Austerity Street

by Belinda Bennett

  ‘We’re not going to be flushed for cash, obviously. But we’ll make the best of it. I’ll look for a job. We can’t go on like this. I want you to have the things other kids have got. I mean, look at those trainers.’

  ‘Thanks, mum.’ Davey wrapped his arms around his mum’s waist and rested his chin on one of her shoulders. ‘It’s great to have you back.’

  ‘I’ve been an embarrassment for too long, love,’ she said, running her fingers through his hair. ‘It’s high time I picked myself up by my boot straps and made a life for us. A proper life.’

  Carole-Anne felt intoxicated. In one day, a world of opportunity had opened up to her. A world she hadn’t even thought she was part of.

  ‘I tell you what, we’ll celebrate,’ she gushed, removing herself from Davey’s grasp. ‘I’ve got a tenner somewhere. We’ll treat ourselves to a pizza. Yes, one from Big Joe’s - with extra toppings. We can have it when EastEnders is on.’

  She rushed to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a small cigarette case. The disappointment on her face when she opened it made Davey’s heart sink.

  ‘Bastard!’ she shouted. ‘That bastard took my tenner.’

  She should have known that John would find it. Nothing stayed hidden from him for long. He must have pocketed it while she was out plying her trade earlier that day.

  She held out the empty case. ‘I’m sorry love. We’re flat bleeding broke.’

  He wasn’t sure where it came from, or why, but Davey had a sudden brainwave he could never have seen coming.

  ‘Mum, I know you said you don’t want another man in here, but…’

  ‘But what?’ Carole-Anne snapped. ‘I meant it.’

  ‘I know,’ Davey assured her. ‘But what about a lodger? Someone nice? Someone who wouldn’t mind bunging you thirty quid a week for dossing on the sofa?’

  ‘And where are we going to find someone ‘nice’ around here?’

  In Carole-Anne’s vast experience of men, none stayed on the sofa for long. The thought of another loafer in her bed, pawing at her private parts turned her stomach.

  ‘I know someone. You know him too, mum. He gets benefits but, with a roof over his head, will be in work real quick. Then he may pay more. By the time he moves into a place of his own, you may have a job too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘David Turner.’

  David Turner. The name rang a bell. She was trying to put a face to the name.

  ‘You know, he used to live on Floor Seven. Nice bloke. Bitch of a wife called Angela. He lost his job after she left him. Now he’s sleeping on benches, but is desperate to get back into work. Think about it, mum. We could all help each other out.’

  Carole-Anne was thinking about it. David Turned was an all right bloke. If she was thinking about the same guy, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. In fact, he was one of the gentler folk who had lived at The Farm.

  ‘What do you say, mum?’ Davey pressed.

  Carole-Anne closed her eyes. ‘I say… Yes!’ She blinked them open and smiled. ‘I tell you what, you go and find David and I’ll get down the food bank before it closes. I’ll make sure there’s grub on the table for him.’

  Davey smiled, grabbing his coat from a hook on the back of the kitchen door.

  ‘See you later, mum.’

  She smiled after him, thanking her lucky stars that her Davey, just a lad, had found a solution that helped everyone - and kept her off the streets.

  He’s a good boy.

  The Food Bank - George Street

  ‘Hold mummy’s hand, Millie.’ Justine tucked a wayward strand of dark auburn hair behind an ear while she tightened her grip on the cold, fidgety hand she was clasping.

  ‘Where are we, Mummy?’

  Justine didn’t know what to say. The thought of Millie telling everyone at school that she had been taken to a food bank filled her with dread. So she lied.

  ‘A new shop - where everything is free.’

  ‘Will I get a treat? A Kinder Egg?’ Her sweet little voice tailed off on the word ‘Egg’. It didn’t look like the kind of place you could get chocolate.

  ‘Not today, Millie.’

  The queue outside the church hall was dwindling after a good hour-long wait. Only one person was in front of them, Carole-Anne Bennett. Although she hoped this day wouldn’t come, Justine always knew, sooner or later, it would. The letter informing her of the benefit cut had been coming for a while. Millie was at school and Justine hadn’t found a job.

