David's tale

Guildford

Chapter One - Charlotte

Have you ever been to a busy market on a Saturday, and just sat and
watched all the people go by? The mothers with their buggies and
screaming toddlers, teenage girls shouting into their mobile phones as
they spit their chewing gum out onto the street, fat builders wolf
whistling at a smart business women in a black suit. People surround
you, crush you and hold you in their grip. They are one entity, and if
you move against the current of them flowing towards the high street
shops you find you are alone. A straggler holding back the tide of
bodies surging, pushing, pulsing past you.

I'm sitting next to the hairdressers on a set of grey steps outside the
library, chewing some gum. My cloth bag beside me, I sit and
watch.

A tart in a black miniskirt storms past, puffing on her Marlboro and
shouting into her Nokia. I glare at her as she hits the hang up button,
and storms off. She probably subscribes to 'More!' magazine, and it's
obvious her favourite colour is black. Her hips wiggle as she moves off
down the street in her high heels, struggling to stop her skirt from
riding up her bum. 'Tries too hard. Has to keep up the image of a party
girl, when she knows she needs to study. Fed up with the whole
nightclub scene, but doesn't want to lose the mates, who want different
things from life that she does. The chewing gum and dog collar is just
going too far.' I'm getting pretty good at this. Well, I've had enough
practice.

Maybe I'm prying a bit too far into other peoples' lives. A twinge of
conscience flashes past my mind, and I decide to go into the library
for a while.

Have you ever watched someone when they think they're alone? They stop
acting like who they want to be. If you catch them at just the right
moment, they reveal themselves to you. Bearing their own identity as if
it were an albatross, disgraced by the fact that they aren't Miss
Popular, or Mr Perfect. People change themselves to be with other
people. If we all acted like we really are, then I guess the world
would be a better place.

I walk up to a shelf and choose a book at random. I turn it over, and
stare at the cover. It has a picture of a torn photo, a rose and a
bullet. The authors name is slashed against it in big gold lettering
and the title is in gold, raised print. 'The Omega Conspiracy', I say
quietly to myself. 'Oh well, it'll do.' I slip over to a small corner
where a few deep red chairs are stationed and slump down into one. I
immediately sink down into the fabric and soft stuffing. It's a
struggle for air, but I eventually manage to find a position where I'm
not being suffocated by the chair or twisted into some position that
would make even a contortionist groan. How can something that soft be
so uncomfortable?

I pick up my book and flick to the first page. Cautiously peering over
the top, I spy my object of scrutiny - a fat, balding man wearing
rumpled beige chinos and boat shoes. His green knitted jumper is
sitting on the table next to him and he has sweat patches under his
arms where his white pinstripe shirt has just been too hot for
him.

He has his back turned towards me, and I can see his receeding ginger
hairline coming back to greet his large bald spot. He must feel my eyes
scanning the back of his neck, because he suddenly whips around to
glare at me. I quickly flip a page and carry on the pretence of
reading. Slowly, he twists back round to his thick novel.

I wonder if I'm too judgemental. I've never spoken to this man, yet I
find myself thinking that he has a wife, maybe a son. The son would be
about seven, and called some ridiculous Americanised name, for which he
would be taunted at school. But the father would ignore it. I can
imagine him sitting by a roaring fire, even in mid July, shouting to
his poor, sweet wife. She'd be thin. Mouse brown hair, very quiet sort
of person. And I get all this from his clothes? I stare down at what
I'm wearing. My dark blue flares clash with the bright red seat, not
that I care. My grey jumper is tied round my waist, and it sets off the
pink top I'm wearing. I remind myself to get my highlights redone when
I have enough money.

I glance up. The man has gone. His name, what he did, who he
was?doesn't matter anymore. All I have is a first impression.

I'm bored. The chair smells of mouldy urine, and there's a greasy
(Italian/English? 28?) guy standing in the corner, eyeing me up. I
place the book back onto the shelf, and make my way to the exit.

It's cold outside. I untie my sweater and pull it on over my head. A
woman walks past, holding a black umbrella and a taupe suitcase. I
dismiss her as being boring, and start down the street, in search of
some other person to observe.

