*Peeks from behind update*... Okay I know I'vebeen a real cow to all of you, and I know you have every right to swear, shriek, shout, make voo doo dolls or any other type of harm at me, but I really am sorry. I haven't updated ina month, and I know it's a reallylong time but you must understand, I have been suffering the biggest writer's block ever. Forgive me? please? Pretty please?
Chapter 21: Broken man
"He's a good operator, isn't he?" Emmet looked up from the front page of last night's paper. 'School chief's own goal' by Edward Culen. Something about Councillor O'Connell's taxpayer funded fact-finding mission to tour schools in Sweden. Which just happened to coincide with an Ireland football match in Stockholm. I hadn't read all of it. Just enough to know it was good.
"I guess so."
Emmet looked at me quizzically. "You're not jealous, are you? Bit of competition for the splash."
I gave Emmet one of my looks of utter contempt. "It's not difficult, is it? Coming with some dirt about that lot."
"Parker never used to do it."
"Yeah well. I always told you he was a waste of space."
"So what's Edward done to upset you?
"Who said he had?"
"I just saw you walk straight pass him without so much as a hello. I don't think you've said more than a dozen words to him in the past fortnight."
I hadn't realised it was that obvious. My avoiding Edward.
"We don't hit off, that's all."
"But he seems such a nice bloke. And he's got your sense of humour. I'd have thought you'd be great pals."
"Well, we're not. I talk to him if I need to. For work."
Emmet pulled a face and pushed the copy of the Gazette to the far side of his desk. "Okay, suit yourself. As long as no one's upsetting my happy ship."
Emmet always talks like this. I suppose it was sweet of him really. Wanting us all blissfully happy. A it weird though, for a newspaper editor. Sometimes I felt like telling him he was supposed to be a ball-crunching bastard. But then again, it really wouldn't suit him.
"So, why did you want to see me?" I said, keen to change the subject.
Emmet scratched his head. I could see bad news coming.
"The district offices reckon we could do without a couple of them?" he said.
"I thought you were going to fight this?"
"Head office are putting a lot of pressure on. I've got to find some savings from editorial."
"Well, you could get rid of Sonia, for a start."
Sonia was our copy-taker. Unfortunately her spelling was atrocious, she was incredibly dense, had no knowledge or interest in news or any current affairs and gave a running commentary of nonsense as you filed your story over the phone. All the attributes needed for the job, really.
"She's not as bad as you make out," Emmet said. He had taken her on as part of the youth opportunities programme yeas ago and didn't have the heart to get rid of her despite a catalogue of blunders.
"I take it you haven't heard what she did yesterday, then?" I said.
Emmet shook his head.
"Trevor filed a story from the press conference at Birmingham Eye Hospital? Only Sonia wrote Birmingham I hospital. Fortunately news desk spotted it.
Emmet started chuckling.
"You won't be laughing when she costs you a fortune one of these days" I said, "We'd be better off without her."
"Sonia doesn't earn enough to make it worthwhile getting rid of her." Said Emmet, "I've got to do better than that,"
I was getting frustrated with him now. I got up and started pacing up and down. "We can back you up if you want. As soon as this is out in the open the union can do a letter about protecting editorial quality. We could threaten to ballot on industrial action."
"No! That'd make things worse."
"And closing the district offices wouldn't? You know what they're like. They're doing this all over the country. We've only been saved so far because we're the flagship paper. Once they think they can get away with it here, they won't know when to stop.
I realised I sounded like Edward. Or how he used to sound at any rate. I threw up my arms and turned around to face the newsroom. Alice was holding up my phone, gesturing wildly.
"I'd better go," I said. "But think about what I said."
I hurried over to my desk. Alice handed me the receiver.
"Who is it?"
"No one," she sad. "Looked like you needed rescuing. Do you fancy lunch in a bit?"
"Haven't got time." I said, pretending to talk for a bit in case Emmet was watching, before putting the phone down. "I'm nipping into town for sandwich. I've got a job at one. Some guy who reckons he was thrown out of a psychiatric unit when he threatened to blow the whistle on their abuse."
"How can you believe him if he's wacko?"
Alice still hadn't managed the act of political correctness.
