This is my first ever story, so please go easy on me.
I first met Amy during late September of 2005 when here in the UK we were experiencing an Indian summer.
I was going through a bad patch, to put it bluntly. I'd lost my wife Alice and unborn son in a car crash two years previous and following a brief spell of "throw yourself into your work", I was now in the "What's the point" phase of trying to deal with the loss.
I was wealthy, very wealthy. I'd spent nearly twenty years building up a business that had brought us the material life. Big houses, flash cars, we had the best of everything. But now I was living in our town centre apartment 40 miles from London, too emotionally scarred to settle back into the large country house we'd bought together eighteen months before her death.
I was keeping myself busy, but not really taking any particular pursuit seriously. The business ran itself, I turned up most days but did very little other than sign a few letters, nod in agreement through meetings I was taking little notice of and generally did the bare minimum to get through another day in the slow lane of life. I'd lost contact with most of our friends and family following the funeral. I suspect many had trouble dealing with my miserable state of mind. Sometimes I'd go days without eating, getting out of bed for nothing other than the bathroom. A few steps from bed to loo and back again.
It was during one of my brief walks through town, I was daydreaming all the while. Thinking of Alice, how she would look backlit by the sun on a country walk by the river, her flowery dress almost transparent, her blonde hair lifting in the breeze, she held her hands to her small bump of a tummy, smiled that smile "He's kicking" she said.
"Watch out mate" came a voice over my shoulder. I'd stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the street, tears welling in my eyes. I apologised to the man and took in my bearings before setting off again. I noticed a group of homeless people on the far side of the road. Nothing unusual about that, there were quite a few in town, mostly sat drinking high strength lager and smoking home made cigarettes crafted from the left over dog ends swept up from the gutter. But one person caught my eye. A young woman, staring back at me, she some how didn't fit. Yes, she was scruffily dressed, dirty, shabby black hair in a mixture of pony tail and semi fashioned dreadlock plaits. But she wasn't drinking like the others and seemed more aware, awkward even, of her place in these surroundings, as if she knew she didn't fit. As I walked down the road I occasionally glanced over to them and each time she was looking back at me, head cocked slightly, a Mona Lisa smile, familiar but a complete stranger at the same time.
I didn't see her again for a couple of weeks. I was leaving for work when I was greeted with "Spare some change mister?"
I looked down and saw her sat in a doorway of a boarded up shop with another man. He seemed completely out of it, asleep, passed out, who knows, wrapped in a dirty grey blanket.
She was holding a Costa coffee cup with a few pence in it, dressed in jeans and a tatty black sweatshirt that seemed to be a size too small, either that or she had massive tits, I told myself it was probably the former, "Spare some change?" she asked again.
Snapping out of my tit fantasy trance I replied "I'm sorry, I don't have any change"
"A likely tale...Fuckin' wanker" came a guttural voice from below the blanket.
"Shut the fuck up you dick" she barked at the man "Sorry about him. He's an idiot"
"I'll be passing by again this evening, I'll bring you some food if you like" I added.
"We didn't ask for food, we want money you tosser" Came Mr 'Man of many insults' again.
"Shut up" she snapped "Sorry...that would be lovely...thanks" She smiled at me and cocked her head again. I smiled back and set off on my journey.
I half expected the doorway to be empty when I got back, but had stopped by at the supermarket on the way home anyway. I bought a couple of sausage rolls, some fresh bread and some fruit. And just as a side thought, two cans of beer and a packet of ten cigarettes. When I arrived at the doorway they were still there. He hadn't moved, and looked to be asleep. She was squatting in the opposite corner, her head was resting on the door of the boarded up shop behind her and her eyes were closed, she looked like she was enjoying the feel of the late summer sun on her face, maybe she was asleep too. She had removed her sweatshirt, probably due to the heat, to reveal a small strappy sweat stained white top, underneath which was visible a 1 inch wide, lace trimmed, black bra strap. Her knees were tucked up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. My knowledge of women's underwear didn't really extend very far but I did know one thing, the wider the strap, the bigger the boobs. It's basic engineering, spread the load; the bigger the load...well, you get the idea. So although I couldn't tell from the way she was sitting, I was starting to get a mental image of this woman. Slim and stacked with an infectious smile and oozing sex appeal.