I find a prime example standing outside Woolworth's. She is wearing a
pink coat with brown shoes and a red skirt. Slightly overweight, she
stares through the window at the confectionary, and absentmindedly
scratches her bottom.

Clutching her red and white bags close to her, she turns away from the
window and takes slow, heavy steps towards the doorway. She pauses, but
makes up her mind and determinedly strolls in. I decide to
follow.

Stopping by the CD selection, she picks up a classic - Bach, to be
precise. Personally, I'm not into that sort of thing. Boring boring
boring is my view. But, well, who really cares? Nobody is going to ask
me about my opinion on classical composers and their work. Not since I
gave up music in year 11.

The woman scurries over to the chocolates, and picks up a large box of
Cadbury's Roses. She stares at them for a while, then shakes her head
and replaces the pack. Having made this obvious act of defiance to her
weight, she rushes up to the till. 'Pretentious.' I think to myself.
'Wants to be in "proper" society and mingle with the upper class. With
a capital U. She probably has an umbrella stand.'

Having made my analysis of this woman, I browse around Woollies for a
bit longer before leaving. So as not to arouse any suspicion, I buy a
magazine and a diet coke. The words 'Becks gets new haircut - shaving
mania sweeps Britain!' are emblazoned across the front. I sigh. 'David
Beckham gets a shaved head and it's scrawled across all of England.
It's just stupid, really.'

A man is sitting outside TopShop on a bright blue sleeping bag, his
hand open and asking for spare change. A moth-eaten dog is lying by his
side, its mournful brown eyes staring up at me, daring me not to feed
it. The man catches my eye; I try not to notice, but he's seen me. I'm
his prey - but I'm not going down without a fight.

'Spare change? C'mon, luvly lady like you gotta 'ave some spare
change.'

His rough accent grates across my mind, screaming at my brain.

'Sorry.'

I almost run away from him. I've always?well, not hated homeless
people?just been a bit distrustful. I'm not the most generous of
people, and the red hot guilt that they shovel onto my nerves makes me
want to scream 'NO!' and run as fast as I can.

I look behind me. His hand is outstretched to another shopper, who is
fumbling in his wallet. I stare at the scene, and slowly walk back. I
do not know why I'm doing it. Why was this man, alone of all the other
people in the world, deserving of my McDonalds wages and my
charity?

I am standing in front of him. His black hair falls into his eyes, and
I can see how greasy it is. All I know is that this is something that
has to be done. Maybe I had to realise that just because someone was
homeless, doesn't mean they are or were a bad person. Or it was just
one of those quirks of human nature that we sometimes do?

Gruffly, he opens his lips and begins to shape the words 'Spare?' but I
cut him off by snatching my bag off my shoulder and taking out my
purse. I take out a ten-pound note and press it into the dirty palm,
stretched in pleading and gnarled by years of life.

'Thanks.'

2

It ain't every day I get somethin like that happening. I mean, mostly
you just get ignored. People don't want to notice you, 'cause you scare
them. I know her type. She's probably got some posh job in London,
earns maybe 30 grand and she don't even like looking at me. People are
scared, that's what I think. They don't want to know about you in case
they become you. But maybe this one had decided she liked the look of
me or something, anyway, I wasn't going to complain. I thought I might
get some food - you know, decent food. Not that crap you get down the
YMCA. Thin soup, old bread?it ain't much, but it's all I can usually
have. That or burgers that people decided they don't want anymore
'cause they're on a new diet. I don't see the point of diets. If I had
enough money I'd never stop eating, 'cause I know what it's like to be
really hungry, and know you ain't got enough cash to buy a sandwich in
Sainsbury's.

So anyway, I went down to M and S. Jon said they did well nice food in
there, and I thought I'd get myself some socks or something, 'cause
October's coming up and that ain't the best time to be outside.

