The Lower London Shelter
Chapter 3
All too soon, I awoke. It took me a moment or two to realize that I was still lying in the bathroom. Someone was leaning over me, slapping my face. I tried to stand, tried to...I fell back down. The woman above me grabbed my hand and pulled me into a sitting position. I rubbed my head in confusion. She stared at me cautiously, concern flashing across her face. "Who are you?" I mumbled, standing slowly. "Kerry Spinnet," she said, still all-business. "You're...the one called Alex, aren't you?" I nodded. She smiled for the first time, and I noticed the crisp, clean suit she wore. She must have seen me staring, for her next words were, "I'm one of the shelter's new supervisors." I nodded, understanding. "Are you all right?" She asked me, her eyes unmoving. I nodded. "Just...just a little disoriented, I suppose," I said. "Good," was her response, "breakfast is being served now."
Kerry left before I could thank her. Shrugging in confusion, I followed the other women down the damp, dank cement hallway toward the dining room, a place I dreaded each day. Unfortunately, the shelter was not only for women and children; it was also for men.
As the other women and I filed in from our side of the shelter, the men filed in, across the dining hall. Some of them were already seated, slurping coffee or eating biscuits. I listened carefully to the conversation as I passed a table:
"Didn't kip well last night," said a stout man in grubby jeans and a ripped sweatshirt.
"New bloke snores like nothing I ever heard before," said another, sipping black coffee.
"Wha's 'is name again, Fin?" asked a third.
"Dean, I think it is," said the first man, Fin.
I shrugged. A new guy at the shelter? Certainly not unusual. Men in the shelter were quite common. Although the sign out front read "Lower London Women and Children's Shelter," the place had been open to men for several years, or so I'd heard.
The line for food seemed to move slower with every passing second. I waited patiently as I could, though the constant rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I had not only myself, but my baby to feed.
When I finally reached the counter, someone passed me a tray. "Thanks," I mumbled absentmindedly. "Well, it's so nice to find a lady with manners," said a voice. I looked up to see who had spoken. To my surprise, a tall man stood before me, grinning boyishly. Sharp features and wavy dark hair...I knew I would have remembered seeing him before. "Name's Seamus," he said, not waiting for me to speak first. "Seamus Dean," he said. I realized why I had not seen him before. He was an Irishman.
He extended one hand, expecting me to shake it. I looked at it, but did nothing. "What's your name?" he prompted. I looked at the ground. For some reason beyond my explanation, I was terrified of him. Finally–"Alex," I managed to choke out. He nodded and looked me over slightly, either sizing me up or checking me out, not that it really mattered. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my swollen stomach, but the flash of surprise in his eyes told me he knew I was with child.
Surprisingly, he did neither of the two things I had anticipated; walk away or try to make a move on me. Instead, he smiled politely. "Been here long?" he asked, and I shrugged. "About 5 months or so," I answered. "You're new, am I right?" He nodded casually. "Where are you from?" he asked. I had quite a time deliberating how to answer this. "I...don't know," I said finally, flashing him a "don't ask, don't tell," look. He nodded. "I grew up in Ireland," he said, explaining his accent, "but my Mum moved us to Britain when I was 17." I looked him over carefully. He was dressed not-too-raggedly, and had the appearance of a very attractive overgrown schoolboy.
"Let me ask you something," I said, surprised to hear myself sounding so bold. "What is someone as good-looking and well-mannered as you doing in a place like this?" He laughed slightly and shrugged, pointed me toward a vacant table near the back of the hall. I took a seat, and he proceeded to tell me his life story.