How to Find Home Page 6

  ‘No, not in this graveyard,’ Luca said. ‘In Bingham. I think we were meant to get off the train here. I think we should stay.’

  He paused and then added, ‘Just for a bit.’

  He stuffed the bread back into his pocket, happy that he’d come to this decision.

  I looked back at the oak tree. Its branches were looped together with rubber bands. Not all of them but some of them, twisted and tied tightly with different colours and thicknesses. I felt an uneasiness in my stomach; it was knotted as tight as those branches. We weren’t going to Skegness anytime soon.

  I told myself that it didn’t matter, that it’s the journey which matters and not the destination. But it really felt like the destination mattered most. It felt like the destination was the only thing that mattered.

  I curled my fingers around my wrist and snapped the rubber band against my skin.

  ‘Sure,’ I said to Luca.

  When we got back to the square we stood by the monument so that Jules would be able to find us. There was writing around the top of the arches, fancy capital letters in a language I couldn’t understand.

  ‘I wonder what this monument’s called,’ I said.

  ‘Buttercross,’ Luca said. ‘The pub’s named after it.’

  I looked at the pub and then back at Luca. I wanted to ask how he knew this but he was too distracted by all the people glancing at us. He curled his shoulders, turning up the collar of his navy-blue trench coat.

  ‘Nosey bastards,’ Luca said, lowering his head. ‘I wish I could disappear.’

  I thought for a second.

  ‘No problem,’ I said.

  I sat down on the cold slabs, legs crossed, and pulled a paper cup from my camping rucksack. Luca watched me, and then sat down in the space I patted beside me. I put the cup in front of us and would have pulled out my little sign asking for money, but I didn’t need to; everyone had already stopped looking.

  ‘Ta-dah! My first trick in becoming invisible,’ I said.

  Luca rolled his shoulders back.

  ‘And you told me you didn’t have any special skills,’ he said.

  I remembered all the shop doorways I’d sat in, how I used to watch passers-by. They tried so hard to pretend I didn’t exist that they would walk into things. Once, when I was sitting under the bridge by the Navigation, a young lad knocked over my cup, sending coppers scattering across the pavement. It was a Monday morning and everyone was on their way to work and one man, dressed in a nice suit, briefcase in hand, started laughing like he’d just seen the world’s greatest comedy show.

  ‘Good on you, mate!’ he shouted.

  The young lad bent down to help me collect the coins but he still didn’t look at me or speak. He was more embarrassed about me being there than he was about knocking over the cup.

  ‘Have a good day,’ I said as he stood.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away. I suppose I can’t really complain. I ended up on the streets because I wanted to disappear.

  ‘Can you make her invisible?’ said Luca.

  When I looked up, Jules was striding towards us. I pushed him on the arm.

  ‘Be nice,’ I said.

  She had a carton of beer tucked under one arm and Boy under the other. Jules is a Bevvy Wizard: she conjures up drink wherever she goes.

  ‘Found any hidden treasures?’ Luca said dryly as we both stood.

  ‘I’ve done better than that, Posh Boy,’ she said. ‘I’ve found us somewhere to sleep.’

  The Discovery of Manor Cottage

  My favourite story of all time is The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. When I was little I’d read a chapter every night, clutching the book to my chest before I fell asleep. It was a hardback so the pointy corners stuck right into my chest but I loved the story so much that I didn’t mind the pain. In the morning, I’d make the bed and stick the book beneath my pillow so it would be ready for me to pull out and read again later that night. Whenever I got to the end of the book I’d start reading from the beginning and kept going like this on a loop for a good year before, one day, Mother caught me reading it. She must have seen how happy it was making me because the next time I did something wrong – speaking too quickly, grinning at a stranger – she made me rip out twenty pages and put them in the fire. I recited the words in my head as I watched the pages ignite, trying to remember each and every detail.