"He has mental health problems. It doesn't mean he can't tell the truth."
I was thinking of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Hoping to expose a modern-day Big Nurse and liberate the inmates. Hoping to liberate the inmates. Hopping my sources would turn out to be a McMurphy-type hero.
"Fine," said Alice. "I shall dine on my own."
"I'm up for lunch in about ten minutes, if you want."
It was Edward's voice. I hadn't realised he had been listening. I looked across at him. He was smiling at Alice. I wondered if he was doing this to get me.
"Great," said Alice. "Give me a shout when you're ready, Edward."
The light freckles on her face rearranged themselves into the word 'smug'. I rolled my eyes and picked up my briefcase.
"See you later, then" I said to her, firing a warning look which I suspected she would ignore.
" I took deep breaths as I walked into town. I was sure Edward would pump her for information about me. And Alice wasn't exactly known for being discreet. I hated him for doing this to me. Putting me on the edge. Making me feel I was losing control again. I told myself not to think about it. To think about something else. Colin, for instance. HE hadn't been on his usual pitch last Friday. A young woman had been standing in his place. I had asked where he was and she hadn't known. He could have caught a chill after the previous week. I hoped it wasn't anything more serious than that. A relapse of some kind.
I bowled down the road, peering to see between all the people. I could just make out a hunched figure on the corner. Then a glimpse of tufty hair and a glint of sunlight on glasses. It was Colin. He was all right. Except that he wasn't, though. When I got up close I could see that. Purple and black circles under his left eye, a cut above his eyebrow and Sellotape round one arm of his glasses. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to lie him down and tend his wounds, like some modern Florence Nightingale. I had put him on the streets. I was supposed to be trying to make things better, But it kept on getting worse,
"Colin, you poor thing."
I watched him wince in pain as he turned towards me.
"Oh, Bella, hi."
"Are you okay? What on earth happened?"
"It's nothing. Got worse things in the school playground."
"You went to a pretty tough school then. Those bruises look terrible. Have you seen a doctor?"
"There0sno need. I'm fine."
"What happened?"
"It doesn't matter. It's all done and dusted."
"What happened, Colin?" I said again, my tone of voice demanding a better answer.
"Are you Jeremy Paxman, or something?"
"You won't avoid this by being funny either."
Colin gave a resigned sigh. "Group of lads took exception on me. Called me a dirty beggar. Said I should climb back into my hole and stop messing up their streets. Then they laid into me and took my money. About nine quid."
"Didn't anyone help you?"
"No one much about. Few that were walked past with their heads down. Didn't want to get involved. Can't say I blame them."
"What did the police say?"
Colin raised his eyebrows above the rim of his glasses.
"Come on, they're not going to be interested in someone like me, are they? Probably accuse me of starting the whole thing, complain to the Big Issue and then I'd get my badge taken away."
He had a point. I wanted to offer to sort it out for him. To run the story in the paper, expose the shocking level of violence against homeless people on our streets. But I knew most of our readers would probably think he deserved it. If the gang had kicked a stray cat, they'd be outraged. Inundate us with letters expressing their sympathy for the creature, offer to give it a home. But a homeless man with a history of mental illness? Not a chance.
"Oh Colin. I'm so sorry. You really do deserve a break."
He shrugged. I tried to think of something to say to cheer him up, make him feel human again.
"By the way, you're invited round for dinner tonight." I said as I handed my $1.20.
"Because you feel sorry for me?" he said.
"No. Because you're an old friend and you're more interesting company than most people I know."
Colin smiled and handed me a copy of Big Issue with Ms Dynamite on thefront.
"Are you sure your boyfriend won't mind?"
"Of course not, it was his idea. He wants to meet you."
This was a lie. I hadn't told Jacob about Colin. Mainly because Colin was inextricably linked with Edward in my head. I was worried that if I tried to explain about Colin, Edward's name would slip out. Plus, talking about Colin made feel guilty and Jacob wasn't used to see me looking guilt. He wouldn't know it was guilt, he might even think it was indigestion, but he would definitely suspect something was wrong.
"Thanks, then. I'd love to come."
I offered to pick him up after work but he wouldn't have it. Said he would come by bus. It would seem like a real night out. As soon as I was out of his sight, I rang Jacob on my mobile.