It'd all changed when I got in. I ain't been in there for couple of
years at least, when all they did was posh trousers and woolly jumpers.
Now it's all loud music and 30 year olds trying to be 20 again. I
remember when Debs went through that, she was all tight miniskirts and
too much makeup. Just 'cause we couldn't afford it didn't stop her, she
wanted it all anyway. But then again I guess she was like that?she
always wanted to be one of those girls in the city, with her posh
husband and her pretty kids all dressed in matching jackets. Gucci
jackets, ?100, and we wouldn't think nothing of it. 'Course, after Mike
that was all she could think about, I guess. Posh jackets with matching
trainers and private school - but we wouldn't be snobs, 'cause we knew
what it was like on The Estate, and we'd always keep talking to Carol.
We owed her a lot, our Carol, she didn't have nothing but what she had
she gave to the kids. She couldn't have kids of her own, so she played
with ours instead. Carl had already left with everything of hers, but
she didn't want to sue in case he came back and she'd have to support
him with everything that she'd taken away. But she loved Mike, she used
to take him out down the Park to the swings, he loved the swings. I
wonder if he still goes down there. He'll be 15 next month, so he
probably goes down just to have a quiet fag.

We used to go there when we were kids, me and Debs, one time we got
caught by her dad, and he was so mad I couldn't see her for nearly two
months. I ain't seen her for eight years now. I wonder if she still
dyes her hair. Debs always used to borrow her hair dye and they'd dye
it together like some little schoolgirls, sitting giggling in the
bathroom 'til all hours. One time I got so het up about it that I
stormed in there at midnight and told them if they didn't shut it I was
going to me mam's for the night, 'cause I didn't want to hear them
gossiping all night about that boy down the road - Adam? - who was
going out with some 15 year old. It wouldn't matter if he weren't 20,
but they were up in arms about it and asking where the mother was. I
told them to shut it, it weren't none of their business. Debs told me
to sod off if I couldn't be civil when Mike walked in. He was crying.
Debs picked him up and yelled at me for upsetting him, I yelled back
that I wasn't going to take anything from her, when I'd supported her
ever since she had Mike, and most blokes would've run off. She told me
not to bring it up?Debs went home with Carol that night. I ain't really
seen her since. We didn't have a court case, she just told everyone
that I'd been a bad father and I got thrown out. Didn't have much
choice really, didn't know I could see Mike and by the time I found out
Debbie had run off with him. Carol wouldn't let me know where he was.
He was only four - I wonder what his mam's told him about how I
abandoned him.

This girl looked exactly like Debs. Maybe a bit fatter, but she had the
same hair and she just reminded me. But now 'cause of her I was going
to get a sandwich. I didn't know which one to get, 'cause they all had
all this crap inside them, mayonnaise and all that, and all I wanted
was cheese and pickle, I didn't care. So I had to buy some cheap bread
and make it myself, but it was nicer than anything I've ever had out of
Burger King. And the loaf lasted me ages, I made it last for ages
'cause I knew I was lucky to get that tenner. I wanted some socks as
well, like I said, so I went to get them but I got lost. Some lady came
and asked me what was wrong, I told her if they was going to keep
redoing the shop every time I went in then course something was wrong,
how was I supposed to find some socks if they kept hiding them? She
wanted to tell me off, but she didn't come near me, not 'cause of my
clothes. I don't care, not my fault I can't afford much new stuff
anymore, if she was so worried I didn't see why she didn't buy me some
new trousers. My jeans got big rips in them - I see all these people
with their big trousers with bits ripped off the bottom. Millions of
little girls all in the same thing. I wonder if they'd buy them if they
had to sleep in them every night, like I do. I used to hand out the Big
Issue but there's so many people doing it now that everyone just thinks
you're a millionaire trying to talk to the commoners so they don't buy
it off me anymore.

I found the socks in the underwear bit downstairs. Don't see why they
were hidden away at the back. Everyone needs socks, you'd think they'd
put them at the front and save you time rather than hiding them at the
back. I found some big black ones, nice and thick. I bought two pairs
so I could wear them on top of each other to keep me warmer.

There was another girl at the checkout. Only about 16, guess this was
her pocket money or something. She was pretty. Not as pretty as my
Debbie. But she had this little laugh about her that made you wish you
was 18 again. She reminded me of that girl, they had the same feel
about them, you know?

'There you go, sir. That will be five ninety-eight.'
I handed her the money, and she pushed the bag back towards me with my
change and a smile.

'Thanks.'

