Chapter One

The Volvo’s digital display clicked to 00:00 as Gina pulled into the kerb. 

‘It’s just along that little alley,’ she said to Rose.  ‘Come on, we’d better see if it’s really him.’ 

A filthy Thursday night of freezing rain.  Even the kebab van man outside the old Radcliffe Infirmary building was closing up.  Huddling into their thick winter coats, they made a dash for the alley. 

‘Over there,’ said Rose, grabbing Gina’s arm.  ‘There’s a sign on that bell.’

They hurried to a doorway and pressed an illuminated bell, bearing the words, “Oxford Homeless Shelter – Night Porter”.  After a few moments, a reinforced window in the door slid aside and a light switched on.

‘Yes?’

‘My name’s Gina Greystone.  You rang me about forty minutes ago.’

‘Oh, yes! You’d better come in out of the cold.’

After some scraping of bolts, the door opened.  A thin, stooped man encased in several layers of clothing stepped aside to let them past. 

They were in a stark reception area.  Gina dumped her handbag on one of a row of metal and plastic seats, set against the wall and bolted to the floor. Across the opposite corner was an untidy desk holding a portable TV and a coffee filter machine.  She recoiled from the acrid smell of stewed coffee, mingled with the background fug of disinfectant and stale farts. A chair with a flattened cushion sat next to a wall-mounted gas fire, which seemed to offer little warmth.  She looked with dismay at the brick walls, finished in pale blue gloss paint and the cracked grey vinyl tiles curling from the floor in the corners.  A rack of dog-eared magazines and newspapers stood against the third wall next to a closed, grey-painted metal door.  Gina heard the street door close behind them and turned round.  The man held out a hand in welcome.

‘John Allsop,’ he said, introducing himself to Rose, making the assumption that the small blonde was the person he’s spoken to on the phone, not the tall black girl with her.  ‘Thanks for coming so quickly.  Unfortunately, you may have had a wasted journey.  The man I phoned you about wouldn’t wait.  He left here about ten minutes ago.’

‘But this is a homeless shelter,’ said Gina, beginning to panic.  ‘Why didn’t he stay here?’

‘We’re full.  I’m afraid and we’re not allowed to go over our quota.  I hope you understand we’re obliged to work under strict regulations.’

‘You’re sure he said his name was Spider?’

‘It was all I could get out of him.  That and this old card.  That’s why I called you.’  He handed Rose a battered business card.  She turned it over, read it and passed it to Gina.

‘This is one of Kate’s old business cards,’ she said to Rose, her eyes wide.  ‘Perhaps it is him.’  She turned back to John Allsop.  ‘How is he?  I mean, is he ill?  Or…’

‘It’s hard to tell, with these people.  But I think he’s been on the road a long time.  He’s not one of our regulars.’

‘Do you know where he went?’

‘No, but you could try around Little Clarendon Street, or along Walton Street towards Jericho.  There are a couple of squats along there that sometimes let people in for the odd night.’

‘OK.  Can I leave you my mobile number and if he comes back, would you call me again.  Please?’ 

Allsop went to the desk and picked up a pad and pen.  He handed it to Gina who scribbled down her details then handed it back.

‘Thanks,’ she said.  ‘I think we should go.  See if we can find him before he disappears again.’

Allsop led the way to the door and opened it to be met by an icy blast of February wind. ‘Rather you than me,’ he said, as he closed it behind them.  They heard the bolts again then the light above them clicked off, leaving them in darkness.

‘Little Clarendon Street’s not far,’ said Gina, taking out her car keys.  ‘Let’s see what we can find.’

They were soon driving along the empty street, but there was no-one to be seen.  ‘We’ll have to leave the car,’ said Rose.  ‘Whoever he is will be sheltering from this wind and rain.’

They parked the Volvo then walked up and down the deserted street; peering into corners and behind locked gates.  They were about to give up when a sharp yelping sound stopped them.