"Hello?" I could hardly hear him above the hubbub of the staff room. Some sort of meeting appeared to be going on.
"Hi, it's me. I know this is very short notice but is it okay if I invite a couple of friends round for dinner tonight?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Anyone I know?"
"Alice and a chap called Colin."
"Is he her latest?" There was a disapproving tone in Jacob's voice.
"No, he's a friend of mine. Bumped into him in the street, he's having a rough time. I'll explain later. Just a quick curry, don't go to any trouble. I'll get some bhajis or something from Tesco on the way home."
"Sure, see you later." He said. "I'd better go. Love you."
I felt bad after he hung up. Aware that I sometimes took his good nature for granted.
I bought my sandwich and hurried back to meet our photographer Carlisle in the car park behind the Gazette as arranged.
"I hope this isn't another one of your time-wasters, Swan," he said as he edged his car gingerly between a line of newspaper delivery vans. Carlisle was the biggest whinger in photographic but for some unknown reason I had a soft spot for him.
"What do you mean?"
He pointed to the crumpled photo request slip on the dashboard. "The name Mr. Bear makes me a little suspicious." He said, running a hand through his blond hair.
"The guy can't help having a funny name. You could have been born Mr. Lillicrap, then you'd have had something to complain about."
I ate my sandwich as Carlisle launched himself into his usual diatribe against the gazette. The pay, the hours, the crap cameras (never will be as good as using film), the stupid computers that won't do what you want them to, the trainees who think they know it all, the ignorant security word and wanker from advertising who kept nicking his parking place.
I'd learnt not to say anything. Simply to nod and maybe offer the occasional grunt. Once he was finished with that he moved on to the second half of his story. The 'Of course, it used to be much better in the old days, when I was working on a real newspaper. Did I ever tell you about that time in Vietnam when…' he had told me, of course. But the story was embellished a little every time, so it was worth listening to. We were nearing the end of it now. The bit where he said. 'If I were you, Bella, I'd get out while you can. Don't tell anybody, but I'm looking around. This time next year, I'll be gone, you know.'
I nodded like I always did. Knowing that he'd been looking around for the last fifteen years.
Mr Bear's flat was in a tatty road in Winson Green. Polystyrene fast food containers strewn across the pavement, a couple of dogs strutting down the street looking for trouble, bits if fridges and bicycles dumped in front gardens, trying desperately to look like an 'urban garden' exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show.
I strode up to the door and rang the bell. Carlisle was cowering halfway down the path in case Mr Bear had a dog. He was scared of dogs, even little ones. He once legged it over a fence when yapped at by a one-eyed terrier.
Several minutes went past. I rang the bell again. I was about to leave when I hear a scuffling noise. A moment later the door opened a couple of inches and a man's face appeared above the door chain. He had dark, piggish eyes and a shock of reddish hair.
"You'd better come in." he said.
I gestures to Carlisle, who followed me into the hallway. It was decorated with flock wallpaper which looked as if it had been up since the seventies. Mr Bear, who was wearing a red polo-neck, looked at us expectantly.
"I need to interview you properly, go through exactly what happened." I explained.
He nodded and led us into a large room at the end of the hall. The carpet had purple and orange swirls on it. It smelt of the seventies. The room was full of chairs of every shape, size and colour imaginable, the sort of odd collection which would usually only be found in doctor' waiting rooms. They were arranged in five rows, each containing six or seven chairs, all facing in the same direction, like pews in a church. At the far end of the room was the object of worship. Dominating the wall, at least five foot high, was a portrait of Shirley Bassey.
I looked at Carlisle. Carlisle looked at me. It was too latenow, we were here. We had to see it through. We sat down on the front row. Mr Bear did the same, bowing to Shirley as he did so.
"You're obviously a big fan," I said, nodding towards the portrait.
"I write to her most weeks." Said Mr Bear, "She's very appreciative of my support.
"Good," I said, hearing Carlisle groan behind me. "Now, about your allegations. I need to take some details from you. Let's start at the beginning. What's your full name?"
"Rupert Bear," he said.
I looked at him, hoping he was joking.
"I changed my name by deed poll ten years ago." He said, by way of explanation. "I can get you the letters if you'd like to see the proof."
