Streams of rainwater flowed relentlessly across the cracked grey pavement towards the gutters, reflecting the pale glare of the streetlights.
This had once been a busy street in a buzzing and vibrant northern English town, whose textile mills produced high fashion garments for export world-wide. But Carbington was now a broken relic of a bygone era, its heart pierced by grimy, deserted tenement buildings, potholed roads and boarded up shops brooding in the twilight of the late afternoon.
Years ago this part of the town would have been crammed with thousands of men and women, hurrying to and from their places of work. Hustle and bustle had been the order of the day, but the streets were quiet now. Depression and despair were the new watchwords. Many had moved away in search of work elsewhere and those who remained eked out a living from a combination of benefit payments from the government and black economy jobs that paid cash in hand. There were no signs of even a minor economic revival.
Autumn was throwing its last dark and rainy farewell party before fleeing in the face of winter's plunging temperatures and Kenny Macdonald knew it was going to be a cold and wet night. Maybe Stella was already home and had turned the heating up. She had been in a sour mood all week and he hoped she would brighten up a bit this evening. It was Friday and every Friday since they got married three years ago he had brought home chocolates or flowers for his wife as a token of his love and appreciation. Whether it was flowers or chocolates depended on what was on offer in the only shop in their part of town that wasn't boarded up.
A tiny Aladdin's cave of essential household supplies, the shop was owned and run by Balbir, an elderly entrepreneurial Indian, who managed to survive by selling newspapers, fresh bread, groceries, toiletries and tickets for the national lottery. Balbir's smart white shirt and black trousers contrasted with the colourful traditional dresses and shawls worn by his rotund and friendly wife, Meena.
Kenny had no idea whether the shop ever actually closed. It was open whenever he passed by, day or night. Balbir always greeted Kenny with a smile and their standing joke on a Friday evening was always the same. Kenny would place a small box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers on the counter. Balbir would then ask, "Anything else, Mr Mac?" and Kenny would reply, "Yes, please. I'd like to pay the idiot tax."
A lucky dip ticket for the national lottery didn't cost much, but the odds of winning were tens of millions to one. The way Kenny saw it, only an idiot would buy a ticket and expect to win. He didn't mind being one of the idiots every now and again, because the government used some of the income from the lottery to fund community development projects and other worthwhile causes.
Kenny usually had a few lottery tickets in his wallet from the previous weeks' draws. His attitude to life was 'glass half full', rather than 'glass half empty'. Inspired by the paradox of Schroedinger's cat, Kenny opted to believe that he had the winning ticket in his wallet. Of course, that was only until he checked the numbers, but he wouldn't ever check the numbers straight away, on the day of the draw, or even the next day. That would have spoiled the fun. Carrying the lottery tickets around for a few weeks until he got around to checking them gave him a nice, positive feeling that just maybe he might be lucky and he would be able to change things for the better. Never mind the jackpot, a million would be more than enough as far as Kenny was concerned.
Kenny clutched a small box of Stella's favourite dark chocolates to his chest as he hurried homewards through the driving rain that evening. At the corner of the street of tenements where they lived was a building that had once been a branch office of a large national bank. Long since closed, the deep and generous arched entranceway to the former bank offered some protection against the elements. Kenny was nevertheless surprised to see that a beggar had taken up temporary residence there. Beggars were a rare sight in this town. They simply couldn't survive in a place where the population itself was on the breadline.
Stopping to fish in his pocket for some loose change, Kenny looked down at the beggar, squatting in the shadows of the immense doorway. Cocooned in a dark coloured sleeping bag, some sort of hooded garment and a scarf, the beggar sat with head bowed behind a bowl and a cardboard sign that was propped up on the damp paving stones. Kenny couldn't quite make out the scrawled lettering on the sign, but it was probably the same sort of message any beggar might use to persuade the more fortunate to part with their money.
All that Kenny found in his pocket was his house keys. He had spent the last of his loose change at Balbir's shop, so he pulled out his wallet. He had nothing smaller than a twenty pound note, but he dropped it in the begging bowl anyway. Kenny believed that everyone made their own choices, but that fate might have dealt you a tough hand. He hoped his money would help and that it would not be spent on drink or drugs. The beggar glanced up in surprise and Kenny found himself looking into a pair of dark brown eyes in a dark-skinned complexion. Just for a moment, Kenny sensed anxiety and sadness, before the beggar swiftly looked down again, nodding briefly in acknowledgement of the gift. Kenny turned away, slipping his wallet back inside his jacket.
