and out of the same shops time and again, comparing the fits and styles of most of the major clothing outlets. For lunch they went to Café Nero on the High Street and sat outside eating grilled paninis and drinking fruit smoothies – her mum had given up on coffee when it had begun to stain her teeth.
At four o’clock, having settled on a number of items that were both practical and still reasonably stylish, her mum said ‘goodbye’ and went off to start her evening shift behind one of the many bars further up the High Street. This left Angelina to walk home with her own thoughts to amuse her. She’d had a good day and her spirits were as bright as the afternoon sun. She was just passing Marks and Spencer, opposite the coffee house where she had lunched, when a voice broke into her daydream. It was singing.
‘…when the bell begins to chime. Reflecting BIG ISSUE? No sir? God bless you… and it doesn’t have much time. ‘cause at five o’clock they take me to the gallows pole. COME ON NOW BIIIG ISSUE… of time for me are running low.’
It was a strange voice; sounding like it came through gritted teeth. Angelina looked up. Just ahead of her, outside the endmost door of M&S was quite possibly the strangest looking man she had ever seen. His head was covered in thick black dreadlocks that came down just beyond his shoulders and appeared to be held in place by a black beanie with a pink pom-pom on the top. He was wearing grubby combats and a woollen hoodie that looked as though it had originally belonged to some Navajo tribesman (one quite a lot bigger than the man now wearing it). The cause of the gritted teeth sound in the voice was a roll-up cigarette that stuck out of one corner of the man’s mouth. Quite how it failed to set fire to the stubbly beard surrounding it was beyond Angelina, and she was so fascinated by the overall appearance of the man that she decided to approach him.
‘… priest comes to read me the last rites BIIIG ISS…’
‘I’ll take one.’
The man stopped mid-shout and peered down at her through deep brown eyes. They took a moment or two to focus, but when they did a broad smile drew across his face.
‘Jolly good,’ he said, plucking a copy of the magazine from the pile on the floor next to him. As he did so, Angelina caught a glimpse of some unmistakable white earphones in his ears and frowned.
‘Hey!’
The man straightened as though someone had put a ramrod up his back. He looked at her suspiciously.
‘How come you are selling the Big Issue when you can afford an iPod?’ Angelina asked, hands on hips.
The man looked down in horror and hastily tucked the offending article into the depths of his hoodie.
‘ ‘s mine,’ he said with a guilty look on his face. ‘I bought it.’
‘Bought it or stole it?’ asked Angelina sternly. The man looked taken aback.
‘Course I didn’t steal it. Though come to think of it that would have worked just as well. ‘cept I would have needed a charger too. Anyway it’s mine, I bought it, it’s mine.’ He leaned down towards her in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘You won’t tell anyone though, will you?’
His breath carried a pungent aroma that hinted at more than just tobacco.
‘Are you high?’ Angelina asked.
The man looked at her dumbly, the cigarette, or joint even, hanging loosely from his mouth.
‘High?’ he repeated.
‘Well?’
‘Perhaps a little,’ he admitted looking guilty for a moment before his grin returned and he added, ‘Besides, who would not be high on a day like today?’
Angelina remained unmoved by his jovial manner and continued to fix him with as stern a stare as she could manage. The man’s face dropped.
‘Listen, I’ll let you have that one for free if you scarper and tell no-one,’ he said.
‘Done,’ said Angelina. She turned her back on him and continued on her way down the High Street and back towards her home. As she went she heard the man break into song again.
‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Hallowed be thy name! BIG ISSUE!!!’
All the way home Angelina could not stop thinking about the man. Even as she walked through the retail park past B&Q, the Saab and Mercedes showrooms and turned right at the Arches towards her flat, she found she could picture almost every detail on his face. It was as if an image of it had been burned on to the back of her eyeballs. So many quirky things stood out; his singing, his genuinely sunny disposition, his curious aroma. Yet somehow they did not quite fit together. Something about him seemed out of place, but she could not put her finger on it. Still, she found herself smiling at the mere thought of him.
