The busy pub’s only redeeming feature was that it was the only one still open.
All brass and wood, with plastic shamrocks on the walls, it was full of nice people in nice clean clothes, who had nice regular jobs and nice salaries. Sitting with a group of people I didn’t know, I was listening to them talk about the contents of their properties. Modern essentials like wide-screen TVs, three piece leather suites, digital boxes and A2 colour prints of all of those far away places which they had visited once.
“And you?” asked the young woman sitting next to me, mistaking my smile for some kind of interest in their banal bantering.
“Of course,” I nodded, rolling a cigarette, “Who doesn’t these days?”
“Really?” she smiled, moving her chair closer to mine, “Sorry, but what’s your name? I forgot to ask, when we all, you know, just kind of sat down here and stole this table from you.”
“Jack,” I said.
“Nice to meet you Jack, my name’s Claire. So, go on then, Jack, please, tell me, what is in this flat of yours?”
Lighting my cigarette, I let the nicotine sink in before I answered her. It helped me to focus on her face better. Or at least, the best that I could. Thanks to two dogs and one horse, I had been drinking since the afternoon. And, yes, the amphetamine had helped, but it was now wearing off.
“Well, Claire,” I said, “It would probably be easier to tell you what I don’t have.”
“Really?” she said, crossing her legs in my direction, “Sorry, but you don’t look that-”
“Well heeled?” I said, “Well, maybe this old shirt and these old jeans are just to ward the vultures off, you know? Besides, when you are creative with your time, then it doesn’t really matter what you wear, does it?”
“No, I guess not,” she said, her right foot brushing against the back of my calf.
“You know, you’re more interesting than I thought,” she nodded, leaning in closer so I could both see and hear her better, “To be honest with you, Jack, I really have had more than enough of their conversation. Bores me stupid. Seriously, I didn’t come out drinking on a work night for this kind of thing. I’m Twenty-five not Thirty-five. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I feel you.”
“Good,” Claire smiled, “I thought that an individual like you would, Jack. So, go on then, Jack, please, keep me interested. Tell me all about this place of yours.”
“Sure,” I shrugged, more than aware that I now had her half-cut attention, “Well, Claire, basically, I just like to keep it simple. You know? To keep it honest. To make things direct. That’s why in the bare brick living room, there is nothing at all that gets in the way. Nope, not a thread. Nothing that blocks the energy, you know? Just a large black leather sofa and a wide-screen plasma TV.”
“Nice,” Claire smiled, her fingers brushing mine, “I like that. A mixture of the rough and smooth. And you have digital, right?”
“Of course. Got my box from Hong Kong. So, it’s not censored or restricted like a lot of them are. If you know what I mean, Claire.”
“Yes,” she winked, “I do Jack, I do.”
“Good,” I smiled, tapping her thigh, “So, you like things unrestricted and uncensored then, do you, Claire?”
“Love them,” she said, nearly spilling her drink as she put her glass down.
“Yes…”
Unlike my whole creative spiel, Claire wasn’t lying to me.
When she saw where I lived, there wasn’t any holding her back.
Up on the third floor of an old apartment block, my ‘flat’ was an unfurnished bedsit. Completely unfurnished. As in nothing in it. No furniture. No light bulbs. Nothing. Just an electric stove and a small broken fridge in its’ tiny kitchenette.
“You lying bastard!” Claire screamed, punching me hard in the chest, “You lying, drunken piece of crap! Where the hell’s the TV?! The sofa?! God!! You lying little bastard!”
Slapping me hard, Claire’s long red nails caught and clawed my cheek.
“You bloody deserve that,” she snapped, pointing at me, “Leading me on like that, with all of your ‘look-at-me’ lies.”
Blood dripping from my face, I didn’t do or say anything. We were both drunk but she was right. I had lied to her. I just hadn’t expected a young well-educated woman to have believed a single word that I’d said, let alone come home with me. Wiping the blood away with the back of my hand, I shook my head and turned away from Claire.
Behind my back, Claire carried on ranting and raving about the truth and liars, and winners and losers, while I looked up and out of the bed-sit window. That view of the moon; high above the same-same grey apartment blocks, seemed far more real to me than anything she was saying. That room, that street, that town, just all seemed so very, very small to get so worked up about.
“Hey,” said Claire, tapping me on the shoulder, “Hey, Jack. Look, I’m not going to say I’m sorry or anything. You deserved that. Believe me, you did. But… Are you alright?”
“Sure,” I said, turning from the moon to face her, “Don’t worry about it. Believe me, Claire, I’ve been slapped a lot harder than that.”
“Yes,” she replied, “Now, that I do believe, Jack.”
Claire shook her head.
“Seriously though, Jack, how can you live like this? You’ve got nothing here. Nothing at all. Obviously, I didn’t come here to just check out the colour of your wallpaper, but, look, I’m sorry, but I really didn’t expect this. How long have you been living here?”
