her out.’ Amy craned her neck to look at the staircases and wondered which floor she was on. She also wondered where the two closed doors behind the stairs led.
‘How many bedrooms has this place got?’ Amy asked, wondering if he was the Mark Smith Alicia had spoken about.
‘Twenty,’ he answered. ‘Ten on the second floor and ten on the third.’
‘Oh,’ Amy said, clearly astonished. ‘The sign outside says it’s an orphanage?’
‘It was. It was my home for a while after my parents died. They were going to demolish it after it closed so I bought it and renovated it. I’d never spent any of the money they left me until buying this. I never wanted to spend their money unless it could help others and, after the Garden of Need was created, it has.’ He smiled but she could see his parents’ death still weighed heavy.
‘Wow,’ Amy said. As her heart went out to him for his loss, she knew she was in love with him. ‘How do you manage to keep the place clean?’ she
asked, trying to lighten the conversation.
‘I have a cleaner that I couldn’t live without. The place is quite empty at the moment, though. Living here permanently are Mad-Doris,’ he said, smiling, ‘Harold, George—even though he eats at the kitchen as well—and Mary, who’s about somewhere.’ He stretched his neck across the hall. ‘None permanent are Justine, Charlie, Robert and Stan, who are moving out next week. They’ve been able to get a place of their own now they all have jobs.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Amy said, feeling smaller by the minute.
She couldn’t believe it: Mark had to be the person Alicia had spoken about. He must have loads of money to be able to employ people, and yet, even though he’d given up a life of luxury to help others in need, he’d never once, in all the time she knew him, mentioned it. As Amy looked into his kind eyes and listened to his soft, velvety voice, she wondered how a man could be so noble and selfless. Like seeing him properly for the first time, she gaped at him in awe.
Her instincts had always told her there was something about him. She knew he was something special but as her feelings for him increased by the second, she thought about what Alicia had said: that someone like him wouldn’t be interested in her. As she looked into his caring eyes, however, she didn’t believe that for one moment. He may not be in love with her, but he looked at her like she was a precious gift and he treated her like he respected her feelings. ‘Who’s got Tom?’ Mark asked.
She stood in alarm. ‘I left him with Joyce!’
‘He’ll be fine,’ he assured, standing. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘No,’ she countered. He looked dubious. ‘Honest! I’ll run. You take care of Lucy.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Will you ask Joyce to lock up for me?’ He handed Amy a set of keys, making her realise what else he owned. ‘I’ll let you know what we’re going to do with Lucy, but if she doesn’t want to go home, I’ll foster her.’
‘What?’ Amy stammered, again shocked.
‘I’m a foster parent as well. I registered because, sadly, we get quite a few children nowadays. This is like a halfway house. They stay until we can get them back to their own parents or, in Lucy’s case, because she doesn’t want to go home, foster families.’ Mark looked to be saddened for her.
The Guardian's Protector: The Chamber of Souls Page 14