Marks and Spencer

I only took this job because Sainsbury's was too boring. I spent a year
there and all I got was some stupid discount card. I don't even shop at
Sainsbury's; I only went there for a temporary job before I got my
first hospital placement. Turns out I can earn more stacking shelves
than saving lives and after all - what does job satisfaction count for?
My dad says that you got to be happy in your work before you can be
happy in your life, but then David says stuff it, we need food on the
table. After all, I can't exactly leave my kids to starve just because
I want to have some fun. David can't work - his back hurts too much to
build, and he ain't trained for much else. Maybe he could work at
Sainsbury's, but I know he'd get bored there. I don't mind working on
Saturdays, because he takes the kids to the park to play football.
There used to be a big roundabout there, but they tore it down to build
a miniature golf course. David thinks we don't need one, because the
roundabout was free but golf costs four pound each, which means I have
to work an extra four hours for them to go golfing. I don't mind, the
work here isn't bad after all. The girls and I have a nice gossip about
everything. Besides, David's in such a good mood when I get home
because he's always coming up with some moneymaking scheme that'll take
us out of this dump and get the girls somewhere nice to grow up. Him
and Matt decided last week hat they'd start up one of those internet
businesses for Matt's mechanics place just down the road. I said to
him:

'You haven't even got a computer! And those website people cost a bomb,
Siobhan said that James had a look and they cost hundreds, even for a
cheap one.'

'Yeh, but James didn't have a mate who was a computer man did he?
Adam's amazing at computers, he does loads of stuff for companies and
all that. He said he knew a place we could get a free webpage from, and
then he'd design it. It's all sorted.'

Honestly, he always says he's got everything sorted when really he
doesn't have a clue what he's on about. I bet he doesn't even know what
a webpage is or anything, and he's only trying to sound technical.
Lucie and Danielle started computer studies last year, and now they go
on about it like anything. You'd think they knew how to build a
computer from what they say.

Saturday's the worst, because it's so busy. You have to be there at
eight to make sure everything's in place, and you don't get home until
six because you have to tidy the whole store. It's less hard work than
before though, so I don't get sore arms from stretching up to the
higher shelves. Besides, I get a discount on all the clothes for me and
the kids, so they always look nice and neat.

Dani got a new jacket for her birthday and she hasn't taken it off
since. She used to dance round the house with it and wouldn't go
anywhere without wearing it. Luce got a new mobile and she still dances
around with it at all hours. Dani keeps complaining that she is woken
up by Lucie's texting at midnight. David told Luce that if she didn't
shut it he'd chuck the phone out the window, but we can't afford a new
one so Luce knows he'd just being stupid. But it's nice to know that
they use what we gave them for their birthdays, otherwise what's the
point of working full time?

We got this one bloke - came in the other day, actually. He just
wonders around, completely pissed, until one the girls shoos him out
the front door. He never buys nothing either, just socks or boxers. And
he stares at you weirdly. Everyone's seen him looking at Karen and he
always goes to her counter when he comes in. Dunno why, she's just some
big flirt. She thinks he's sweet, but she would, she doesn't have to
deal with his bad breath when he comes and asks where you've moved the
bread to now.

I helped him the other day. He wanted some socks - big black ones. He
said that this girl had just given him a fiver, but that he weren't
disappointed because she gave him a smile for the first time. He seemed
well pleased that she'd told him her name, but I figure he's making it
up. I bet he stole the cash - why would a girl give him money? Him and
his scruffy little mongrel that he ties up outside Martin's every day
to try and attract some punters. He's polite though, I'll give him
that. He always says thanks. He told me that Debs had always liked nice
manners, and he wanted to be like Debs had wanted him to be. I dunno
who 'Debs' is. Maybe she's his ex-wife or mother or sister or
something. He sure as hell ain't talking to her now, otherwise why'd he
be sitting outside Maccy D's waiting for cheeseburgers? I had to hold
the door for him the other day, and he turned around and said thanks.
Just like that, with a big smile on his face, looking so happy about
being a gentleman. Well, treated like one at least. Next time he went
past he held the door open for me, as if I was the customer and he was
the assistant being paid a fiver an hour to fold things. I do that at
home for free, and I don't get a thanks for that there. But I turned
round with this big grin, just like he did.

'Thanks.'