An hour or so after we’d settled down, a drunk carrying a can of extra strength lager came weaving his way towards us. They could be the bane of my existence at Angel. Almost every day I’d be asked for a quid for a beer by someone off his face on Special Brew. Princess spotted him, stood up and barked a quick warning as if to say ‘steer clear’. She wasn’t the world’s biggest dog, but she looked intimidating enough. She was more Staffie than Lab in that respect. He had soon veered off on another course, heading off to bother someone other poor soul instead.
Princess was at her most alert whenever anyone knelt down to stroke and say hello to Bob. She would take a step towards them, jutting her head forward so that she could make sure that they were treating the smallest member of our trio with the proper respect. Again, if she disapproved of anyone she made her feelings clear and they would stand back.
She actually made my job a little easier. It could often be a challenge to keep an eye on Bob while trying to sell the magazine at the same time, especially when the street was busy. The incident with the lady in the tweed suit had made me especially wary.
‘Thank you, Princess,’ I began saying on a regular basis, handing her a little treat from my rucksack.
Even Bob shot her a couple of approving looks. Somewhere, deep inside his feline mind I felt sure he was revising his opinion of our unexpected new recruit. ‘Maybe she’s not so bad after all,’ he may have been thinking.
The weather remained miserable all afternoon, so when the clock started edging towards six, I started looking out for Titch. I’d done pretty well selling magazines and wanted to start heading homewards. It was no night to be out late. But there was no sign of him. Six pm came and went and still there was nothing. I saw one of the The Big Issue co-ordinators heading home from work. Everyone knew Titch, so I asked if she’d seen him.
‘No, haven’t seen him for weeks actually,’ she said. ‘Not since all that trouble, you know?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
By 6.30pm I’d become thoroughly disillusioned. I knew street people weren’t the world’s greatest timekeepers, but this was getting ridiculous.
‘Come on you two, let’s head for home. He can come and collect you there, Princess,’ I said, gathering all my stuff together. I was cheesed off with Titch, but I was also a little worried. Bob had tolerated Princess being in the flat for a few minutes earlier but having her for a ‘sleepover’ was another matter altogether. I could foresee lots of barking from Princess, complaints from the neighbours and a sleepless night for me.
I stopped at the convenience store to grab some food for Princess. I had no idea what she liked to eat, so gambled on a tin of standard fare dog food and some doggie biscuits.
Back in the kitchen as we all settled down to dinner, Bob once more ensured that the pecking order was clear. When Princess made a move towards the bowl of water I’d laid out for her, Bob hissed and snarled loudly, forcing the interloper to back off. He had to lap up his own bowl of milk first.
It didn’t take them long to reach an accommodation though. In fact, Bob was so content with his new companion that he allowed her to clear out the remains of his dinner bowl.
I’ve seen it all now, I thought to myself. Actually, I hadn’t.
I was shattered by 10pm and fell asleep in front of the television. When I woke up I saw something that made me wish I owned a video camera. I would have made a small fortune on those television shows that feature cute animal clips.
Bob and Princess were both splayed out on the carpet, snoozing quietly. When I’d left them they were at opposite ends of the room, with Bob near his favourite spot by the radiator and Princess near the door. While I’d been sleeping, Princess had clearly sought out the warmth of the radiator and slid alongside Bob. Her head was now barely a foot from Bob’s nose. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have guessed that they were lifelong pals. I locked the front door, switched off the lights and headed off to bed leaving them there. I didn’t hear a peep from either of them until the following morning when I was woken up by the sound of barking.
It took me a moment to remember that I had a dog in the house.
‘What’s wrong, Princess?’ I said, still half asleep.
They say that some animals can sense their owners are nearby. My best friend Belle sometimes stayed at the flat with us and she had told me that Bob often sensed when I was coming home. Several times he had jumped up on the window sill in the kitchen looking anxiously down to the street below minutes before I arrived at the front door. Princess clearly had the same gift because a couple of moments later I heard the buzzer. It was Titch.
From the look of his unshaven and rather bleary face, he had slept rough, which, knowing Titch, was quite possible.
‘Really sorry to leave you in the lurch last night but something came up,’ he said, apologetically. I didn’t bother asking what it was. I’d had nights like that myself, far too many of them.
I made another cup of tea and stuck some bread in the toaster. He looked like he could do with something warm inside him.
Bob was lying next to the radiator, with Princess curled up a couple of feet away, his eyes once more fixed on his new friend. The expression on Titch’s face was priceless. He was dumbstruck.
‘Look at those two, they get on like a house on fire now,’ I smiled.
‘I can see it, but I can’t quite believe it,’ he said, grinning widely.
Titch wasn’t a man to miss an opportunity.
‘So would you mind looking after her again if I’m in the lurch?’ he asked, munching on his toast.
‘Why not?’ I said.
Chapter 5
The Ghost on the Stairs
The rain had been relentless for days, transforming the streets of London into miniature paddling pools. Bob and I were regularly returning home soaked to the skin, so today I’d given up and headed home early.
I arrived back at the flats around mid-afternoon desperate to get out of my wet clothes and let Bob warm himself by the radiator.
The lift in my building was erratic at the best of times. After a few minutes repeatedly pressing the button for it to come down from the fifth floor, I realised it was out of order once more.
‘Brilliant,’ I muttered to myself. ‘It’s the long walk up again I’m afraid Bob.’
He looked at me forlornly.
‘Come on then,’ I said, dipping my shoulder down so that he could climb on board.
We were just beginning the final couple of flights of stairs, from the fourth to the fifth floor, when I noticed a figure in the shadows on the landing above us.
‘Hold on here for a second, Bob,’ I said, placing him down on the steps and heading up on my own.
Moving in closer I could see that it was a man and he was leaning against the wall. He was hunched over with his trousers partially dropped down and there was something metallic in his hand. I knew instantly what he was doing.
In the past, the flats had been notorious as a haunt for drug users and dealers. Addicts would find their way in and use the staircase and hallways to smoke crack and marijuana or inject themselves with heroin like this guy was doing. In the years since I’d moved in, the police had improved the situation dramatically, but we’d still occasionally see young kids dealing in the stairwell on the ground floor. It was nowhere near as bad as a previous sheltered housing project I’d lived in, over in Dalston, which was over-run with crack addicts. But it was still distressing, especially for the families who lived in the flats. No one wants their children arriving home from school to find a junkie shooting up on the staircase outside their home.