A Peculiar Collection, Page 2

forkful of eggs went inside his mouth. Still chewing, he paid Sue.

  “Catch you tomorrow, love,” she called out as the door slammed shut.

  We’ll see, he thought, and headed for the phone booth across the road. He took a coin and the scrap of paper from his pocket. The phone rang once before someone answered.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line had a quavering quality reminding Joel of the very elderly. “Good morning, anyone there?”

  “Hi, yeah. I found your ad in The Chronicle.”

  “Oh, yes?” the old man replied.

  “Yeah. I was wondering if you’d hired someone.” Joel ran his fingers up and down the steel cable joining the handset to the phone box.

  “No. Are you interested in the position?”

  “What do I have to do?” Joel asked.

  “You perform errands for a weekly allowance. Of course, I expect you to live in the flat attached to my home. Is this acceptable?”

  “Well, yeah,” Joel said. He mentally packed and closed the door forever on his shitty bed-sit. No more shivering on street corners trying to sell the Big Issue.

  “Come to the house for… let’s say, ten o’clock?” The old man paused. “We can iron out the details over a cup of tea and a nice slice of cake.”

  “Where abouts do you live, gov?”

  “Follow the Oxford Road out of Reading. Opposite the Tilehurst railway station are some large houses. Mine is Holly House.”

  “See you then, gov.” Joel hung up the phone. He remained in the booth for a few seconds, collecting his thoughts. This could be his chance to move up in the world. He pulled the satchel over his shoulder, and went to the bus stop.

  Set back from the road, with a row of tall holly bushes and fir trees hiding the house from view, Joel almost walked past. It had occurred to him on the bus, that he didn’t know the name of the man. Maybe this was an elaborate hoax. But when he peered under the arch and up the path, he knew he’d found the right place.

  The house was Victorian, eclectic, with gabled roofs and a wide porch along the front of the house for sitting out on a warm evening. He walked up to a large door with leaded squares of colored glass, and side windows to match. To the left, in wrought iron letters, a placard read: Holly House. He pushed the doorbell and a deep bong echoed within the house.

  An old man shuffled up to the door, and opened it wide. This man has no clue about security, Joel thought.

  “Good morning, are you the young man I spoke to on the phone?” he asked.

  “Yes gov.”

  “My name is Robert Saunders, and this is my humble abode. Do you care to enter?” The old man stood to one side to allow passage.

  “I’m Joel, Mister Saunders.” He tentatively held out one hand.

  “So pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Mr. Saunders led Joel through a spacious lounge. The room was filled with armchairs and sofas, as if to entertain large crowds of arthritic friends. A stone fireplace held a place of dominance on the far wall, a fire lit and crackling away. All around him, peering down from the walls, were enormous paintings of people. Some male some female, and a scattering of children stood straight and prim next to severe-looking adults. A few, Joel realized as he entered the room, bore a remarkable likeness to his host.

  “Please make yourself comfortable.” Mr. Saunders smiled and indicated towards the fireplace.

  Joel worked his way through the maze of furniture to a seat near the fire. The fabric on the chair was hot to the touch, like sitting on an enormous hot water bottle. He sank into the stuffing, enjoying the heat.

  Mr. Saunders placed a tray on a table before settling next to Joel.

  “Help yourself to some tea and cake.”

  Mr. Saunders took a small plate and a slice of marble cake. On the older man’s cue, Joel did the same, biting into it before he'd even sat back. “Umm, good,” he mumbled and took another bite.

  The old man nodded. “You must be somewhat curious as to the position I am offering.” He put his slice of cake down. “I require a certain amount of discretion. Are you able to provide this?”

  “Yeah. No probs, Mister Saunders.” Joel took another bite.

  “Good. I need you to bring back a lady for me.”

  Joel raised his eyebrows.

  “Not every day. Once or twice a week. I am too old to ‘pick up’ a young woman. But you, with a shower and a shave, and some reasonable clothes, would have no trouble whatsoever.” The old man poured the tea. “I will give you a suite of rooms for your personal use and an allowance of two-hundred pounds a week.” He sipped his tea, watching Joel over the rim. “Each time you bring me a girl, I will reward you with a one-hundred pound bonus.”

  Joel’s mouth fell open.

  “Do you find this acceptable?”

  Joel closed his mouth with a snap, and nodded.