  She had a pile of rejection letters thicker than a loaf of bread stuffed away in a kitchen drawer. She couldn’t remember how many times she had attended interviews that were a waste of time. As soon as any potential employer realised she may get stuck for childcare in school holidays their initial warmth towards her cooled. Considerably.

  ‘Next!’ a voice called out.

  Justine stepped inside the recently renovated building, noting a modern interior that belied its Victorian facade.

  ‘Over here,’ a kindly woman with a tight, grey perm beckoned.

  Shame was written all over her face as she approached a makeshift counter constructed of neatly lined up tables.

  ‘Do you have a voucher?’ the woman asked.

  Justine shook her head. ‘No, do I need one?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, not necessarily. Take a seat.’

  Justine drew up a black, plastic chair and perched Millie on her lap.

  ‘I just need to take a few details,’ the woman said. ‘One of my colleagues will be able to help you with some budgeting advice in a moment.’

  As Justine spilled out the reason for her visit, she could tell it was a story the woman had heard many times before.

  ‘And you’ve just got the one child?’ she was asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  The woman smiled at Millie, noting her clean clothes and neatly brushed hair.

  ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Justine just wanted a carrier of food and to be on her way but, from where she was sitting, she could sense there may be a bit more to it than holding out a hand and having a bag placed in it.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ the woman assured her. ‘I’ll go and sort you out some food and Margaret, over there, will talk you through your finances - to see if there’s anything you can do to help make your money stretch. I am afraid, because of demand, people can only collect food twice in any six month period.’

  Justine’s heart sank. She couldn’t see things improving in the near future. By the time she had paid a contribution towards council tax, shelled out for gas, electric, water and bought other essentials, there wasn’t much left. Making her money stretch was becoming an almost impossible task.

  Margaret understood. ‘It must be very tough,’ she said sympathetically, after going through Justine’s finances and jotting down a few notes. ‘You seem to be doing everything right, but…’

  ‘I haven’t got enough money to live on,’ Justine said.

  ‘I know,’ Margaret replied. ‘Look, where I can help you is with diet. Here, we’ve prepared these recipe sheets which will help you prepare nutritious meals cheaply.’

  Justine took a bundle of A4 paper from the woman’s hand and waited for her free food. She could hear her stomach rumbling. Every last morsel in her cupboard had been fed to Millie.

  ‘Is there anyone you can turn to for support?’ Margaret asked, almost as an after thought.

  ‘Not around here,’ Millie told her. ‘But, as soon as I can, I hope to move back to Bristol to be closer to my mum. It was a mistake moving to London.’

  ‘And Millie’s father? Does he contribute?’

  Justine shook her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled. ‘And I wouldn’t want him to.’

  She couldn’t bear to say that he didn’t stick around when he found out she was pregnant. It had always been just her and Millie. The fresh start she had hoped for hadn’t materialised. London had only brought her down; sucked her into poverty and held her r
ansom. Now she couldn’t see a way out.

  ‘Here you go, love.’

  The woman with the permed hair passed two bulging carrier bags of food over the counter.

  ‘This should keep you going.’

  Justine nodded, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What is it, Mummy?’ Millie squealed, pointing to the bags, as they left the hall.

  ‘It’s something for your tea. It’s food.’

  ‘Oh,’ Millie said, sounding disappointed.

  As they headed back towards The Farm, Justine could see the lad who’d spoken to her in the precinct up ahead. He was with David Turner and someone else. They appeared to be laughing.

  She heard David say, ‘Thanks, Davey. I really appreciate this. I won’t be any bother.’

  He’s called Davey, she was thinking when she came face-to-face with Paul Jackson, a nice man from the Third Floor. He was probably the only person at The Farm she had any time for.

  ‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘Been to the food bank?’

  Justine glanced down at the bags she was carrying before looking back up at him. ‘Yes.’

  He shook his head. ‘Only three jobs keep me out of that place. I’m on my last legs, love.’