As she entered the flat and put her shopping bags to one side she looked down at the magazine she had been given by him and began thumbing through the pages. A paragraph caught her eye: ‘The Big Issue was set up as a business in 1991 to give homeless people the chance to make an income. It campaigns on behalf of homeless people. It allows homeless people to voice their views and opinions. To become a vendor you must be homeless or vulnerably housed….’
Perhaps the man really was homeless and had spent all his money on the MP3 player because he loved his music so much. She felt a swift pang of guilt as she stared at the cover of the magazine. She had not paid a penny for it. Without thinking she had taken from someone worse off than herself and had not given anything in return. She felt awful and resolved there and then to find him at the next available opportunity and give him the money she had denied him, plus interest.
Angelina had learned to her cost the previous year the importance of first impressions. Her parent’s divorce papers had only finally been signed a few weeks previously and her mother had been left with barely a penny to set Angelina up for her first term at secondary school. As a way of saving money she had cut Angelina’s hair herself and most of her school uniform had come from charity shops. Even Angelina had to admit that she had looked a bit of a state that first day. She would dearly have loved the chance to explain it all to the other girls, but by the end of the first day most of them had already made up their minds on her. Even when a small cheque arrived for her birthday from her Dad, which allowed her to get her hair done properly, it was still too late. The jeering and name-calling had begun.
Her principal antagonist was Chardonnay Willis, who was living proof of the adage that money can in no way buy you class. Rumour had it that Chardonnay’s parents had won not an insubstantial amount on the lottery and a girl from once humble backgrounds had been propelled into another sphere of living altogether. Unfortunately the result was a really nasty piece of work, who swaggered about school mouthing off to pupil and teacher alike. As was the norm when people got a sniff of wealth, Chardonnay had a constant stream of wannabes in her wake, which only served to boost her already over-inflated ego.
Angelina didn’t give her the time of day. She knew Chardonnay would be rude to her no matter what she did or how she looked and since she had sorted out her appearance, Angelina found that she had friends enough, although no one she could say she was really close to. No one she would entrust the secrets of her heart to.
It was all so different from her time at primary school. She had grown up with plenty of friends around her and had never found herself without someone to talk to. Her fair skin, offset by dark hair and deep brown eyes had given her plenty of attention from boys, not that she craved it, and she had found the first few years of school quite enjoyable. Nowadays she spent a great deal of her time alone, lost in a world of her own thoughts. Sometimes she would socialise at break and lunch times, but for the most part she was happier in her own company.
Angelina’s sunny mood was cut short almost as soon as the weekend ended. After a summer with little to do other than stand around and gossip, Chardonnay and her fan club seemed to have a fresh appetite for causing misery and despite her best efforts, Angelina could not help but be affected by their cruel taunts. Coupled with Mrs Adcock’s sudden interest in her personal life, this made the school days pass ever more slowly. There was nothing more galling than being branded a teacher’s pe
t when all you wanted to do was to get away from the woman.
Angelina had taken to getting a seat as close to the door as possible in maths so that she could make a bid for freedom as soon as the bell went. She still dutifully completed all the homework tasks, being careful to moderate her answers in order to just achieve above average scores, so as not to attract further derision from those of her classmates who struggled to even spell ten, let alone count to it.
She saw little of her mum that week, which saddened her. Arriving home to an empty house and then leaving the same the following morning was never enjoyable, even when life was going well.
Finally the marathon was over and the weekend arrived. She slept in until late morning on the Saturday, feeling little desire to face the world, but when she did eventually crawl out of bed she decided there was little else to do but take a wander into town.
It always amazed Angelina how many people would be queuing in their cars to get to B&Q on a Saturday morning. Indeed the same normally happened on a Sunday too, and Bank Holidays were even worse. Didn’t people have better things to do with their time than buy paint or decking material? How often could one buy a lawnmower? At least the sun was out again making them sweat in their cars as they waited for parking spaces to become free.