  “There are rules. I will not stand for ‘parties’. Nor loud guests. And you will not ever enter my private rooms unless I have personally invited you.”

  “Sounds fair, gov.” Joel poured himself a cup of tea, the saucer clinking as he picked it up to drink. “This for real?”

  “Oh yes. Very real.” Mr. Saunders stood. “Shall I show you to your rooms?”

  The old man led Joel to the east wing of the house, where the ground floor had been converted into a large flat. There was a large bedroom, with a four-poster bed and an imposing wardrobe opposite, and a wide window opening out onto the rear garden. Beside the bedroom was a bathroom with a roll top bath resting on lion’s feet. Across the hall was the kitchen, sufficiently ample for a table and chairs, and a private entrance for Joel to use. And at the end of the wing was an enormous living room, almost the size of the lounge they’d taken the tea and cake in.

  “Will this do?” asked the old man.

  “Yeah. This is great!” Joel ran his fingers along the mantelpiece.

  “Then a deal is struck.” He placed a few notes on a side table. “First weeks pay. In advance. And bring back a lady for my company this evening for eight o’clock sharp.” Mr. Saunders turned and left without waiting for a reply.

  Joel kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up. Things couldn’t be better. Living in the home of a dirty old man, and he wasn’t the one pulling the tricks. He thought about where he could find a girl for the old geezer. A prostitute would be easy, but he reckoned Mister Saunders required someone a tad classier. He decided to empty out the bed-sit first, and hand back his copies of the Big Issue. No more shivering in front of WHSmith’s. No more shit from little oiks as they piled off the school bus. No more hoping his customers wouldn’t notice if he short-changed them, because he didn’t want to get kicked out of the hostel and there was never enough money. Thinking of finances, he jumped up and fingered the notes left by Mr. Saunders – two hundred pounds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so rich. With a grin he stuffed the cash in his jeans pocket. He’d go and get his things, and figure out where to find a girl on the way.

  Clearing his room was quick. He emptied the contents of the wardrobe into his rucksack, pulled the drawers of the bedside cabinet open and cleared out the few photos he had, most of his mum. He never knew his dad. Apparently he looked like him. After Joel had been thrown in jail, his mum had told him he acted like Phil as well. Hadn’t heard from her since. Perhaps he’d write her in a few weeks, once everything had settled down.

  On his way out, he stopped off to visit the manager of the hostel. Mike was out, the office locked up. Joel left a note outside the door, his key placed as a makeshift paperweight. He dropped his satchel full of the Big Issue onto the floor and leaned the bag against the wall. Mike could sort that one out, hand them round for the other residents to sell. Not much for goodbyes, Joel turned and left, the front door locking with a clunk behind him.

  Now where? He stood on the steps to the hostel, leaning against the iron railings. Houses ran up and down on both sides, terraced buildings almost as far as he
could see. Down the hill the main road would be busy. He might find a lady friend for his dirty old man. Joel nodded, and turned right.

  Finding a woman, Joel discovered, was easy. Finding one that would come back with him was impossible. After three rejections, and one slap when he resorted to begging, he ran into Maz.

  “Hey!” he called out to her, running to catch up as she exited the corner shop. “Maz!”

  She turned at his shout, squinting his way before recognizing him, her frown turning to a grin.

  “Hey, Joel. Whatcha up to?” she asked. She tore the cellophane off the pack of Silk Cut in her hands, and popped a fag between her lips. “Want one?”

  “Cheers.” He retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit both cigarettes. As she closed her eyes for the first long drag, he looked her over. Maz was late twenties, with cropped blonde hair and slim under an oversized shirt, and he knew she was a good time girl. He’d had her a few times, always after a skinful of vodka, but he’d remembered afterwards what a great shag she’d been.

  “Maz?” he asked.

  She took the fag from her mouth. “Yeah?”

  “I moved into a new place this morning. Playing butler to this old geezer.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He tapped the fingers of one hand on his thigh. “Want to come over, have a look? I’ve got the bottom floor of one wing to live in.”

  “Oh yeah?” Her eyes lit up, and she turned towards him. When she flicked her hair from her shoulder and exposed the soft length of her neck, he knew he had her.

  “The old man thinks he’s a bit of a womanizer. So watch out,” he added. Fair warning, he figured.