  Paul looked tired. His craggy face seemed to droop slightly, as if he may have had a stroke.

  ‘You don’t look very well,’ Justine told him.

  ‘I feel like crap, but if I don’t go in to work tonight I’ll be for the chop. Big boxing match in Las Vegas - every punter’s taking a bet on it. We’ll be rushed off our feet.’

  Justine forced a smile ‘Hopefully, your shift will go quickly.’

  Paul nodded before casually walking away.

  She turned to watch him fade into the distance, a hint of sorrow in her heart. Poor man.

  Tenth Floor - Number 93

  ‘Sit yourself down here.’ Carole-Anne attempted to plump up a flat cushion that was light years years beyond reviving.

  David Turner plonked his fat ass on the chair she had prepared for him. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Bennett. I won’t be any bother. I promise.’

  He’s polite. Carole-Anne couldn’t remember the last time a man spoke to her like that. I like him already.

  Fresh from a long, hot bath, David’s nose followed the scent of a warm hot meal. He turned in his chair at the kitchen table to see a steaming plate of beans on toast, topped with dried cheese winging its way towards him.

  Mmmm.

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Jacob whispered in Davey’s ear.

  ‘We needed a lodger. He needed somewhere to stay,’ Davey whispered back, gesturing with his head for Jacob to follow him out of the kitchen and into a hallway.

  ‘What?’ Jacob asked as Davey closed the kitchen door behind them.

  ‘I thought it would keep mum on the straight and narrow. David’s too nice to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do, if you know what I mean. Plus, I can make sure he never tells the police he saw us in Joan Smith’s flat. Right?’

  Jacob nodded. ‘Good move. I wouldn’t have thought of that.’

  ‘Are you getting any sleep?’ Davey asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor me. I can’t forget her face. I keep seeing it.’

  ‘Me too.’

  When they rejoined David and Carole-Anne in the kitchen, the convivial atmosphere disarmed them.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t tell you,’ Carole-Anne gushed. ‘Police have halted their inquiry into that old woman’s death. Nothing suspicious.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Davey asked, wanting to look at David and Jacob to see the expressions on their faces but not daring to.

  ‘The lady at the food bank. She said it was on the news.’

  ‘Oh, I must have missed that,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Yes,’ Carole-Anne continued, ‘it would appear, she died of natural causes and a family member has confirmed that nothing was taken from her flat. I suppose, what with cutbacks and all, the police just decided to call it a day.’

  The relief that washed over everyone sat around the table, except Carole-Anne, was carefully concealed.

  ‘Here you go, Jacob - I’ve done you a plate too. Isn’t this nice?’

  ‘Thanks mum,’ Davey said, tucking in to the first meal his mother had cooked him in at least six months.

  And Jacob added, ‘Yeah, thanks. I’m starving.’

  The conversation was limited to the hardships everyone at The Farm faced.

  ‘It’s hardly worth living,’ Carole-Anne quipped after David explained how he had been told he couldn’t be found council-funded accommodation because he wasn’t ‘vulnerable enough’. ‘I mean, all this austerity crap. We’ve seen cutback after cutback, but where’s the money gone? Billions and billions have been saved but, from what I’ve read, national debt is just going up. Someone’s getting rich out of this, and it ain’t us.’

  Davey smiled. ‘Don’t get her going on the subject of politics. We’ll be here all night.’

  ‘Davey!’ Carole-Anne jokingly swiped a hand above his head.

  ‘I don’t mind. Everything’s governed by politics, Davey - right down to the price of a pint.’

  ‘Did you see that prune-faced witch, standing on the steps on Number Ten, saying she wanted to directly address those who were struggling? It made me listen, David, I can tell you. But what a load of bollocks it all was. Have we, the bloody poor, stopped struggling? Nah.’

  It was getting dark when a pot of tea was placed in the middle of the table. Carole-Anne was standing up, arranging mugs before pouring the brew. She was thinking about buying herself a set of cups, matching ones, when everyone was startled by a large object that appeared to fall past the window.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Jacob shouted out, forcing Carole-Anne to turn with a start and face the kitchen window.

