Junk Page 3

  I stood there for a bit and I felt like I was soaking up that colour. I love yellow. It’s the colour of sunlight. When all this is over and I get myself sorted out, I want to go to art college. I want to be a painter or a designer. I really think I’m good enough.

  I stood there staring at it, and I had an idea for a painting. A dandelion – just one huge bright dandelion. The background was all black and the dandelion was all the bright yellows and oranges, every petal a long yellow triangle. It would be a big painting. I was going to do it and put it on the wall of the squat for Gemma when she came.

  And that big happy moment came swooping down, and I reached up a hand and caught hold of it and off I went. I picked a big bunch of dandelions and went off back to the squat. I felt great again.

  I say squat. It was more of a deny really, but I’d been trying to clear it out a bit the past day or two.

  The first couple of nights I slept out in doorways. The very first night I tried to go to sleep in my bag in the doorway of a small supermarket but it was too cold. I ended up wandering about all night. Towards morning I saw people crowded together in a subway, all wrapped up in cardboard boxes, and I thought, That’s how you do it! And I wandered about some more till I found some cardboard in stacks outside a shop waiting for the binmen. I wrapped myself up in that, and that was better. But you still keep waking up all night. You never seem to get a decent night’s sleep on the street.

  I slept like that for a couple of nights, but I didn’t like it on the street. The thing is, you’re in public. People can see you all the time, even when you’re asleep. Sometimes at night you wake up and the police are shining a torch into your face. I hated that – the thought of people examining you while you’re asleep, all those strangers. I began to feel like something in a zoo. So when I found this row of derry houses, I thought, Right. This is gonna be home.

  I found a little room with a door still on it. The first night I kept getting woken up by people banging in. It was pitch black so they couldn’t see me till I called out. It happened about five times that night. I was really scared the first few times, but after a bit I realised it was just people looking for a place to sleep. I shouted out, ‘It’s taken,’ and they left.

  The next day I made up a little sign: ‘Do Not Disturb.’ And I wrote, ‘Property of Hotel d’Erelict’ in little letters underneath.

  Everyone had to find their way about with matches or a torch, so they all saw my sign and I never got bothered after that. Just a couple of times some drunks came charging in without seeing my notice. Sometimes they thought it was so funny they’d wake me up.

  ‘Will you leave your boots outside for cleaning?’ someone yelled. And, ‘Will Sir be requiring his breakfast in bed?’ That sort of thing. That was okay.

  It was out of the open but it was a right mess in there. People had dumped binbags full of rubbish, waste paper, old clothes, even rubble. I slept on top of it for a few nights. I suppose I was feeling depressed. I was thinking a lot about my mum.

  Then I thought, Get on with it.

  First of all I scooped all the rubbish into binbags and carried it out round the back. I pinched the binbags from someone’s dustbin. I found a broken broom in a skip and gave it a good brush down. It was still a tip, but at least it was a brushed tip.

  Since then I’d been collecting bits and pieces – a few wooden crates, a bit of carpet someone chucked out. I couldn’t make it too nice because someone would have nicked stuff or wrecked it. But I’d tried to make it mine. That’s why I was so pleased when I had this idea for a picture. I’d wanted to do a picture. I’d brought my pencils with me but I hadn’t got round to it yet, and now I had this great idea for Gemma.

  It was about two miles back to the squat. On the way I had to go past Joe Scholl’s tobacconist. I thought I’d go in and have a Twix. Have a treat. I completely forgot about the begging. You do. You just forget, you buy a bar of chocolate and then you think, Oh, no…

  Joe Scholl’s a nice man. He’d given me a few quid a couple of times in the past few days. I think he gave quite a bit of money to the people on the street.

  ‘You look full of the joys today, David,’ he said, eyeing my dandelions over the counter.

  ‘Yeah. My girlfriend’s coming to stay,’ I told him. I think I only went in there so I could tell someone the news.

  ‘Hence the bouquet, eh?’ he said, nodding at the dandelions.

