Chapter 22
Nigel and Jean spent the morning chatting until the time reached ten to twelve.
Out on the street Nigel was unnerved by the police presence, wondering what had happened he ducked his head and hurried the short distance to the surgery. Looking round the reception he was relieved to see it nearly deserted, a couple of old ladies who smiled and a young mother bouncing a little boy on her knee. The receptionist nodded to show she was aware of both his presence and appointment while reaching towards the intercom. Ignoring the look of disdain Nigel took a seat as far away from everyone as possible.
He'd been there moments when the doctor appeared at the door. Giving him a disapproving look she beckoned with her head for him to follow.
Trailing her down the short corridor he just stopped himself as the door to her office slammed in his face.
When he entered she was already sat behind her desk, looking at him with no attempt to hide her disgust. The wrinkling of her nose suggesting the smell he brought was undesirable.
"What now? She barked.
Taking a deep breath Nigel began,
"Well¦.
She looked flustered,
"Come on, hurry up, I haven't got all day, I've got a lunch meeting.
"Anywhere nice.
"Not that it's any of your business, but yes it's somewhere nice. I'm meeting one of the local councillors to discuss the good work I've been doing here actually. So hurry up, I'm already running late, what's up with you this time that couldn't wait.
In one fluid motion Nigel jumped to his feet landing with his back towards her. Whipping down his trousers he bent over, pulling his arse cheeks apart,
"I'm not sure, but I think my piles might have burst.
The pasty complexion on her face as she wrote out the prescription was enough.
Walking towards the office door Nigel turned smugly,
"Enjoy your meal won't you.
Jean sat watching the news on television, wondering what had happened to the neighbourhood.
It wasn't a new thought, but one which had played on her mind for decades, every so often she was reminded the place was getting worse.
Jean, now in her eighties, had lived on Riverside Street since she was a little girl.
As the area descended into a slum her family had moved on, but she couldn't.
Not that she ever got any trouble from the locals, they were all respectful to her.
Jean believed it was down to God and her favourite Saint looking out for her.
St. Francis of Assisi.
That was who guided her, allowed her to open her door to anyone.
It wasn't that the wolf wanted to hurt you, he was merely hungry, help him don't shun him. She knew religion was laughed at around here, but her belief seemed to have paid off. Despite living in an area full of allsorts of unsavoury characters she'd never been burgled or robbed.
Conned a few times for cash, but she held nothing against them, forgave them all. They were on drink or drugs, they were desperate, they didn't believe and saw no way out of their situation.
Many of the youngsters around here were born into this way of life and who was she, who'd been born into money, to sit and judge the disadvantaged.
Jean understood addicts as much as one could, her nephew had died of a drug overdose years before after being introduced to heroin at public school. His sister had turned to alcohol to deal with his death.
Since her nephew died she'd worked with the disadvantaged, though nowadays she did less. People were forever telling her Nigel was a lost cause, but she didn't see it like that, he was down on his luck, that was all and after everything he'd been through.
Just then she heard a knock at the door, followed moments later by a voice hollering through the letterbox,
"Jean, Jean, you still there?
"Yes, yes, wait up.
"Did you go and see the doctor? She asked walking down the hallway.
"Of course.
"What did she give you for your chest?
Looking at the floor Nigel muttered,
"Nothing, said there was no point because of my drinking.
Jean looked at him sceptically over the top of her glasses,
"She said what, are you sure you went to see her?
"Of course look, he replied, pulling out his prescription, "see I had to see her about this as well.
Reading the offered piece of paper Jean shuddered,
"You should have asked I would have bought you some. Did you have to show her?
Sheepishly Nigel nodded his head.
"Oh Nigel, you really should have had a bath.
She walked down towards the kitchen calling over her shoulder,
"I suppose you want to borrow a couple of pound?
"If that's alright.
"Of course it is.
Nigel thought of something to change the subject,
"I dunno what's happened out there but there's police everywhere.
"A girl overdosed last night, it was on the news earlier.
"No it's more than that, there's loads of them.
"There would be, it was a top police officer's daughter.
"What on drugs?
Jean nodded her head sadly.
"What was she doing round here?
"She was a prostitute Nigel.
His eyes widened,
"You're joking?
"No, I've known her years, poor thing. Anyway here you go, dipping into her purse she pulled out a crumpled five-pound note, "Buy something to eat as well.
"Cheers Jean, you're a star.
"See you later Nigel.
"Yeah, I'll see you in the morning.
After he'd gone Jean sat down thinking about the decline of the area as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Nothing would change, it wouldn't get any better, only worse.
Heading for the shop Nigel thought about the current special offer, eight cans of super strength lager for five pound.
The bloke in front of him at the till was dithering around, undecided which of the lottery scratch cards he wanted.
"For fuck's sake, get a move on.
Though muttered, it was loud enough for the customer to hear. Seeing Nigel stood clutching his drink the man sneered shaking his head.
Before Nigel could say anything, Avi, the shop-owner leant over.
"Is that all Nige?
As soon as he was on the street he ripped one of the cans from it's plastic ring and pulled the tab. Relishing the first swig he sighed as the familiar warmth coursed down his chest. Giving an involuntary shudder he raised the can for another mouthful, before letting out a loud belch.
Ignoring the looks of disgust he set off down the street.