  I guess that’s why parts of the story come back to me wherever I go. For example, when Jules led us down a lane off the market square and the cobbles had the sun shining all over them, it felt like we were walking down the Yellow Brick Road. Jules had passed Boy to me and, as I carried her, I realized she was like my own little Toto, but with three legs. It felt like a sign, not only that we were on the right path, but that we were on the path. The one that would take us to the Emerald City where the Wizard would wave a wand and fix all our problems – he would fix us. The more I thought about it, the more the bricks glowed yellow beneath my feet and soon my red canvas shoes began to glitter like Judy Garland’s ruby slippers (in the book they were silver slippers, but I don’t mind that they changed them; red looks better in Technicolor). I carried on staring at my shoes sparkling wildly like they were on fire, until I bumped into Jules who’d stopped walking. She made an ummph! noise, stumbling ahead before turning back to me.

  ‘Back in dreamland, Molls?’ she said.

  She rolled her eyes. When I looked down at my shoes, they were still sparkling.

  ‘What is this place?’ Luca said.

  Jules stood in front of a derelict building, her carton of beer still cradled in her arms.

  ‘Our new abode,’ she said in her posh voice, before bowing down real low and waving her hand out to the side.

  It was a red-brick building, tall and wide, with crumbling posts at the entrance that ran up to a small peaked roof with broken tiles. Nailed beneath the peak was a sign that read ‘MANOR COTTAGE’. It was probably a grand old house back in the day but now it looked bleak, like a doll with its eyes gouged out. There were metal sheets over the windows but Jules had prised the corner of a wooden board from the front door. It left a gap, like the mouse holes you see in cartoons. Boy sprung out of my hands, lowered her head and went straight through.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ said Luca.

  He looked up and down the road. It was quiet with no pedestrians.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ asked Jules.

  ‘Anything could be in there,’ said Luca.

  ‘I’ve already given it a gander,’ she said. ‘Completely empty.’

  Luca looked at Jules suspiciously.

  ‘Don’t trust me or summat?’ she said.

  Luca took off his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his coat.

  ‘Trust only leads to disappointment,’ he said.

  Jules wrinkled her nose, wiggling her head side to side.

  ‘Trust only leads to disappointment,’ she said, high and shaky like an old woman.

  She shoved the carton through the gap.

  ‘Get your arse in, Posh Boy,’ she said before shimmying through.

  I didn’t look at Luca because I didn’t want to give him time to object. It was easy for me to slip in and, as we stood waiting in the dark of the hallway, I wondered if he’d carry on standing out there just to prove his point. I heard a click and Jules’s face glowed orange as she lit a cigarette. She looked at me with blazing eyes.

  ‘Proper nervy little bloke, ain’t he?’ she said.

  The flame clicked off. For a moment I could still see the glow of her face but then my eyes adjusted and I could only see the amber disc at the end of her cigarette, flaring every time she took a puff.

  ‘Just a bit careful, I think,’ I said.

  We stood in the silence a little longer. I could hear Boy panting and sniffing.

  ‘So,’ Jules said. ‘What exactly did you do to Rusby?’

  It gave me a start, hearing his name.

  ‘What do you mea
n?’ I said.

  The room lit up as Jules pulled out her phone. She was concentrating real hard as she scrolled through her messages.

  ‘“Tell Molls I forgive her,”’ she read. ‘“All she has to do is come say sorry.”’

  She looked up at me questioningly. The screen went blank.

  ‘I threw a beer in his face,’ I said. ‘Then I smashed the glass and ran away.’

  She went quiet for a second. I imagined her shaking her head, thinking about how I’d wasted that beer. Then a sudden panic swelled in my chest.

  ‘You haven’t told him we’re here, have you?’ I said.

  There was a rustling noise at the door as Luca’s trumpet case was shoved through the gap.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry, Molls,’ she said softly. ‘That bastard ain’t ever going to touch you again. That’s a promise.’

  The panic eased.

  Another rustling noise, a rucksack being pushed through the gap, then Luca himself. His long body bent and twisted like a contortionist, the light glowing around him. I imagined someone walking past, seeing his legs wiggling on the other side like two worms trying to get through the same hole. Jules leant in close to me.

