You can call me Link. It’s not my name, but it’s what I say when anybody asks, which isn’t often. I’m invisible, see? One of the invisible people. Right now I’m sitting in a doorway watching the passers-by. They avoid looking at me. They’re afraid I want something they’ve got, and they’re right. Also, they don’t want to think about me. They don’t like reminding I exist. Me, and those like me. We’re living proof that everything’s not all right and we make the place untidy.
Hang about and I’ll tell you the story of my fascinating life.
Daily Routine Orders 1
Shelter. Yes. I like it. It’s got a ring to it as I’m sure you’ll agree. Shelter, as in shelter from the stormy blast. It’s what they’re all seeking. The street people. What they crave. If they can only find shelter everything will be fine. Well – get fell in, my lucky lads. I’m ready for you.
My fascinating life. Yes.
Born March 20th, 1977, in Bradford, Yorkshire, to Mr & Mrs X. We were a family, you know – as happy as most, till Dad ran off with a receptionist in 1991, when I was fourteen and at the local comp. This mucked up my school work for quite a while, but that’s not why I ended up like this. No. Vincent’s to blame for that. Good old Vince. Mum’s boyfriend. You should see him. I mean, Mum’s no Kylie Minogue – but Vincent. He’s about fifty for a start, and he’s one of these old dudes that wear cool gear and try to act young and it doesn’t work because they’ve got grey hair and fat bellies and they just make themselves pathetic. And as if that’s not enough, Vince likes his ale. I suppose Dad must’ve been a bit of a bastard in his way, but at least he wasn’t a boozer. You should see the state Vincent’s in when he and Mum come home from the club. He’s got this very loud laugh – laughing at nothing, if you know what I mean – and he stands there with his arm round Mum, slurring his words as he tells me to call him Dad. Dad. I wouldn’t call that fat pillock Dad if he was the last guy on earth. And the one thing that really bugs me is the way he leers at Mum and comes out with this very suggestive stuff about going to bed and rounding off a decent night. In all the years Dad was with us, I never once knew him to mention sex in my hearing, or even hint at it. This slob leers and winks and nudges with one eye on me to see how I’m taking it, and Mum just laughs and shoves him and says ooh, you are a one. It makes me puke.
He’s changed her. That’s one of the things I hate him for. She used to be one of those quiet people who are satisfied with the daily routine of their lives. She hardly ever went out at night – she didn’t seem to want to. She was wrapped up in her family, I guess. She was always there when you needed her and I think she loved us. Me and Carole, I mean.
Oh, I know how it sounds, me going on like this about Mum as though she wasn’t entitled to a life of her own. Of course she’s entitled, but what I’m saying is, why Vince?
Carole’s my sister, by the way. She’s four years older than me and she always spoiled me, and when good old Vince moved in and Mum starting changing it was Carole who made life bearable for me. It was bad, but I could stand it with her there to support me. Then one night when Mum was working late, something happened between Carole and Vince. I didn’t understand it then and she never told me anything, but I’ve a fair idea now what it must’ve been. Anyway, she said something to Mum and they had this flaming row and it ended with Carole walking out of the house. She moved in with her boyfriend and I was on my own. I stuck it out till I finished school, but that was it. I’d got five GCSEs, which was a miracle when you remember what was going on at home, but I couldn’t get a job and there’s no government money for school-leavers. You’re supposed to be on a training scheme, but there aren’t enough places and I didn’t get one. I’m sure Mum would’ve supported me till I found something, but it wasn’t long before Vince started on at me about living on his money. I wasn’t living on his money – I’d have topped myself first. It was Mum’s money, but he went on and on, getting nastier and nastier, and one night when I’d been with my mates he locked me out of the house. It wasn’t even his house but he locked the door and wouldn’t let Mum open it. I went round to Carole’s and she let me spend the night, and when I got home next morning Vince started slapping me around the head for going off and worrying Mum. If you happen to know anybody who’s looking for a one hundred per cent out-and-out bastard, I can let him have Vince’s address.
Anyway, that’s how he was with me and I guess Mum’s scared of him because she didn’t stick up for me, so I left. You’d have left too, in my place. Anybody would. It’s called making yourself homeless. And so here I am sitting in this doorway which is now my bedroom, hoping some kind punter will give me a bit of small change so I can eat.
Good, eh?