‘Did you hear that?’ said Gina.  ‘It came from along there.’ 

They turned left past the University Offices and along the elegant terrace surrounding Wellington Square. There was no-one on the street so they began looking down metal steps into basement areas.  The noise again, much closer.

‘Along here,’ said Rose.  Gina peered down some rusty iron steps into the dark shadows below.  All she could hear was water dripping between the iron steps.

‘Hello. Is anyone there?’ 

Rose clutched her arm. ‘Don’t go down. It might be rats.’ 

Gina listened again.  ‘Rats don’t snore,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Come on! I need some backup.’  She unlatched the gate and pushed it open with a loud creak, then set off down the steps, her rubber-soled boots making little noise on the treads.  ‘Come on, Rose,’ she hissed at her friend, who was still holding onto the gate.  A few seconds later they reached the bottom of the steps.

‘There’s definitely someone here,’ said Gina, seeing a movement in the shadows.  The next moment she gave a shriek as something ran over her foot.  She grabbed Rose.

‘You’re right, it’s rats.  Come on, let’s get out of here.’

‘No,’ said Rose. ‘It’s not a rat, it’s a puppy.  Look!’  She reached down and picked up a squirming handful of wet dog.

‘Put my dog down. NOW!’

They both jumped at the voice that came from the deepest shadow.  ‘It’s a valuable dog, that is.’

‘No’, said Rose, holding the puppy close.  ‘It’s cold.  I can feel it shivering.’

‘Just give me my dog and fuck off, will you,’ slurred the voice.  ‘Fuck off and leave me in peace.  A man can’t get a decent kip…’

‘Spider,’ said Gina, excitement rushing through her like an express train.  ‘Spider, is it you?’

‘Who the fuck wants to know?’

She hesitated before replying.  ‘It’s Gina.’

Silence; broken only by blasts of wind rattling some plastic containers in the gutter. Gina stared into the shadows.  The puppy, now quiet, was tucked inside Rose’s Puffa jacket.  The voice came again.

‘Gina?’  A dark shape detached itself from the shadows and a hand, encased in holey knitted gloves, grasped the metal handrail.  Then, with a slithering noise it disappeared and the man crashed back into the shadows against what sounded like an old-fashioned dust-bin. There was a low moan, then silence.  Gina stepped into the darkness and groped around, trying to find him.  Her fingers touched stubble.  She patted the face but there was no response.

‘Is he dead?’ whispered Rose.

‘Dead drunk, most likely,’ said Gina, recoiling from the smell of stale alcohol.  She reached into her pocket, took out her car keys and handed them to Rose. 

‘Take the dog and put it into the back of the car, then bring that blue rug back with you. I’ll try to get him up the steps.’ 

‘OK, I won’t be long.’ Rose disappeared.

Gina reached once again into the shadows and grasped an arm.  She pulled at it.

‘Spider, can you get up?  Come on, I can’t lift you by myself.’ 

There was a moan and the shadows stirred.

‘What the fuck…’

‘Just get hold of my hand, will you?’  She felt her way down his arm and grasped his hand.  ‘Come on.  Now!’  Heaving with all her strength, she somehow managed to get him half-propped against the handrail.

‘You’ve got to get up these steps.’  She worked her way to his other side and shoved him against them. He took a faltering step onto the bottom one and swayed, while Gina shored him up with her shoulder.  This wasn’t going to be easy.  By the time Rose returned with the rug, they only had two to go.  Rose reached down and helped.

‘Let’s get him into the car,’ said Gina, gasping for air.  In spite of the cold, she was sweating and could feel the chill of the wind against her damp brow.  Rose draped the rug over Spider’s shoulders and they each took an arm, trying to steer the drunken, stumbling man in the direction of the Volvo. They managed to get him into the back seat, where he toppled over and began to snore.

‘What are we going to do with him now?’ asked Rose, wafting her hand in front of her face to dispel the ripe odour emanating from the back seat. She pressed a button and the window beside her opened a little.