  ‘He’s making a proper meal out of that,’ she said.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ I replied.

  I opened the door to the main living room, hoping she’d follow, which she did. A lovely blue light was coming through the tops of the windows where the metal boards didn’t quite reach high enough. We could make out the outlines of each other but not below hip level, only our faces and torsos.

  ‘Right!’ Luca said as he followed us through.

  He knelt down on the floor and rifled through his rucksack, pulling out a camping light. It was a collapsible thing, which he straightened out and began winding with the handle attached to the top. It glowed kind of weak at first and then stronger until we could see the dust across the floorboards. We had a little look around but the only piece of furniture was a broken bureau with some washing machine instructions in the top drawer.

  We spread our things into a circle on the floorboards and sat down on our rolled-out sleeping bags. Luca’s bag looked new, no cuts or stains or patches to stop the draught, no blanket or liner to put beneath it. Rookie mistake.

  Jules hummed as she ripped open the carton of beers and stretched one out for Luca. He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t do well with drink,’ he said.

  Jules snorted.

  ‘Who does?’

  She carried on holding out the can until eventually he took it. She was dead chuffed, as though she’d converted him to her religion.

  People wonder why homeless people always have a bevvy in their hands but it’s kind of medicinal. Drink doesn’t only keep you merry but it also keeps you numb. If you’re pissed, you don’t really notice the pain and the cold. Crack does the same, but a hundred times better. There are worse side effects to that though, so alcohol’s a good substitute. Or at least it’s a legal substitute, which means you can get your hands on it easier.

  When we all had a can, Jules yanked her ring-pull back and lifted hers up. I watched the universe twinkling inside her broken eye as she waited for us to do the same. Even in the dim light I could see it all: the spiralling stars, the gases spinning against the purple-black.

  ‘To Bingham!’ she cried.

  ‘No,’ Luca said, just as we were about to take a sip.

  He looked down at his can.

  ‘I can’t cheers to that.’

  Jules sat with her neck pushed forward, beer can inches from her lips. She slammed it down, amber liquid sloshing out of the top.

  ‘Then what can you cheers to, you miserable sod?’

  Luca got ruffled by that, neck suddenly straight like a chicken ready to peck. I lifted my can.

  ‘To adventure!’ I said.

  They both looked at me, paused, then nodded. We all took a swig, the sour taste sitting on our tongues. As I tilted my head back for the second mouthful I saw something scurry along the back wall. It was big, black and furry. I decided not to mention it to the others.

  The light was already fading on the lamp so Luca began winding it up again. It made a whirring noise like a broken-down fridge. It got me thinking about machines and how they work, and then people and how they work.

  ‘Jules,’ I said, ‘what do you think makes us human?’

  Luca stopped winding the handle. His body was stiff, as though telling Jules his Serious Question was the same as telling her he had herpes. Jules didn’t notice though; she was too busy mulling it over.

  ‘Like, what makes us different from animals?’ she said.

  Luca shook his head.

  ‘Other animals,’ he said.

  ‘Say what?’ Jules said.

  ‘What makes us different from other animals. Humans are animals too.’

  Jules snorted as if he’d told a joke; then she clicked her fingers.

  ‘I got it!’ she said. ‘We think, don’t we? Animals are stupid as fuck.’

  She looked over at Boy, who had her head buried behind the bureau.

  ‘Sorry, doll,’ she said to her. ‘But it’s true.’

  Luca’s forehead crinkled.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he said.

  Jules shrugged.

  ‘Erm, yes, Posh Boy, it really bloody is.’

  ‘What about dolphins?’ he said.

  Jules snorted again.

  ‘Dolphins? They can’t even walk. How clever is that?’

  Luca looked over at me with wide eyes.

  ‘What about chimpanzees?’ I said.

  Jules sneered.

  ‘Smaller versions of humans. Haven’t a thought in their head.’

  Luca shook his head. You could tell he was trying to be patient.

  ‘Gorillas?’ he said.

  Jules looked at him as though he was an idiot.