"No, it's okay., I believe you."
Carlisle's head was now on his hands. Obviously he was remembering happier times in Vietnam.
It was gone two by the time we got away. I had about twenty pages of shorthand in my notebook. The story was a good one. Detailed descriptions of the abuse he and others had suffered in the psychiatric unit. Terrible things, people being tied up and left in cupboards, having excrement smeared in the walls of their rooms, forced to lap soup of a bowl like a dog. He gave me dates and times when these things happened. Names and descriptions of all the staff involved. He even produces copies of letters he'd went to the health authorities and Clare Short, his local MP. But the spectre of Shirley loomed large over the whole thing. Should I believe a man called Rupert Bear who worships the woman who sang 'Goldfinger'?
When I got back to the office Alice and Edward were sharing a joke. They seemed to be getting on exceptionally well, so well Alice didn't even look up when I sat down. I wanted to ask her how lunch had gone, find out what they'd talked about, but I couldn't in front of Edward. I didn't want to let on that I cared, I didn't even want to invite her to dinner within earshot of him, so I sent her an e-mail instead.
SUBJECT: Dinner tonight
Dear Alice
You are formally invited to dinner at out place tonight, seven-thirty. If you value your health (which I doubt) or your Abba collection (I know where you live) you will not refuse. I want a full report on your lunchtime rendezvous with Mr Cullen delivered to me discreetly at opportune moments during this evening. The other guest will be Colin, the Big Issue seller. You will be nice to him and not make jokes about standing on street corners or soup kitchens.
Regards
Bella
She muttered a few expletives under her breath as she read it. The reply came back swiftly.
SUBJECT: Free grub
Belz
Will come only 4 J's cooking. Will tell U f-all without bribes. You'd btter not b fixing me up with beggar man.
Laters
Alice
Xxx
She knew I hated the abbreviations. Texting took me forever because I refused to miss out any letters. And as for Belz and J, she really knew how to twist the knife. I put a call in to Clare Short's office. I tried to speak in a very quiet voice. Said it was about a Mr Rupert Bear.
Alice nearly choked on her coffee. Beyond her I could see Edward trying to stifle a laugh.
"Tell me that's not his real name," Alice said the moment I finished the call.
"Afraid it is. Changed it by deed poll."
"I'll get some more coffees in," Alice was wiping the tears from her eyes. "I've spilt half of mine laughing."
Halfway to the coffee machine she stopped and turned around.
"Bella, you're wanted in reception," she shouted. I picked up my notebook and stood up.
"A Mrs. Jemima Puddleduck, for you," she called out. "I'd watch it, it's a bit wet down there."
"Thank you Alice," I called back, tossing my notebook on my desk as I sat down again. Edward was laughing out loud now. I shot him a look.
"What's the matter?" he said, "You used to laugh at my wind-ups,"
"It's not that funny."
"Maybe you've just lost your sense of humour," he said.
I stared at my notebook for a long time. Thinking about what he'd said.
***************
Jacob was in the kitchen when I got home. The rasping voice of Ozzy Osbourne and the smell of burning onions rushed to greet me as I opened the door. Controlled burning, not my kind of burning. Jacob said it was the key to getting the depth of flavour. He gave me a floury hug and a kiss which tasted like onions. I took off my coat and asked what I could do to hep. Jacob laughed.
"What you usually do," he said. "Stay out of my way."
"At least let me start on the washing up," I said, slipping on the Marigolds. "I want to do something to help, they are my guests after all. Are you sure you're okay about this? I know I sprang it on you."
"It's fine," he said, "I'm glad of the distraction, to be honest. It's been a difficult day."
"Oh, why?"
"You know that year ten lad I told you about, Daniel, the…sensitive one?"
I nodded as I scrubbed the chopping board, though I couldn't actually remember. Jacob was always talking about various kids he taught.
"He came to see me at lunchtime. Said he's being bullied. Nothing physical, mostly name-calling, all the usual homophobic stuff."
"And what did you do?"
"Nothing. When I offered to have a word with the culprits he got really upset said it would only encourage them. And that he only wanted to talk."
"Not much, you can do then, is there?"
