Daily Routine Orders 10
I do believe the mountain has come to Mohammed. Remember the two dossers I told you about – the ones who laughed at me in the Haymarket? Well, I spotted ’em this morning at Camden Lock, talking to some other scruffs. I know it was them – I never forget a face – and what I’m hoping is, two things. One, that they’ve moved into the area, and two, that they split up sometimes. I mean, I’m good at what I do. Damn good, but even I wouldn’t fancy trying to recruit ’em two at a time.
See, you’ve got to know your enemy if you’re going to lick him, and I know my enemy. I’ve observed him, and what I’ve observed is this. A lot of these dossers get together in twos, threes and fours and stick together. They might separate in the daytime – one might have to go to the DSS or somewhere – but at night they huddle together for warmth or protection or whatever. And of course you’d have to be barmy to approach ’em then, and I’m not barmy. By golly I’m not. No. Loners are what you look for in my line of business. Singletons. So I’m going to watch my laughing boys, and when they separate we’ll see who has the last laugh.
The last days of January were a swine. I nearly went back to Vince. I mean it. It snowed every day so the pavements were thick with slush, and nothing gets inside a pair of trainers like slush can. Ginger and I lurked in subways and doorways as much as we could but our feet were constantly wet and freezing just the same. Night after night, frost turned the slush to grey iron and crept into our damp bedding to stiffen footwear and make sleep impossible. And if you think it’s bound to make the punters more generous with their change, seeing kids wet and shivering, forget it. It had the opposite effect. Everybody slogged grimly by and their hands never left their pockets unless they were wearing gloves. Nobody stopped. Maybe they thought they’d die if they stopped, like explorers at the South Pole.
We grew hungry. Really hungry. The cold seems to settle in your bones when there’s nothing in your stomach. You can’t shift it. We tried everything – stamping our feet, running on the spot, blowing into our hands, huddling together in the subway. It was no use. All we could do was keep moving through sleepless nights and days that merged into one another till we no longer knew what day it was or whether it was morning or evening. One time, Ginger borrowed a marker pen from an old newsvendor and printed a couple of placards which read, NON-ALCOHOLIC HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP. He said you had to put non-alcoholic because people seldom give to winos. We sat in a subway somewhere with our feet and legs in our sleeping bags and the placards on the muddy tiles, but he might as well have put EVIL, SHIFTLESS BABY-KICKER, AFTER YOUR DOSH for all the good it did us.
We stood on raw feet for hours outside various hostels, but there were always hundreds of kids and we never got a bed. I started hallucinating. For hours at a stretch I thought I was back on Captain Hook’s foetid hulk. In lucid moments I’d gladly have given my right arm to be there, but I knew the Captain wasn’t interested in right arms. Once we’d been turned away from a hostel, we’d make our way to one of the stations – King’s Cross or St Pancras, mostly – to wait for the Sally Army. The walk would keep us from hypothermia, and the Sally Army came round about midnight with soup or sandwiches. It was free grub so there was always a mob, but we usually scored a butty apiece or a mug of soup, and that’s what kept us alive till February came, and the thaw.
Oh, by the way, if you’re wondering why I wasn’t attending job interviews all this time, I can enlighten you. My clothes were sodden rags. My fingernails were long black claws, I had matted hair down to my shoulders and I stank. I wanted work all right – would have killed for it – but I knew I hadn’t a hope in hell of being taken on in that condition. I wouldn’t have hired me.
February wasn’t a heatwave, either, but it stayed above freezing most of the time and we kept our feet dry. Tapping got a bit easier too. Not easy, but easier. I imagined I was becoming streetwise but I should’ve known better. I should’ve realized it was being with Ginger that was making things easy for me, but I didn’t. Not until this day I’m going to tell about. The day Ginger vanished.
It began like any other day. We woke in a doorway when it was still dark, packed our gear and went for some coffee. We were dossing near Camden Station and there was this all-night café called the Brazilia where we’d sit warming up till it got light and we could start tapping. Anyway, this particular morning Ginger said, ‘I’m meeting some mates down Holborn way this morning so I’ll see you later, okay?’
I shrugged. ‘Sure.’ I didn’t know who these mates were or when he’d fixed it up, but it was obvious he didn’t want me along and I wasn’t going to argue. The quickest way to lose a mate is to make yourself a drag, so I pretended I didn’t give a toss. I did, though. It hurt like hell. I walked him along to the station and said, ‘Have a nice day.’ He grinned and nodded and the stream of early travellers swept him away and I never saw him again.
I spent the day trailing up and down the High Street, tapping. It was cold and blustery, but dry. I kept thinking about Ginger, wondering what he was doing with his mates in Holborn, and why he hadn’t wanted me along. Maybe he’s a dealer, I thought. Smack and crack. Ecstasy. Or maybe he’s got this rich bird – an heiress or something – and they’re shacked up right now in her luxury penthouse pad, tearing up lobsters and swilling champagne. I wasn’t seriously worried. Not then. He’d gone off before and come back, but I’d be glad when this day was over just the same.
There’s a clock outside the station. I looked at it every time I passed. At five thirty I stopped walking up and down. Some of the shops were just closing so I sat down in a doorway from which I could watch the station. I’d no idea what time he’d return, of course – it might be hours yet – but my feet were killing me and I had to sit somewhere. I could see the clock, so I kept an eye on that too. I’d never known time pass so slowly.
At some point I fell asleep, and I must’ve slept a long time, because when the cold woke me it was after eleven and the station had closed. I’d no way of knowing whether Ginger had returned or not. I looked in all the usual kips and he wasn’t in any of them. I couldn’t face the night alone so I went to Captain Hook and surrendered every penny I had for a place on a boat, but this time there was no sweet dream.