*
The lights were on in the small apartment when Kenny got home. He hung his dripping wet jacket in the bathroom to dry out before heading for the kitchen, where he found his wife stirring a pot of tomato sauce. She looked up and tilted her head, allowing him a brief kiss on her cheek.
"I got you some chocolates," he said.
"Thanks."
"Pasta and ragu?" he asked, breathing in the rich aroma of tomato and oregano.
"Yeah. Same old, same old," she muttered. "What did you expect? Lobster and caviar? Maybe a T-bone steak?"
"I like your home-made pasta and ragu," he told her.
"Well," she said, pausing to look him in the eye, "It might be different if you got a job that paid decent money, instead of working as a cowboy plumber."
Kenny was disappointed. Instead of replying, he turned and made his way to the lounge. This theme of the better paid job had featured more frequently in his conversations with Stella over the past few months. She seemed to have conveniently forgotten that she had wanted to be close to her family and had been firmly against moving away in pursuit of more promising job prospects.
Kenny enjoyed his work, even if he did get called out at short notice to deal with burst pipes or blocked toilets. Most of the people that required his services were grateful to see him and he was no cowboy. The "cowboys" were the tradesmen who rode in, screwed up and then rode off into the sunset, never to be seen again, with no quality guarantees, no warranties and no refunds.
Kenny worked for a reputable firm and he was good at his job. The pay wasn't great, but sometimes he got cash in hand, which he put into a savings account towards a down payment on a house. He had managed to stash away nearly two grand and he was waiting until the time was ripe before telling Stella about it. As for getting a better job, Kenny was also keeping his cards close to his chest, but his employers were considering paying to get him trained up to become a fully qualified and registered gas engineer. Whether the glass was half full or half empty, Kenny was sure it would get fuller in just a few months' time. Early next year they would both turn twenty five and could have a serious conversation about new jobs, a house and children.
Kenny reckoned they should have had some spare cash, because they were a 'DINKY' couple - Double Income and No Kids Yet, but Stella's job in the housing benefits section of the local government offices didn't pay much and they seemed to spend as much as they earned. Kenny was careful to avoid mentioning how much was getting spent on clothes, but Stella's wardrobe was bursting at the seams and she had annexed one side of Kenny's wardrobe.
Kenny had few indulgences, apart from hill-walking, watching the local Sunday league amateur football team, his occasional flutter on the national lottery and a few beers in the Nag's Head pub every couple of weeks with some old pals from his school days.
After dinner that evening Kenny and Stella settled down to watch the usual frothy Friday evening quiz and chat shows on television, finishing off a bottle of cheap Italian Sangiovese. The late night chat show featured a line up of nonentity celebrities and Kenny suggested it might be bedtime. Stella made it clear she wasn't in the mood. "Why don't you go ahead? You're looking a bit tired. I'll not be too long." Of course, Kenny was sound asleep by the time she got to bed.
*
Kenny woke refreshed on Saturday morning. He had been dreaming that someone was sawing down a tree he had climbed up. Beside him, Stella was snoring lightly. Moving carefully to avoid disturbing her, he went through to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee. From experience he knew that she would sleep on for a couple of hours and it would not be a wise idea to wake her. She was definitely not a morning person. As far as Kenny could tell, quite often she wasn't an evening person either, but the lynchpin in their relationship was Saturday night, when they had an unspoken agreement to make the beast with two backs. Stella loved doing it with inspirational mood music playing through the sound system in their bedroom. She had a playlist that featured an eclectic mix of artistes, from Marvin Gaye to Lana del Rey via Led Zeppelin.
Kenny was looking forward to that, but he had a full schedule before then. Come rain or shine, he almost always went hill-walking on Saturdays and today was no exception. While Stella lazed in bed, he breakfasted on toast and marmalade, orange juice and coffee, before making himself a packed lunch. His waterproof trousers and jacket and his sturdy boots were more than a match for the squally rain showers the weather forecast was predicting.
Stella woke not long after Kenny left and she lay in bed for a while, texting her friends to make arrangements for lunch and shopping.