“One night and two days.”
“Well, sorry, Jack, but, in my opinion, that’s already too many. Surely, you can find yourself something better than this. I mean, come on, Jack, isn’t there anywhere else you can go?”
I would have liked to have stated the obvious, but I didn’t get the chance. As, from behind me, a brick came crashing through the window, sending shards of glass all over my back and across the concrete floor.
Letting out a scream, Claire jumped back from me and started for the door.
“J-J-Jesus Jack,” she stammered, “W-what the fuck is going on…”
I had no idea and, again, I didn’t get the chance to say a thing, as Claire was out of the door and slamming it shut behind her, before I’d even fully registered what the hell had just happened.
Shaking the glass off my blue sailor’s coat, I didn’t blame her at all. If I could have, I would have done the same thing. Claire was just lucky that she had somewhere else to go. Somewhere nice. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that you didn’t have to put up with any of this crap at Two O’clock in the morning.
I shook my head.
“Fuck it…”
I couldn’t be bothered to sweep up the glass, or even think about why someone had decided to put a brick through my window. I was drunk and I’d had more than enough for one night. The door was locked and I had four walls around me. To my mind, that was far better than where I had been before and that would do for now. Crawling into my damp sleeping bag, I just pulled it up around my head and, blanking the night from my mind, I was out of there in seconds. No dreams. No bricks. No nothing.
“What the…”
It was around seven hours later and someone was banging on my door.
Reaching for my tobacco tin, I staggered up and out of my green cocoon.
Like the brick the night before, I wasn’t expecting anyone or anything, especially not at that time of the morning. I had only moved to that small town around two weeks before. And, except for a few faces at the half-way house, and a few more at the welfare office, I didn’t know anybody there. Scratching my head, I lit my freshly rolled cigarette, then tried to put the latch on the front door, only to see it come off in my hand.
“Jesus…”
What was wrong with this place?
Shaking my head, I put the latch in the back pocket of my jeans and watched as a stick-thin man in a pair of baggy blue jeans and a stretched black t-shirt, pushed the door open and then walked inside without asking me.
“Yeah, man,” he nodded, wide-eyed and scratching at his badly inked arms, “Name’s John, live downstairs. Any time you need a brew, yeah?”
Glancing at the glass on the floor, he carried on pacing around the room. The words flying out of his mouth, faster than his brain was frying.
“Like it man. Yeah, kept is simple. No strings on you, is there? No, just that bag… And that tape recorder… Not worth much. No, best way to be. Yeah, wish I could do the same. But you know how it is. Got a few problems. Yeah, got a few things that need sorting out. You know Gary, yeah?”
“No.”
“Right,” he nodded, wagging his finger, “I remember. You’re new. I’m old. Kind of like the furniture. But you ain’t got none. Yeah, I live downstairs. Gary’s in the block next door. Telling you mate, pucker gear. Weight always bang on. Seriously, I ain’t messing with you mate – proper gear. Always in, always got. Listen, tell you what, I’ll take you over and introduce you to him right now. Yeah, yeah, I know that is kind of me, so, let’s go, yeah?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks mate.”
“Course, course,” he nodded, “Just had to ask. Can’t be a stranger, now can I? No, not with all this nasty business and that. You know, with us being neighbours and that. Yeah, you know what they say, ‘a friend in need is…’ Well, yeah, anyway, bollocks to that. Listen, you ain’t got a spare fiver have you mate?”
I shook my head.
“A couple of quid then? Or, you know, 50p?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head again.
“Fair enough, Guv, fair enough. Look after the pennies and… Yeah, right,” John shook his head, “OK, mate, well, look, that’s me then, yeah? All caught up and the damage surveyed.
Nice… Right, so, I’ll see you later on then, yeah?”
“No doubt,” I nodded, holding the door open for him, “See you later, John.”
And just like he’d arrived, John was out of there in a flash.
Shaking my head, I walked back into the bed-sitting room.
Outside, the sky was darkening and I was now stood there staring up at it through a gaping hole in my window. A hole which I couldn’t afford to fill.
“Fuck it.” I shrugged, shaking my head.
Fishing a C90 out of my bag, I took two OxyContin for my nerves, pressed play on the tape recorder, and then got on with trying to find something that I could cover the hole with, before it started raining.
‘… I don’t need no doctor, ‘cos I know what’s ailing me…’
Mr Charles was right. I didn’t.
Just as in the drawers, the cupboards and in the tiny kitchenette, I couldn’t find anything to cover the hole with. No free newspapers. No junk mail. Nothing. The only thing I did find was one small aluminium pan.
Yes, I thought, scratching my head, that was strange.
With the bedsit being what it was, you would have expected to have found at least some kind of evidence that other people had lived there before. As there was absolutely no way that I was the first person who had ever lived there. Just like that brick through my window, that wouldn’t have made sense.