"Not really. Makes it hard, though. By rights I should tell the head, get it on record. But he made me promise not to."
I turned to face Jacob. I would have given him a hug but I didn't want to get suds on him.
"Hey, at least he knows he can talk to you. Must be a big help for him, sharing it with someone."
"I guess so," he said.
"All you can do is keep an eye on things and be there if he wants to talk. With any luck it will all fizzle out by Christmas."
"Yeah. You're right. Thanks," he sounded brighter. Sometimes he simply needed reassurance that he was doing the right thing. The fact that he should seek it from me was almost ironic.
"So, who's this Colin guy?" asked Jacob, understandably keen to change the subject. I sighed. There was only one way to explain.
"You don't happen to remember a story about a Labour candidate who lost by one vote in the 2001 general election, do you?" I asked.
He thought for a moment. There was a hiss as he added some stock to the pan.
"Yeah…I think I do." He said. "A Labour guy you said?"
I nodded, the guilt prodding me from inside. "That's him. That's who's coming to dinner. Only now he is a Big Issue seller.
"Bloody hell," said Jacob, pouring the rest of the stock in. "What happened to him?"
I related a carefully edited version of the story. Making sure to keep my own role hidden. A warning that Colin looked like he'd gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.
"Poor guy," he said when I'd finished.
"Yeah, scary really. Could have been any of us."
"Well, no. Not really."
"Why not?" I said, taking off the Marigolds and starting to dry.
"We'd never have got ourselves into that mess in the first place, would we?"
"Things can happen, Jacob. Things that out of our control"
"Yeah, but you can always do something about it. Find a way to put things right."
"It's not always as easy as that."
"I don't see why not."
I started to say something but stopped myself. Sometimes his innocence, his innate goodness, overwhelmed me.
Colin arrived first. He was wearing a moth-eaten jumper and crumpled trousers. Jacob shook hands with him.
"I hear you're a Big Issue seller. That must be interesting"
"It has its moments," said Colin, turning to look at me. I thought of showing Colin around the flat but decided against it, fearing it would be like showing your baby photos to a childless couple undergoing IVF.
"If I remember rightly, I think you two have got something in common," I said. "Two Aston Villa supporters in the same room. Must be something of a record."
"Ignore her," said Jacob, turning to Colin, "She doesn't have claret and blue in her blood.
"Not like me, then," he replied, "Lifelong fan, I am. Used to go to all the games. I was there in Rotterdam in '82 when our Dennis lifted the European Cup."
A look of wonder spread across Jacob's features. Dawn had let him go to a few home matches with a school friend and his father in a bid to encourage some male bonding, which she feared was missing from his life. But as soon as he'd got serious about the Villa she'd put a stop to it, saying the terraces were full of hooligans and racists. He'd had to go to his friend's house to watch the European Cup Final in secret. Telling her he'd been invited to stay the night. He'd whispered as he'd told me the story. As if he was still scared she might find out.
"Wow, that must have been fantastic," he said, sounding like he was nine years old again. "Seeing Withey, Sid Cowans, all those great players."
"Yeah. Run rings round today's team, they would," said Colin.
"You can say that again. Where do you sit these days, down the Holte end?"
"No, I, err, don't go any more," Colin said diplomatically.
Jacob clasped his hand over his mouth as he realised. "Of course not, sorry, stupid questions. The prices are ridiculous these days. Scandalous. I hardly ever go myself."
This was true. But as much to do with home matches clashing with some protest meeting or another as the ticket prices. He still carried the fixture list around with him, though. Which was sweet but kind of sad.
There was a knock at the door.
"Hi, sorry I'm late," Alice said, peeling a very New Age multicoloured jacket off and draping it over the coat stand.
"Alice, this is Colin," I said.
"Hi," she said, "I remember you getting beaten by that fat Tory tosser in the 2001 election. He didn't do that to you as well, did he?" She pointed at the bruises on his face.
There was a moments silence before Colin started laughing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her lack of diplomacy was made up for by her ability to break the tension in every room. I led them to the living room. Wr all squashed around the table, knees touching, and tucked into the pile of bhajis and samosas.
"So," said Alice, turning to look at me as she whipped some yoghurt and mint sauce from her chin. "Have you told them about the adventures of Rupert Bear?"
