Today. Tomorrow was today for nightshift workers. Her and Mo would go someplace with Sophie. The whole day was theirs. He would make the food. Or her. Or together, and Sophie helping. A movie. She so looked forward to it.
That was so typical of her letting the taxi go. So so — just foolish. She was. Then they were on the other side of the street my God the familiarity like she had been dreaming about and here they were the two of them, coming out of the shadows along from the walkway, the one with the limp and him with the beard and the woollen cap.
They were quite a distance away but the shape, the resemblance, it was so so Brian, really and truly my God! the height and the skinniness! coat-hanger shoulders, that was Dad, Mr Malinky and that walk of his, that walk, who else? Helen laughed to see it, she did, it was just so Brian my God it was her big brother, just so amazing; how strange was that, just so amazing. What a strange strange moment. If he turned to look back. He didnt, he just was walking and pausing, going that slow way to keep pace with his mate.
A white van approached in the opposite direction towards the traffic lights, then through on the green and out of sight.
Helen was clutching her bag, and aware that she was, staying on the other side of the road and that distance back from them. If they didnt turn round. They didnt, so didnt see her. It was like her entire existence.
They were heading toward the bridge.
She wanted to run but to keep a safe gap between them too, needing to be sure. She was sure but needed to be even more sure, just like for certain, so she knew for certain.
The two guys walked so slowly she would catch up and she didnt want to. She kept to the side of the pavement, the shadows, and paused by a wall. The smell of urine. Oh well.
You know something. There was no reason to do anything. Helen felt that so so strongly, so like just strongly. If she didnt want to do anything then nothing, so be it, just like nothing.
But it was true.
She smiled. Because really there was no going back on the decision. That was cheery. Although what was it she was to do?
The two homeless guys
She started running immediately, running after them. It was just to get to them, to Brian, also like explaining, wanting to explain it to him, just about everything, everything, everything she thought and felt, that had happened, everything. If she missed him now she would never find him again. She knew that clearly.
She knew everything clearly, really like she knew, she just knew. Her entire life, the strangest strangest feeling like never ever, destined never, how her life never, would never begin. That was so so strange, never to begin and here she was with a six-year-old daughter my God and it was her life, her life to begin, and it had begun. And Brian didnt know. He didnt. She would tell him. Everything would be out in the open.
About Mum and Dad too, how it was their life, and just so unlucky, that was how it was for so so many people and if the cards turned that way it was like bust, you were. Brian too, it was just unlucky, he had had an unlucky life and that was so so unfair, just so unfair. But Helen was the same. Most people are. She couldnt have done anything. She didnt have that control. Girls dont. If Brian thought otherwise he was mistaken, very very mistaken.
She needed to tell him that too and everything that had happened, how things had been for her in her life and her marriage; he didnt know any of that, and about her ex, if he had been there for her but he never was. If he thought it had been easy for her my God how wrong he was like so completely completely wrong, completely wrong. It was all such a fight. She could have wept. Such a horrible bloody fight, if he thought she was lucky, how wrong was he just so so wrong. What had he done in his life? He didnt think about her, just a wee girl, if she needed a brother. Of course she did. What girl didnt? She would have loved that brother. Only it was him.
There was a man in a dark suit coming towards her and he moved sideways or she might have crashed into him. She had started running, clopping along in those heels
Up ahead the one with the limp lagged a little, then the two stopped a moment, perhaps hearing the sharp clop clop clop of her shoes, and they glanced back. The tall skinny guy frowned and turned away, but edged to the kerb, expecting her to charge past. Instead she clapped her hand to his shoulder, as though grabbing him. He was taken by surprise and tried to shrug her off, shouting at her, something. She grabbed at his left arm, grasped it tightly, clinging onto him, not even hearing his voice just like what he was saying, what was he saying? she didnt know and he muttered something and swung round, locked his right hand on her throat for her so to let go, to make her let go his arm, and her trying to gulp, she was choking and clawing scratching at his hand. His grip was locking off her breath and she was forced backwards how he was forcing her backwards, till she staggered and crumpled to the ground, the other one shouting, whatever he was shouting. Then she was lying on her side but seeing to the sky. The tall skinny one was bending over her but it was all just shadows and spots, and she stayed lying there, and when her eyes were open properly the two of them had vanished.
Notes
He just wanted a decent book to read…
Not too much to ask, is it? It was in 1935 when Allen Lane, Managing Director of Bodley Head Publishers, stood on a platform at Exeter railway station looking for something good to read on his journey back to London. His choice was limited to popular magazines and poor-quality paperbacks — the same choice faced every day by the vast majority of readers, few of whom could afford hardbacks. Lane’s disappointment and subsequent anger at the range of books generally available led him to found a company — and change the world.
We believed in the existence in this country of a vast reading public for intelligent books at a low price, and staked everything on it’
Sir Allen Lane, 1902–1970, founder of Penguin Books
The quality paperback had arrived — and not just in bookshops. Lane was adamant that his Penguins should appear in chain stores and tobacconists, and should cost no more than a packet of cigarettes.
Reading habits (and cigarette prices) have changed since 1935, but Penguin still believes in publishing the best books for everybody to enjoy.We still believe that good design costs no more than bad design, and we still believe that quality books published passionately and responsibly make the world a better place.
So wherever you see the little bird — whether it’s on a piece of prize-winning literary fiction or a celebrity autobiography, political tour de force or historical masterpiece, a serial-killer thriller, reference book, world classic or a piece of pure escapism — you can bet that it represents the very best that the genre has to offer.