She passed Watford High Street station and crossed the ring road, entering the town centre proper. She had no idea what she was going to do. She had barely a fiver on her and she knew that would not go far. She wandered through the Harlequin for a while, looking idly at clothes she had no intention of buying and browsing the racks of CDs and DVDs in HMV in search of inspiration. But her heart was not really in it and she left without buying anything. As she walked back out onto the sun-kissed High Street, she immediately heard an unmistakeable voice ring out in song.
‘Your world was made for you by someone above… and that someone wants you to buy a BIG ISSUE ladies and gentlemen, BIG ISSUE here for you… made me master for the world where you exist… BIG ISSUE… The soul I… thank you madam, God bless you…’
And so it went on. The sound of the voice brought with it the first ray of happiness that had entered Angelina’s heart all week. With a beaming smile she strolled down the High Street to where the man was standing, again wearing his thick hoodie that looked far too hot for the weather they were enjoying and his beanie with the silly pink pom-pom on top.
‘Hello again!’ she chirped, stopping directly in front of him.
‘Whoa! It’s you!’ said the man, startled by her sudden appearance. ‘Listen, about last week…’
‘Yes, I am sorry for being so stingy over that magazine,’ said Angelina interrupting him. ‘Here’s the money I owe you and some more for another if you don’t mind.’
The man looked further taken aback. His brow furrowed beneath the line of the beanie and he stared blankly at the money in her outstretched palm.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s not what I was going to say, but thanks.’
He took the coins and passed her the latest issue of the magazine. Then he took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and stubbed it out in his palm. He wiped his hand on the side of his combats and offered it to Angelina. As he did so she couldn’t help noticing a round scar in the centre of his palm, almost exactly where he had put out the cigarette.
‘My name’s Zeus,’ he said as she tentatively shook it. ‘At least, that’s what I’m known as round here.’
‘Zeus? Wow that’s an odd name. My name is Angelina Marsh, but my friends just call me Angel.’
‘Angel, that’s a nice name.’
‘It’s unusual isn’t it?’
‘Actually I happen to know quite a few Angels.’
‘Really? Oh.’
Zeus smiled. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Angelina Marsh.’
‘You too,’ she replied, returning the smile.
There followed an awkward silence, where they both just looked at one another not knowing what to say.
‘I’d… err… better get going,’ said Angelina eventually. ‘Hopefully I’ll see you around soon.’
‘OK then,’ said Zeus. ‘God bless you young lady.’
Back in her flat, Angelina could not put the man out of her mind. Everything about him was intriguing. She had seen homeless people before who had looked and smelled similar, but there was something very different about Zeus. He gave the impression of being quite happy with his lot in life and had been quite open with her when she had quizzed him the previous week. Even as she drifted off to sleep that evening his face was still clear in her mind. She wondered what that meant.
Angelina went back to town the very next day with the sole purpose of seeing Zeus again. She had woken early and had lain in bed wondering what time a homeless person would be out on the streets. She had then chastised herself for her stupidity; he would be living on the streets. Somehow the meaning of the word ‘homeless’ had not quite registered until then.
She arrived in the centre of town around eleven o’clock, but was disappointed to find that Zeus was not in his usual spot. She continued on up the High Street, disheartened but hoping to find him a little further on. There was a Sunday match on at the Vicarage Road stadium and the centre of town was awash with yellow shirted football supporters and policemen in fluorescent jackets. There was an upbeat vibe around town and for once Angelina did not mind walking through the crowds, although she did sometimes feel like a salmon swimming upstream.
She passed the bars and charity shops that lay beyond the bridge that took the ring road over the High Street, and arrived at its end to find no sign of Zeus. Further disheartened, she sat for a while watching the wind blow ripples across the long rectangular pond that dominated the end of the street. Numerous crisp packets and Coke bottles floated up against the thick clumps of reeds. Angelina knew it was probably kids her own age that had discarded them there, and she pondered for a while on the unlimited capacity of human beings to despoil everything they came into contact with. Perhaps her mum was right. Maybe she was a bit young to be taking such a bleak outlook on the world. She peered at her reflection, which stared back from the murky depths of the pond. Her dark hair had grown out to a decent length at last and her mood brightened as she continued to study her features. She was hardly blossoming into womanhood, but at least she felt like she had a decent point to start from.