  ‘Yeah,’ I laughed. I took a Twix bar and dug in my pocket for the money. He didn’t laugh, but then he never did. He always kept his face completely straight, except his eyebrows were permanently up in the air. You hardly ever saw him move his face, even when he was cracking you up with laughter. Deadpan.

  ‘That’s good news then.’ He didn’t take my money. He just looked at me. ‘Leaving her folks like you did, is she?’ he wanted to know.

  I looked at him. ‘Yeah…’

  ‘How old is she, then, David?’

  I didn’t dare tell him how old she really was. I said, ‘Sixteen.’ That’s how old I’d told him I was. I started eating the Twix to hide my embarrassment.

  ‘Nice.’ He stood there with his hands hanging by his sides watching me. ‘Where you putting her up, then?’ I was beginning to feel miserable again. ‘Honeymoon suite in the Hotel Derry?’

  ‘Yeah…’ I put the money back in my pocket.

  ‘Thank you, Skolly, for the free Twix bar.’

  ‘Oh! Yeah… I’m really sorry. I was thinking…’

  ‘That’s all right. Not a nice place for a young lady, though, is it, David?’

  I just hadn’t thought. He was right! Albany Road was all right for me but not for Gemma. You get all sorts in there – tramps, alcoholics, junkies. Most of them are all right but some of them… Once or twice I’ve seen the alkies with women with them, but you never see any young women in there. The girls all sleep out in doorways, in public…

  I never thought why.

  ‘Here…’ I held out the money again, but he waved it away.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  I was about to put it back in my pocket but then I had second thoughts. ‘No, take it. Or I won’t be able to keep coming in.’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘You’ll think I’m begging.’

  ‘A time and a place for everything, eh, David? I take your point.’ He leaned across and took my money. ‘I’ll give it back to you later on, okay?’

  I laughed. He was so funny. His face was funny. He was quite fat and bald, and he always looked as if you’d just given him a mildly unpleasant surprise, as if you’d told him the price of chocolate had just gone up or something.

  ‘Life is a complicated business,’ he said. Another customer came in and he turned to them. I nodded and started for the door, but he called out, ‘Hang on a minute…’

  I stood and waited while he sold a newspaper. I felt dreadful again. I hadn’t thought. I was being selfish. I couldn’t ask Gemma to come and live like this with me!

  ‘She’s not coming to stay. She’s just visiting,’ I began when the customer left.

  ‘What you doing tonight?’

  ‘Well, nothing…’

  ‘Be here at six o’clock. I’ve got someone to see. We might be able to sort something out for you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’ve gotta see someone, all right? You be here at six. I might just tell you to clear off home.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Scholl!’

  ‘Mr Scholl.’ He rolled his eyes briefly. ‘Skolly.’

  ‘Thanks, Skolly.’

  ‘Go on, piss off.’

  I practically skipped down the road. Everything was working out! Gemma coming, Skolly taking me on. Well, I say that, but of course not everything was going to work out. There was one thing that never was going to – and that was the really big one.

  My mum.

  I’d made myself this promise not to ring up for a whole month. The trouble was, I kept thinking I’d feel better if I spoke to her; but
I knew it wasn’t true. I’d left her a note when I went but that was ages ago. It was Gemma’s idea not to ring her for a bit. She said my mum’d just make me feel really bad, maybe she’d even talk me into coming back. But things were going so well I was thinking maybe I could cope with it. I’d only been away a couple of weeks, but it was the longest I’d ever been away from her.

  I knew I shouldn’t ring. Gemma was right. You don’t know my mum, she can make you do anything. I’m more scared of her than I am of Dad, really.

  In the end I thought, See what happens tonight with Mr Scholl. I mean, if he got me sorted out with somewhere to live, everything would be okay and I could think about getting in touch with Mum. If not, well, that’d be different. That’d be a disaster. I’d have to ring up Gemma and tell her not to come. Because Skolly was right. You couldn’t ask Gemma to come and live in a place like Albany Road.