“Fuck it.” I shrugged.
Instead I decided to boil two eggs, smoke a joint and then I’d head out somewhere else.
Where? It didn’t matter. Sitting there, staring at those four walls, wasn’t helping anything. The gaping hole and the broken glass could wait until later. What mattered more was changing the messed up scene that was in front of me. Nodding to myself, I put the eggs into the pan, turned on the stove and then went back into the bed-sitting room, where I sat down on the floor, sparked up a joint and waited for the water to boil.
‘…Well, you know, I woke up hungry this morning, I didn’t have a piece of bread, I went down to the grocery store, but here’s what the grocer said…’
“’Where’s my money?’” I sang along with Willie Jones, before my eyes then closed of their own accord and I sat back and let the music soothe my mind. Any thoughts about the broken window, the flying brick, or the strange space that I was in, all being quickly washed away by the THC and the opioids that were flooding through my system. It was only when the rain outside had turned into a thunderstorm that I realised that the tape had stopped.
“Shit…”
Wiping the cold rain from my face, I staggered to my feet.
I had forgotten all about the eggs.
“Ah, Jesus…”
Swaying over to the kitchenette, I was sure as anything that I was going to find yet another disaster waiting there for me. A melted pan. The stove on fire. Or, at the very least, the smoking ashes of the eggs’ remains.
But I didn’t.
No. There was nothing waiting for me. The water hadn’t even boiled.
I dipped my finger in to check.
“No way…”
The water wasn’t even warm.
“No…”
It was the electric plate. It wasn’t working, even though I I’d turned it on.
Slumping back against the worktop, my head fell into my hands.
What the hell was going on with this place? Not only did I have no furniture, no lights, no window, no fridge and no latch on the door, but now I had no cooker.
– KNOCK – KNOCK – KNOCK –
“Ah! For fuck’s sake!” I growled, turning towards the door, “What is it now? I swear, if it’s that bloody speed-freak again, I swear I’ll…”
But, no, it wasn’t John. It was just the postman.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the old boy shrugged, “But I need you to sign for this.”
“Sure,” I nodded, signing for the letter he had in his hand.
“And, yeah, look,” the old boy said, as he handed me the letter, “I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but, seriously, you really ought to get someone to sort that window out. ‘Cos, well, I’m not being funny or nothing, but it really does look a right state from the road down there. Believe me, it really does.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, rubbing my eyes, “I’m sure it does mate. I’m sure it does.”
“Oh, well,” he shrugged, doffing his cap, “See you later on then, mate. Have a good one, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you later, cheers…”
Closing the door, I shook my head at what the street or anybody else thought about the window, the glass, or anything else for that matter. What was of far more interest to me, was the blue envelope that was in my hands. An envelope that was stamped, ‘H.M.P’, and was addressed to, ‘tHE sQuAttEr’.“
Jesus…”
Opening the blue envelope, I took out and read the letter.
‘DeAr WHo tHe Fuck eVer You ArE,You ArE in MY plAcE. Yes. MY plAcE. Not Your plAcE. MY plAcE.tHAt is WHY tHErE Was A brick tHrouGH tHE WiNDoW. to lEt You kNoW tHAt You ArE Not WElcoME HerE. HAVe You Got tHAt? HAVe You?’
I had.
‘i HopE You HAVe. but Just iN casE You HAVeN’t tHEN Go look iN tHE kitcHEN.You iN tHErE NoW?’
I was.
‘NoW Go look bEHiND tHE oVEN AND tHE FriDGE.’
I did.
‘You sEE tHAt pAl? Do You? DO YOU??’
“Jesus…”
I did. The reason that neither of them worked was because the mains wire to each of them had been sliced in two. And the live ends of the wires had been left drooping down not far from the damp skirting board that ran around not just the kitchenette but the whole damned place.
“Fuck…”
‘Yes tolD You, DiDN’t i? i AM Not plAYiNG GAMEs pAl.You ArE Not WelcoME HerE AND i DoN’t WANt You HerE.Not tHEN. Not NoW. AND Not WHEN I Get out. VerY VerY sooN. tHis is Your lAst AND oNlY WarNiNG. NoW Get out. Get out NoW. bEForE it Gets rEAllY bAD.Do i MAkE MysElF clEAr? Do I?’
Yes, he had.
I didn’t read or want to know any more. Screwing up the letter, I just threw it on the floor.
Whatever was going on in that room, that building or that whole damned street, it had nothing to do with me. It was all far too small to get myself worked up about.
Of course, I wasn’t going to find anywhere that was any better or any worse than where I was then and where I still am. As ever, I was just going to find somewhere that would do. Fortunately, as Claire and John had already both weighed up, there wasn’t much there to pack.
J H Martin is from London, England but has no fixed abode. His writing has appeared in a number of places in Asia, Europe and the Americas.