I gently put the bag down and started to walk away.
After I got twenty yards or so she called out "Thank you".
I turned to see her dividing the food between the two of them, all except the two cans of beer, which were both given to him. I raised a hand to wave, she smiled back at me, cocking her head again as I turned for home.
Two months went by before I saw her again. I wasn't actively searching her out but I did glance in all the usual places when I passed. December had arrived and I was walking home early one Friday afternoon when I noticed a makeshift sign on the parish church door: "Homeless shelter. Soup kitchen and warmth for the night". I pushed the door open and walked in. I heard a voice bellowing long before the buxom, matronly women even appeared "Our doors will be open from seven. Kindly refrain from loitering in the church during the day...oh... I'm sorry; I thought you were one of our homeless people." She seemed irritated that people should be seeking shelter in the church, or maybe her irritation was with the vicar who had approved the shelter, either way her demeanour lightened when she saw my suit and polished shoes.
"I was just looking to see what you do here" I explained. "Have you been open long?"
"Around eight weeks" she shot back. That explained it. The girl must have been taking shelter here in the evenings. "Not for much longer though. The bishop wants the church as the centre piece for the diocese Christmas celebration. It will take a lot of preparation. The scaffolders arrive on Monday. These people will all have to be gone by then"
"Where will they go?" I enquired.
"From whence they came I should think" she replied coldly, then warmed slightly as she added "I believe most go to London for Christmas anyway, it's warmer there and there are more shelters"
"I see. Do you require any help in the evenings?"
She looked at me suspiciously "We can always do with a pair of hands in the Kitchen. We start cooking at six thirty"
"I'll see you then" I added with a smile and left the church with a warm feeling for once.
That evening I arrived at the church and was met by the vicar. I introduced myself and was shown around the kitchen where a few of the parishioners were busy preparing vegetables in a large pot that would ultimately be the soup. A young man by the name of Tom was to be my partner and between the two of us we set about opening tins of corned beef and baked beans. All through the evening I was continually scanning the door looking for the girl. Around 8pm all the cooking was done and I was helping serve the 30 or so people that had come in. The door opened and I recognised the 'Man of many insults' but he was alone. He didn't recognise me, simply took some soup and a bread roll and sat at a pew by the door, but after a couple of minutes he got up and walked over to the door. Opening it I heard him say something like "Are you coming in or what?" and there she was, exhaling her last lung of smoke she turned and entered the church.
As I handed her some soup, she lifted her head and recognised me. "Oh, it's you. Hello"
"Hi" I replied "Fancy meeting you here" I immediately regretted opening my mouth How clichéd was that?
"Yeah, lame" she said giggling. Did I say that out loud I thought? "You had regret written all over your face even before you'd finished delivering that line" she added with a smile, head cocked in trademark fashion.
"Sorry, I didn't mean...oh you know. Would you like some bread?"
"I never did thank you properly for the food you gave us. I don't drink beer, so gave that to Max; I kept the fags for myself though, don't tell him"
"I don't think 'Max' and I will hit it off to the extent that it will come up in conversation" I replied as we took a seat away from the crowd.
"No, He's a bit weird indeed. I rarely get a word out of him, unless he's suffering withdrawal and trying to get a fix in which case he doesn't shut up, whines on like a baby"
"Is he on drugs? " I asked
"Yeah... of course" she laughed "What do you think? ... I mean, look at him...complete loser"
"Are you?"
"What? Drugs? Oh, God no.... Sorry, I see, yes, many homeless people have drug problems; I smoke tobacco, that's my only real vice... Hopefully I'll get off the streets before I get sucked in to that scene; I've only been down here since the spring. Max was the first person I met"
"So you two are..."
"No" she interjected "We're just friends, we look out for one another. I realised as soon as I hit the streets that I would need some protection, and there's safety in numbers as they say." She looked over towards Max who was now asleep on a pew "Not my type ha-ha... I don't really think he's that interested to be honest, he's in love with the dragon" she added with a wink.
"How come you ended up homeless" I asked
"It's complicated" she replied but I got the impression she didn't want to talk about it, complicated or otherwise.
