Looking for Andrew (Journal 6)
By Canonette
- 647 reads
Note regarding the previous journal entry (now removed): A plan to remove Andrew from the streets, by crowdfunding his deposit and placing him into privately rented accommodation, proved to be unrealistic, for reasons that I can’t go into here. It seems that Andrew hasn’t been able to maintain any normal domestic arrangements previously and therefore ends up on the streets again every time he is housed. We continue to pursue other channels, preferably for some sort of supported accommodation and I am trying to get him classed as 'vulnerable' by the council, due to his Diabetes. I have verbal agreement from Andrew (not his real name) to write about him, but should he change his mind, then I'll take this journal down. Some of the crowdfunded money went on Andrew's stay in a hotel, a copy of his birth certificate and other items but the remaining funds are being used to help other homeless people with things such as interview clothes and ID.
I’ve hit an obstacle with Andrew: the obstacle being his own brain. I went to meet him for lunch and found him to be as depressed as I’ve ever seen him. His posture was awful; he is normally stooped, but it seemed as though he didn’t have the energy to even hold his head up. His long neck was permanently bent and his vertebrae stuck up like battlements along it. He checked his phone constantly and wouldn’t engage with me, apart from to ask me to buy him a pouch of tobacco. I stupidly agreed, not having bought cigarettes since the eighties, and was surprised to find myself nearly twenty quid worse off.
He ate his Pret lasagne quickly, but seemingly without enjoyment, although he later he told me that it was even nicer than the M&S one I’d bought him on Sunday. His face briefly lit up when I handed him a bag of Wine Gums, but otherwise he seemed tortured.
What a surprise then, when he eventually told me that he had spent the night in an hotel, in a real bed, rather than in a doorway. It was nice he said, but he hadn’t slept, as he’d spent the whole night watching telly. I managed to wheedle it out of him, that the kind lady who had previously given him a “touch screen” phone, had crowdfunded a place for him to sleep for a few nights, and the reason he kept checking his phone was that he had arranged to meet her.
I decided that I could risk being back at work late, in order to introduce myself to this guardian angel. We sat on a bench, and I found myself sandwiched between Andrew playing Candy Crush on his phone and a man belching and muttering to my left.
“That’s her!” Andrew spotted the lady outside Greggs and we walked over to speak to her.
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Andrew hasn’t been seen for a couple of days. This is nothing unusual, but his disappearance came after quite a big blow to him regarding his housing situation and I’ve been worried that he’s harmed himself in some way. Andrew has unrealistic ‘rescue’ expectations to do with his homelessness, but this requires him to be in denial about his personal problems. It makes him difficult to deal with, as he simply won’t tell you the truth.
I look for him in the usual places and then decide to try the Soup Bowl – a daily church-run feeding station for the homeless. I’ve never been here before, but spot one of the rough sleepers who were sharing the cardboard encampment with Andrew on Saturday night. He’s sitting in the car park and when I get closer, I realise he’s in conversation with a very dodgy looking man. The man has a tanned, bald bullet head and the facial scars I’d associate with a “Chelsea Smile”.
I apologise for disturbing them, but ask if they’ve seen Andrew. The Chelsea Smiler adopts an obsequious tone with me and thanks me for being so caring towards Andrew, but this only serves to make him seem even more sinister. Neither of them have seen him, or if they have, then they’re not saying.
I decide to poke my head into the feeding station – mostly out of curiosity, as I know that Andrew won’t be in there. A strange and depressing scene awaits me. From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I see a typical church hall with a stage and a long banqueting style table laid out near a food hatch.
On the stage a young homeless man is seated on a throne and at the table a handful of mostly elderly homeless men are eating. There is no interaction between them, they have their heads bowed over their plates of food. From the stage, the young man stares directly at me in a confident manner. It’s times like this that I wish I wasn’t so short-sighted, so that I could see if I recognise him, but I realise he reminds me of The Emperor from a tarot pack.
Back outside an older homeless man with a Scottish accent wonders if he can assist me. I ask if he’s seen Andrew. – lanky, diabetic. “Oh aye,” he says. “Andy. No I’ve not seen him. Are you his mum?” I’m definitely not, I say. “His girlfriend, then?” No, not that either – I’m just a friend. The man’s hand shoots up in the air, like a child in a classroom. “I need a friend!” he says.
On the way back out of the building, I see a young couple furtively manoeuvring a brand new TV behind a parked car. It’s as my friend’s husband said, just like Fagin and his gang.
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Comments
I'm sorry to hear the latest
I'm sorry to hear the latest news on Andrew, I do hope he is okay.
Jenny.
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Your description in the last
Your description in the last few lines - it also reminds me of those criminals who find vulnerable people and make them into slaves. Poor Andrew, and what a worry it must be for you too. I hope you're ok
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oh yes, I'd forgotten about
oh yes, I'd forgotten about that too - we have lots of county lines things going on here in suffolk
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