  The dandelion didn’t come out like I wanted. The colours were too pale. I wanted these really deep yellows and the black like velvet behind it. You can’t do that sort of thing with pencil crayons. Pastel sticks would’ve done it. I had a set at home, I was really mad with myself for not bringing them. But they’re so fragile I thought they’d get broken.

  Chapter Four

  Skolly

  He was there. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?

  ‘Good evening, David.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Skolly.’

  I said, ‘Just Skolly.’ I headed off up the road and he came loping after me. He was a tall lad, a good six inches over my head.

  ‘It’s really nice of you to help me out…’

  ‘I haven’t done anything yet.’ Very polite boy. That’s one of the things that made me take to him. He was bobbing along beside me, looking sincere. He had his leather jacket on and his rucksack on his back. You could tell he hadn’t been on the streets for long because his rucksack was still fairly clean. Jeans, boots, long hair. He looked the same as he usually did. They all look the same as they usually do. They tend not to have an extensive wardrobe.

  He was the first one I ever felt like helping, apart from doling out money and fags and chocolate. Most of the others are either depressed or stupid. They ought to be back at home with their mums and dads.

  The first time I saw him I gave him a couple of quid and asked him what he thought he was playing at.

  He just glanced up and touched the side of his face. I hadn’t noticed the bruises. He didn’t have to say any more, he looked so miserable. I nodded and gave him a couple of Mars bars on top of the money and his face changed. It startled me. His entire face changed. He beamed at me. I’d really made him happy, for a minute or two, anyway. That made me feel good. I like feeling good.

  He didn’t seem to have any front. You need all the front you can get in this old world. Look at me. I’m nearly all front. What you see is what you get. But this kid – you only had to look at him to know he’d believe whatever you wanted him to. You had the feeling that if you didn’t hold his hand he’d get crushed in the stampede.

  I proffered a packet of Bensons. ‘Fag?’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t smoke.’

  ‘You will,’ I told him. Practically everyone living rough smokes.

  ‘You fill yourself up with tar,’ he said. He got in front of me and peered into my face. ‘There, it’s turning your skin grey,’ he told me.

  I stopped short in the middle of the pavement. An old lady nearly collided with me from behind. ‘Pack it in…!’

  I mean, there I was helping him out and he was telling me I was turning grey. He just grinned and I thought… you bugger. He was teasing me. He had me going, too.

  We carried on down Picton Street, and I thought, He’s right, though. My old dad’s eighty-two, he smokes like a chimney and he’s the colour of fag ash.

  I smoke cigars meself. When I was younger I always tried to have a fag hanging out of the corner of my mouth by way of advertisement. As a tobacconist, if I don’t smoke, who will? You see a lot of tobacconists these days – particularly the Asians, I may say – who never smoke anything. That’s not right. How can you respect your customers if you think it’s stupid to smoke? How can you know what you’re selling ‘em? I reckon I could tell a Benson from a Regal blindfold, from smell alone. Or I used to, anyway.

  I gave up fags, I was smoking too many. A cigar is the ideal smoke for a tobacconist because you can always have one in your gob, but it keeps going out. That way, you’re still smoking even when you’re not, if you see what I mean.

  ‘How about a Mars bar, then?’

  He took that. I always keep a pocketful of chocolate bars, again on account of being a tobacconist. I eat them, too. Consequently I’m fat and permanently short of breath, but at least I’m not a hypocrite.

  And I’m well informed, too. I read the newspapers.

  Richard was waiting in the shop for us. George Dole’s old electrical shop, that is. He’d squatted it a few weeks before.

  ‘Hello, Skolly.’ He beamed at me. Or rather, he beamed at the door behind me. He’s a strange person, Richard. Very friendly but – he’s always smiling but he never actually seems to look straight at you, for some reason.

  He’s like me, Richard is, a bit of an act. ‘Here’s the lad I was telling you about.’ I gave David a little shove in the back and he stumbled towards the door. Richard held his hand out.

