Daily Routine Orders 12
Oh dear, oh dear. Link the Stink’s in love and Laughing Boy Two’s up shit creek.
Yesterday – that’s Friday – I made a mistake. A gross herror, like Hitler’s invasion of Russia. If I’d concentrated on Link I might have had him, but I didn’t. Instead I went looking for boots. Reconditioned Army boots.
Not for me. Oh, no. My marching days are over, as you know. These were for my army. The Camden Horizontals, as I’ve christened ’em. Four pairs I needed, all different sizes, and I got ’em, too, in Bethnal Green. Course they’re not a perfect fit, none of ’em, but then they don’t need to be. My lads’ll not be doing a lot of yomping, so it doesn’t matter if the footwear’s a bit slack or a bit snug. All it has to do is shine, and it does.
Anyway, I lost my chance yesterday, and when I picked up his trail this morning he bumped into some tart in a caff up the market and they left together, so it’s not going to be easy. I’ll have to fall back. Regroup. Devise fresh tactics. And I’m the feller who can do it. By golly I am.
We hit it off, Gail and me, from the word go. She got me another coffee and we sat there talking, oblivious to everything around us. It was unbelievable. When you’re homeless and hungry you’re an outsider. Normal everyday experience doesn’t apply to you. You know – things like having a job to go to, mates to meet, a motorbike to save up for. You don’t buy CDs or get your hair cut or have dental check-ups or shop for clothes. You can’t. Your circumstances put those sorts of things beyond your reach. To all intents and purposes you belong to a separate species, and one of the hardest bits is how it cuts you off from girls. If you’re a guy, I mean. See – normally a young bloke sees a girl passing by and he’ll smile and maybe call out something to her. Chat her up a bit. It doesn’t mean anything and it won’t usually lead to anything – it’s just part of being young and on the loose if you know what I mean. And now and then – maybe one time in a hundred – it does lead to something and you’ve got a relationship which might or might not last. The important thing is that you’re part of it, right? One of the guys. Or one of the girls. But if you’re dossing, you’re not. You try chatting up a girl when you’re ragged and grimy and pasty-faced and your teeth are crummy and she knows you don’t even have the price of a coffee. No chance. Not only will you not get off with her, you won’t even get the smile. A dirty look and a wide berth’s more like it. And the same in reverse if you’re a girl, I guess. After a bit you start thinking of yourself as a different creature – a creature that lives beside ordinary people but isn’t one of them.
So finding myself suddenly sitting in this caff, chatting with a fantastic-looking girl, felt really strange. For the first time in months I wasn’t some sort of freak. I was just a young guy getting to know a girl, like people do. I forgot my tatty clothes and matted hair and the ache in my gut. I forgot about cold, hard doorways and cold, hard eyes and the fact that I couldn’t even invite her to see a movie. I was a guy, she was a girl and I might be falling in love. That was all I knew. All I wanted to know. I didn’t even notice we’d left the caff till I found myself sitting on a wall in weak sunshine, holding her hand while some old geezer passing by frowned at us like we were committing a crime or something. It was the start of a brilliant time for me, and all I can say is it’s a good job we can’t see into the future.
So we’re sitting on this wall and she says, ‘Let’s get chips and eat them by the water.’ It’s a warm day for February at that, but there’s one snag. ‘I got no dosh,’ I tell her.
‘I have.’
‘Yeah, but it’s gotta last. It’s slim pickings, tapping.’
‘I got plenty,’ she says.
‘You won’t have for long if you broadcast it like that.’ I grin. ‘How d’you know I won’t mug you for it?’
‘Try it,’ she says. ‘You’ll mebbe get something you didn’t bargain for.’
She bought chips and we sat by the water. I said, ‘What you dossing for if you got dosh – you could get a place.’
She shrugged. ‘Like you said, it’s gotta last. And anyway, I’m with you now. I don’t need a place.’
This sounded reasonable as well as flattering and I accepted it. I should’ve pushed a bit harder but I was well in love by this time and you don’t, do you?
We ate and talked. She was terminally curious about what she called The Scene – she meant life on the street. She asked about a million questions and I did my best to answer them. I had no choice, since I’d passed myself off to her as an old hand. To be perfectly honest I was beginning to regret having lied – not because of the questions, but because of love, I suppose – which is ironic considering what happened later, but this was now.
I didn’t tap at all that day. Neither of us did. We strolled through the market, looking at the costly junk and the punters who were buying it. We got Cokes and even ate again, though my wizened gut wasn’t hungry. I don’t believe I thought of Ginger once, except when I was telling her about him, which is rotten, but shows what love will do. And so the day slipped by.
I’d told her about Captain Hook, and when it got dark I thought of suggesting a night on board, but I didn’t. For one thing it’d have seemed cheeky when it was her dosh, and for another I didn’t want us to spend our first night in a reeking crowd. I wanted Gail to myself, so I took her to a favourite doorway of mine where we bedded down for the night.
Nothing happened. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s true. I don’t know why. Malnutrition perhaps, or stepfathers. All we seemed to want was to sleep with our arms round each other, and that’s what we did. But if you think that must’ve been dead boring, you’re wrong.
Sunday she wanted to try her hand at tapping so we rode down to Charing Cross. I remembered how Ginger had started me off – leaving me by the National Gallery while he did Trafalgar Square, and we did the same. I didn’t want to leave her, even though we’d be practically in sight of each other. It was a cold morning but dry, and there were quite a lot of people about. As I made the round of benches, a little video kept playing itself inside my head. I was the star. The opening scene showed me going across to collect Gail in a couple of hours’ time and finding she’s vanished. After that came a succession of shots of me in various stressful situations. Running through unfamiliar streets, calling her name. Trying to interest the police who don’t want to know. Waiting on Camden Station forever. I tried to suppress this video, reminding myself that it was Gail who’d wanted us to stick together, so she was hardly likely to do a runner the minute my back was turned, but it was no use. I guess I was still haunted by the way Ginger had dropped out of my life. Anyway, I didn’t stick it long. The pigeons were doing better than I was in any case – scoring chunks of bread and handfuls of corn while I got sweet FA. I swear if I ever come to London again I’ll come as a pigeon. I did about half an hour then started making my way back, tapping all the way.
She wasn’t there. Not on the steps, not on the pavement. Panic squeezed my heart. I ran up the steps and looked all round, then set off along the front of the Gallery. I’d just turned into St Martin’s Place when I saw her coming out of a phone box. My relief was so overwhelming that it was some time before it occurred to me to wonder whom she’d been calling. When I asked she said, ‘My sister in Glasgow. She made me promise to keep in touch.’
It sounded totally feasible. I nodded. ‘I’ve got a sister. Carole. I don’t phone though – clean break, y’know?’
‘Hmm.’ She nodded. ‘I promised.’
‘Oh, I’m not getting at you. I only –’
‘I know.’ She squeezed my hand.
I grinned, squeezing hers. ‘How much did you make?’
She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Never counted. Hang on.’ She dug in her pockets, produced a double handful of change and counted it. ‘Two pounds thirty.’ She pocketed the coins. ‘How about you?’
I shook my head. ‘Twelve pence, and I’m supposed to be the expert.’
‘Beginner’s luck,’ she smiled. ‘Or maybe it’s because I’m a woman.’ She gazed at me. ‘Anyway, we share, don’t we – everything?’
And from then on we did, and it was all so fantastic that time just flew. I practically stopped noticing the cold. When something happened to jerk me back into the real world, it was spring.