"What's this?" Jacob asked.
"Oh, just some guy I interviewed today. I'm investigating his claims about the abuse at a psychiatric unit."
"Only he's such a fruitloop that he changed his name to Rupert Bear" chipped in Alice.
I looked at Colin, worried that he might have taken offence, but he clearly hadn't.
"A few people I met when I was in the psychiatric unit had changed their names to something famous," he said.
Alice stopped eating for a second and looked at him, a trace of a blush in her pale cheeks. "So why do you think they did that?" she asked.
" I guess it was a way of escaping from reality." Said Colin, "They could pretend to be someone else."
"What would you change yours to, then?" she asked, "If you could be anyone else."
Colin thought for a moment as he munched a samosa.
"Sebastiao Salgado," he said.
"Who's he?" asked Alice.
" A photographer. An artist really. Paints pictures with light. Takes black and white photos of ordinary people doing ordinary things."
" I never knew you were interested in photography," I said.
"Yeah," he said, "Ever since I was a kid. I wanted to go to college and study it but my mum said I should get a proper job. I used to do bits and pieces as a hobby. Haven't done anything in years, I'm afraid." He looked sad for a moment. It was obviously a big regret. Along with all the others he must have."
"Oh, but you must start taking photos again," Jacob exclaimed, "It's great to have an interest like that."
"I would, only I haven't got a camera."
"No, no of course not." Jacob said.
I realised with a start that I could help there. I may not be able to get him back his home, his wife of his job but I could surely manage to get him a camera. I'd have a word with Carlisle at work on Monday.
"I'll go and dish up the curry," Jacob said.
"No, no, it's all right," I said, jumping to my feet as I realised it was a good occasion to grill Alice, "I'll do it and Alice can give me a hand. You have a chat with Colin about the Villa. Get him to tell you some stories about the old days."
I gathered the dirty plates, scraping them noisily as I stacked, and hurried out to the kitchen, Alice trailing behind.
"So, what exactly do you need me for?" asked Alice as I drained the rice and spread it between the four plates.
"The dirt on your lunch date."
"It wasn't a date."
"You seemed to be getting on very we when I got back."
"He's good company," said Alice, "It's weird. Usually you pay for looks like that. Have o put up with a lousy personality. But he's witty and charming. He even insisted on paying."
"So, did he come on to you?" I said as I scraped out the rice pan and started distributing the curry in even dollops, making sure everyone had enough chick peas.
"No, he was the perfect gentleman. Didn't lay a finger on me, not even a quick grope under the table. Very disappointing. Especially as he spent most of the time asking about you."
I dropped a spoonful of curry on to the floor. I dashed to get a cloth, hoping Alice wouldn't notice my shaking hands as I wiped the tiles. It was all spilling over, bubbling up and making a mess. The past I'd thought I' put behind me. Colin was in my living room, battered and bruised physically and mentally as a result of what I'd done. And now Edward was back, asking questions. Perhaps already having given the game away.
"Oh," I said, trying to sound surprised. "What sort of questions?"
Mainly about your love life. He wanted to know how long you'd been with Jacob, what he did, what you got up to in your spare time."
"So what did you answer?"
"That you'd only known each other a month, you'd met on some internet chat line, Jacob works for an escort agency and you enjoyed going to S and M partied together."
I gave Alice one of my looks.
"Well, what do you think I said?"
I never know with you, that's the problem."
Alice sighed. "I told him the truth, that you enjoy saving the planet together in your spare time and that the pair of you are blissfully happy." Is that okay?"
I nodded. Although I wasn't at all sure it was. Maybe I'd wanted Alice to leave some element of doubt. Say something to make him wonder if I was worth pursuing. Though if that was the case I was in trouble. Because I ought to have learnt my lesson. That I shouldn't play with fire. Or even be left alone with matches.
"And now perhaps you can tell me why Edward's so interested in you," said Alice.
O-kaaaaaaaaaaay so... time for more begging... REVIEW! Please? REVIEW!!!!!!! :D:D:DD: I love to know what you think about it!! Plus-- I promise a sneek peek of next chapter to anyone who does...oh, and cibber-muffins! Yay!!
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-Angel on Air