  ‘Always delighted to meet a new candidate for the squatting movement,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, thanks…’ said David.

  I made to go. Richard was disappointed.

  ‘Aren’t you going to join us, Skolly?’

  ‘I’ve got a home of me own, thanks.’

  ‘No, for tea. I’m making burgers especially for you.’

  ‘Burgers?’

  Every time he saw me he was inviting me round to eat some disgusting mess of beans or sprouted seeds or yoghurt.

  ‘Especially for you,’ repeated Richard, grinning at the street opposite.

  I paused. The missis was away visiting the brood in Taunton. I had been planning on going down the pub, but then the pub was open all night. Richard only wanted to convert me, but unlike some I could mention, I’ve never lost my curiosity. Besides, let him try and convert me. It might amuse me.

  I pushed David in front of me and followed them up the stairs to the flat above the shop.

  When I first found out that George Dole’s old electrical shop had been squatted, I was quite upset. George used to be a friend of mine until his heart did for him – that was about eighteen months before. I don’t like squatters. What’s to stop ‘em working and paying rent? And they’re such a scabby bunch. They like to think they belong to the underworld, but most of the crooks I know work for a living…

  I first had my suspicions that this was different from the usual type of squat because this little notice appeared on the front door, announcing that the place was squatted and that the police had been informed. It just goes to show what this country’s come to if the villains go and tell the police what they’re doing, so they can be left alone to get on with it. I mean, can you imagine it with any other sort of crime? A little notice going up: ‘This bank will be robbed tomorrow at 11 a.m.,’ and the police touching their helmets and saying, ‘All in order, sir, let us know if you have any problems…’

  After a few days the usual lot appeared – scabby-looking yoofs with boots two sizes too big and Mohican haircuts scurrying in and out the door like so many rats. I thought to myself, There’s more to this than that lot. But when I saw Richard come out, I knew at once it must be him.

  Richard had the earring and the short hair. He had what you might call a slight Mohican – his crew cut was longer on the middle of his head than at the sides. But he was a lot older than the others, in his mid-twenties, maybe, whereas the rat yoofs were sixteen, seventeen. I was standing in the doorway of my shop watching the street go by when he emerged, smiling to himself. He locked the door behind him and walked off, still smiling a half gormle
ss grin at the wind, at the buildings… I don’t know, just at being Richard, I expect.

  I left the missis in charge of the shop and collared him.

  I was concerned, you see. There was stock left in that shop. George Dole never had any relatives as far as I was aware, but someone must have owned it.

  I was prepared to be angry. I poked him in the stomach and I said, ‘I don’t know why you bothered leaving home.’ But he just opened his mouth and smiled even wider.

  ‘I’m always happy to have relations with the neighbours,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I told him about the electrical stuff. He invited me in for a cup of tea. Well, I was taken aback. I thought squatters were so busy smoking pot and watching the dirt grow on top of the fridge, they never had anything to do with anyone.

  ‘You understand my concern,’ I told him as he opened the door.

  ‘Naturally. I have no respect for theft,’ he announced proudly, which made me bristle a bit. I’ve done a bit of thieving in my own time. Of course I never told him that.

  I was impressed. All the electrical stuff had been packed in boxes, neatly labelled and carried out and stored in a little room behind the shop.

  ‘I must admit I did help myself to a house fuse when I was getting the electric on,’ he said. ‘But I’ve already replaced that.’ And he looked at the door and beamed in pleasure.

  ‘But you don’t mind nicking someone’s house, though,’ I told him.

  ‘Not if it’s standing empty and there’s people sleeping on the streets. Of course, property is a rather strange concept for me…’

  I thought I was going to get a lecture but he shut up and went to put the kettle on.

  Now if it had been me, I’d have had that gear out and sold it before you could count to three. But Richard was moral. He really thought that squatting a shop and not nicking the stock was going to change society. That was why he was so delighted to have me round for tea. He thought that if he got enough people like me on his side, Parliament would fall tomorrow.