Gina shivered before replying; not only because the heater hadn’t yet made a difference to the temperature inside the car.

‘He’s coming to Little Malling with me.’

 

It was after three when they finally got Spider upstairs and into Kate’s old room.  Stumbling between them, he collapsed onto the bed, eyes closed.  Rose took a step backwards.

‘I’m glad that’s done.  Phew!  He smells terrible, Gina.’

Gina assessed the body on the bed.  ‘I’ll try to clean him up.’  She stepped towards Spider and placed a hand on his forehead.  ‘He’s burning hot.  I’ll get him washed and into bed.  If he’s no better in the morning I’ll call the doctor.  Can you help me get his clothes off?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Rose.  ‘I know it’s him, but he’s changed so much I wouldn’t have recognised him if I’d passed him on the street.’  She reached for one of Spider’s cheap, soaking wet canvas shoes, unfastened the Velcro strapping and pulled it from his foot.  She recoiled and turned away.

‘Sorry, I can’t do this,’ she said, turning pale.

‘OK – go get a shower and warm yourself up.  I’ll do it.’

‘But…’

‘I nursed Kate for a year, remember.  I’ll be fine here.’ 

 

Once Rose had gone, Gina turned up the thermostat on the radiator then threw an old blanket over Spider’s supine body before removing his other shoe and sock.  The shoes were worn right through and there were holes in his stinking, threadbare socks.  When she’d removed them, Gina could see the state of his feet.  Filthy; and encrusted with pus from repeatedly broken blisters, one was badly infected and on the other were two black toe-nails, already lifting from their nail-bed.  Tears filled her eyes.  How had he walked at all with his feet like that? 

She stifled a sob and went to the kitchen for a bowl of hot water, towels, her first aid kit and disinfectant.  The puppy, as filthy as its master, was asleep in a towel-lined box beside the Rayburn.

Back in the bedroom, Gina cleaned and dressed Spider’s sore feet, then eased a pair of old woollen bed-socks over the dressings before lifting the blanket to his waist and slicing his dirty cords from him with scissors. As she eased them from underneath his body, she fought to control her shock.  Hip-bones like axe-blades stuck up on either side of a concave belly and there was no flesh on his long, elegant legs.  She looked at his face, so well-remembered.  He was different now; his lips thinner and wind-cracked.  Deep grooves replaced the lurking dimples she remembered.  His features, still fine, were no longer boyish but set into a sadness not easily gained, or erased.  She was thankful he was asleep.  She’d hate him to see how much the changes in him affected her. How could three short years have made so much difference? 

She washed him, carefully removing his underwear and managing to turn him as she had her Aunt Kate in her last weeks.  Now he was clean, the faded tan on his face, neck and forearms contrasted starkly with the deathly white of his body. 

When she’d finished she paused, looking from his skeletal frame to his unshaven face and the too-long black hair plastered to his skull.  She took a spare duvet from the airing cupboard and covered him, then heaped on a lightweight blanket and a fluffy eiderdown.  Pulling a floral-patterned armchair nearer to the bed, she switched on the bedside lamp then put his ruined and stinking clothes into a plastic bag and tied it before leaving the room.

Rose was buttering toast in the kitchen.  ‘Want some?’ she said, turning as Gina sank into a chair.  She put down her knife and went to her friend.

‘You’re exhausted. Have a shower while I make you something to eat.  Then we can talk.’

‘Thanks.  I need one after that lot, and you’re right.  We should decide what to do about Spider, but we need some sleep.  Are you staying, or heading off home?’

‘I’ll stay.  Matt’s got an early start tomorrow and I don’t want to disturb him at this hour.  I’ll text him.’

Gina didn’t go to bed.  She took her own duvet and settled down in the armchair next to Spider.  Sleep wouldn’t come.  As she huddled under her duvet in her dressing-gown, her mind began to drift and long-suppressed memories crowded back.