  ‘They eat their own shit!’

  Me and Luca were trying not to laugh, but there’s something about the way Jules says things that’s just freaking hilarious. We tried to think of more examples but Jules was getting to her feet.

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ she said, picking up her can.

  Luca looked around.

  ‘Off?’

  She pointed a thumb behind her.

  ‘Got to talk to a man about a dog.’

  Boy was still sniffing the floor and, when Jules picked her up, began thrashing around so that she nearly fell from Jules’s hands.

  ‘See,’ she said as she left. ‘Proper stupid.’

  Luca sat bemused. I shrugged, pushing myself to my feet.

  ‘We should look for some cardboard,’ I said.

  Luca wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Cardboard?’ he said. ‘What for?’

  I frowned, wondering how many times Luca had slept rough. There were some homeless who managed to avoid it: sofa surfing, night buses, hostels and crisis accommodation. He must have been lucky so far; nothing can prepare you for that first night on a cold floor.

  ‘Just follow me,’ I said.

  When the police booted me out of Nottingham train station I followed the crowd. I didn’t know the city but, as I followed the masses, its layout became clear; how you had to walk through the shopping centre to reach the city centre, and cross the roads carefully because they weren’t just for cars, buses and people, like normal roads, but for trams too. When I got to Market Square, the crowd dispersed so I walked in and out of the shops to keep myself warm. I moved on every half an hour so that the security didn’t get tetchy and threaten me with an ASBO again. I tried to avoid the restaurants – the smell of food made my stomach ache – but every other shop was a fast-food joint so there was no escaping it. Then the shops started closing and, tired from all the walking around, I sat on a bench by the Town Hall and read a paperback copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I’d bought it at a pound shop before leaving home, an essential tool in my street-survival kit alongside d
uct tape and foldable cutlery.

  When I was part way through the fourth chapter I saw him. A tall willowy man with a wispy grey beard and a knee-length jacket with rainbow stripes down its length. He had a purple beanie rammed low on his head and was walking up and down the street as though he had springs in his legs, two hessian bags clutched in his hands. I watched as he popped in and out of sandwich shops, his bags getting fuller with each visit, until eventually I lost sight of him. The Town Hall clock struck six o’clock and all the shop doors closed. I got back to my book but I couldn’t shake the image of the man. The rainbow jacket, the bouncing motion, the bags of sandwiches clutched in his hands.

  ‘Cheese and pickle?’

  When I looked up he was standing in front of me, a soft grin across his face as he held a triangular package out to me. I felt my cheeks get hot; I don’t know how he’d figured it out. My clothes were still clean, my hair brushed neatly behind my ears, I’d even made sure to spray myself with a tester bottle from the perfume counter in the shop, and yet he’d known I was homeless. I didn’t say anything, just shook my head, grabbed my rucksack and rushed off as though I was late for an appointment.

  As I walked the streets that evening I looked at all the homeless people sitting and lying in doorways. It felt strange that I was one of them now. Whenever I walked by homeless people as a child my mother would say, ‘That’s where you’ll end up if you don’t do as you’re told.’

  I did as I was told and I still ended up here, which shows how much she knew.

  I didn’t want to take anyone’s turf or sleep in the open in case the police found me again so I went to one of the NCP car parks and made my way up to the top level. Most of the cars were gone by then so I found a corner away from the cameras and exits and bunked up for the night. I’d barely got in my sleeping bag when I saw him. The same man, thin and willowy, bouncing his way towards me across the black concrete. He didn’t have the hessian bags any more but a large piece of cardboard in his hands. I thought about getting my things together and running away again but then there he was, standing in front of me just like he had been before, a big grin across his face. It stretched up into his cheeks and made his eyes glow so brightly he could have had a candle burning inside him. I wondered if he was homeless too. He didn’t look homeless, just a bit of a hippy. I didn’t know then that homeless people came in every form imaginable. There are people who sleep in cars, iron their suits in petrol station toilets and still go to work the next day without anyone knowing they have no place to call home.