  David and Davey ran to the kitchen sink and threw the weight of their bodies against a cupboard. They strained themselves from the waist up, trying to see from the window above a sink full of dirty dishes what had just fallen from the sky.

  ‘What is it?’ Jacob asked.

  ‘It was a bloody person,’ David said. ‘Either they’ve fallen, or jumped. Don’t look - there’s blood everywhere. For Christ’s sake...’

  A commotion in the corridor outside the flat told them sirens would soon be heading their way.

  ‘Let me see,’ Carole-Anne said, nudging Davey aside. She peered down, unable to take her eyes off the shape on the ground below.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get down there.’

  ‘Mum…’

  ‘Well, everyone else will be there. Maybe, we can help.’

  ‘You’re just sticking your nose in, mum.’

  ‘Whatever. Come on.’

  In the corridor, a woman could be heard screaming from a floor above. The screams seemed to be getting louder, and closer.

  ‘No! No! Not my Rashid. Not my Rashid.’

  She was barefoot when Carole-Anne saw her turn into the corridor and start running. The woman was heading directly for her. Only partly dressed, she was clasping a towelling robe to her chest. Carole-Anne stepped aside to avoid a collision.

  ‘Not my Rashid,’ the woman wailed, letting the robe slip and leaving it behind her. She was completely oblivious to the fact that she was running along a corridor in just her underwear. From a distance, she looked naked, her tan bra and pants seamlessly blending in with her olive-coloured skin.

  Carole-Anne ducked down to retrieve the threadbare robe and ran after her.

  ‘Love! Love! You’ve dropped your robe.’

  When she caught up with the sobbing woman in a stairwell two floors up from the ground, she looked like the most broken person Carole-Anne had ever seen.

  ‘Here you are, Love,’ she said, placing the robe around the woman’s shoulders a second before she let her body slide down a dirty, stained wall and meet the floor.

  Carole-Anne crouched down to comfort her.

  ‘Who’s Rash
id?’ she asked.

  ‘My husband!’ the woman cried. ‘My Rashid.’

  A woman Carole-Anne had never seen before, ran up to them. ‘Nadia, what’s happened?’ she asked.

  When she got no sense out of her, she turned to Carole-Anne. ‘I’m her next door neighbour,’ she said.

  Carole-Anne stood up and whispered, ‘I think her husband’s jumped out of a window.’

  ‘Oh, my God. Nadia, is this true?’ She bent down to sweep hair away from Nadia’s face. ‘Has Rashid jumped.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whimpered. ‘He’s gone.’

  A man, who appeared to be a relative, quickly joined them and Nadia fell into his arms the moment he stooped to comfort her.

  The neighbour moved away, joining Carole-Anne a few steps down from the stairwell.

  ‘Awful,’ she said. ‘Poor woman.’

  ‘Why do you think he did it?’ Carole-Anne whispered, not wanting Nadia to hear her.

  The woman moved down a few more steps and gestured Carole-Anne to join her.

  ‘I think The Farm was a bit of a come-down for them. He used to be a banker. I don’t know what happened, but they lost everything. I heard them arguing yesterday - something about having to sell their wedding jewellery.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Carole-Anne said. ‘How awful.’

  ‘Yes, he was terribly depressed. I could hardly get a word out of him,’ the woman continued. ‘I should think that woman’s already been through hell. And now this.’

  They both watched as Nadia was helped to her feet and led back along the corridor, her cries echoing around the Tenth Floor.

  Whitmore House

  Justine heard the screaming long before Millie did.

  ‘What’s that noise, Mummy? Is it a lady crying?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Justine had to admit.

  Her flat overlooked the new developments to the east of the tower block, the other side from where there appeared to be a lot of commotion.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Millie cried. ‘Mummy…’

  ‘It’s nothing to be scared of,’ Justine reassured her. ‘How about we go for a little walk? I am sure it’s just people mucking about. Come on, let’s get your coat.’