‘Big Issue please? Big Issue?’
The voice filtered through her thoughts and grappled for her attention. She had no idea how long she had been looking at herself for. She raised her head, but was again disappointed to find that it was not Zeus, but another man who had set up stall outside a shop selling skimpy lingerie and adult DVDs. Angelina wasn’t sure he was aiming for the right clientele.
‘This is stupid,’ she thought. ‘What am I waiting here for? He doesn’t know I’m here. He’s probably not even thinking about me.’
She got to her feet and shuffled her way back down the High Street feeling gloomy once more. As she passed McDonalds she suddenly heard a screechy voice cry out, followed by a mocking laugh. She could tell Chardonnay Willis’ voice a mile away and did not even give the girl the satisfaction of acknowledgement, turning instead into the department store opposite.
There was little in there that grabbed her attention, but she passed a few minutes over at the cosmetics counters trying on foundations and eye shadows. Her mother had always had make-up she could play with, but it was all a bit much; iridescent nail polish and perma-tan blusher that made her positively glow on occasion. Angelina had too much of her father in her; fair skin and dark hair that required a more subtle touch. All the other girls at school wore make-up to varying degrees. Some preferred thick eyeliner and a dab of lipstick, while others – Chardonnay and her mates especially – slapped it on like wallpaper paste and looked more like a posse of clowns than anything else.
Angelina did not believe in buying anything unless she really liked it and since her tastes seemed to take her to the higher end of
the price brackets she normally went without. Which was fine. Most children her age would have screamed and stamped their feet until their parents had given in, but Angelina and her mother had come to a silent understanding. Stamping her feet would not magically make money appear and Angelina had to be content with what she had.
Just then Angelina’s mobile bleeped. It had to be her mother, since she was the only person Angelina had given her number to. She’d had the phone for nearly a year; her mum had bought it for her so that she could keep in contact without leaving reams of messages stuck to the fridge. The two of them saw so little of one another that they probably spoke more on the phone than they did face to face. Angelina opened the message and read it. Her mum was not going to be home that night. This came as quite a shock to Angelina. Her mum had not stayed away from home since the divorce, though some nights she did get back in the early hours of the morning. There was no reason given in the message, but Angelina guessed that there must be a man involved somewhere. She didn’t really want to know. She’d had her fill of father figures.
She left the shop and stomped off down the High Street determined to go home and veg out for the remainder of the afternoon. She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost walked straight past the man she had come all the way into town to find.
‘Hey Angelina, hey!’
She looked up into Zeus’ beaming face and couldn’t suppress a smile.
‘Hey,’ she replied. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good thanks,’ said Zeus. ‘Look who I brought along to meet you.’
Curled up on a rug at his feet was a young Belgian Shepherd, perhaps two years old. Its ears were pricked up and its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted away happily.
‘Oh he’s gorgeous,’ said Angelina, kneeling down and ruffling the dog’s hair playfully. Its tail wagged away. ‘What’s his name? It is a he, isn’t it?’
‘Think so,’ replied Zeus taking a sidelong look at the dog’s backside. ‘I just call him Dog.’
‘Dog? That’s not a name.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You can’t call a dog, Dog.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why? Well… well… it’s like calling me Girl.’
‘Oh, I see. What should I call him then?’
‘I don’t know, a normal name.’
‘Like John?’
‘Err… no.’
‘Kevin?’
‘Kevin the dog. Are you having a laugh?’
‘What then?’
‘Something sensible like Max or Charlie or Sam.’
‘How about Judas?’
‘Judas? Hmm. That might work. But you’d be better off shortening it to Jude.’
‘No, it would have to be Judas.’
‘OK then,