  “Sure, Joel. You got any food there?” She sucked on her cigarette, her eyes fixed on his. Maybe he could get some as well. Oil her up for the old boy.

  “Food? You know, I ain’t bought any yet. We’ll go to Tesco’s. What you want to eat?”

  “Mmm. I fancy steak.” She rubbed up against him, and hooked her arm around his. “Shall we?”

  Maz jumped Joel before he could get the groceries put away. Under her baggy clothes, her body was compact, taught. And she was still a good lay. They cooked an early dinner in long shirts, and nothing else. Joel wondered if he could take her again before handing her over.

  Halfway through their steaks, Joel figured out how to get her to his boss. “Maz?”

  “Mmm?” she answered, her mouth full of meat. “This is delish,” she managed, and kept chewing.

  “The old guy I work for has a rule.”

  “Rules? I didn’t think you were one for those.”

  “Well, people change.”

  “Go on then.” She took a swig of beer.

  “He insists on meeting anyone I bring here.”

  Maz raised her eyebrows, but kept eating.

  “After dinner, I’ll take you over to the main house.”

  “You’ll need to dress me first.” Her foot slid between his legs and under the hem of his shirt. “Can you manage that?”

  Joel never ate steak faster.

  Raised up on one arm, Joel gazed at Maz as she drew on a cigarette. “Come on, we’d better get dressed,” he said.

  “And I have to meet him?”

  “I’m not going to lose all this because I decided to break one stupid rule on the first bloody day.” Joel rolled off the bed, and onto his feet. He pulled on his jeans and tossed Maz’s clothes at her.

  “Alright, alright.” She grabbed her bra, and put her arms through the straps. “You owe me another dinner for this.”

  “You’re on,” he said, and grinned back.

  Joel figured he had permission to enter the main hall of the house. How else could he get girls over to the old man? He knocked on the door to the lounge and waited. The door creaked open, as if the old man had been waiting.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Saunders said. The room behind him was in almost complete darkness. Only the flickering orange glow from the fire provided some light. Mr. Saunders stepped out of the shadows. “So pleased to meet you.” He kissed the back of Maz’s hand. “Would you like to come in?”

  Maz glanced up at Joel, but then followed the old man with hesitant steps.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Sanders said, and closed the door.

  Joel waited in the hall for a long time. He tried listening, but the wood must have been thick, and he couldn’t even hear a whisper of conversation. Eventually, he returned to his flat, and lay on the bed, thinking of Maz. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, until a rap at his door woke him.

  Mr. Saunders stood in the main hall.

  “Thank you. Your choice was appropriate. Did you have trouble coercing a girl to come home with you?”

  “Uh, yeah. Hard to find a woman who’ll go off with a stranger.”

  “Feel free to bring a lady of the night next time. Your task will be infinitely easier.” He handed Joel an envelope. “The bonus.”

  “Cheers.” Joel searched past the old man. “Did Maz go home already?”

  Mr. Saunders nodded. “She was required at her place of work.”

  “Oh,” said Joel, thinking she might have knocked before leaving.

  “My needs were not satiated. Please find a girl for tomorrow tonight, eight o’clock sharp.” His boss did not wait for an answer, and turned to go.

  “Right. No probs, gov.” Joel closed the door before opening the envelope. Inside were five crisp twenty pound notes. “Excellent.”

  Finding a working girl was easy at night, but in the middle of the afternoon, the task was virtually impossible. After walking about for over an hour, he sat down on a low wall behind Central Swimming Pool, and tried to catch the eye of the ladies. A young, black woman with an hourglass figure sauntered by. Despite the cold weather, she wore hot pants teamed with a puffer jacket.

  “Looking for someone?” she asked as she passed.

  A thought flashed through Joel’s mind that the old man might be racist. But this girl was willing, and jumped in a cab with him minutes later. She chatted incessantly on the way back to Holly House. No way would Joel be greasing the wheels on this one. The boss was on his own. He knocked on the lounge door, then crossed the main hall and receded into his own flat, leaving Sammie to make her own introductions.

  The next morning, he found an envelope slipped partly under his door. He opened it and counted the cash.

  “Easy-peasy,” he said. The old man hadn’t knocked today, no requests for new companions. Joel dressed and went out. He took the bus back to Dailey Road. For a few minutes, he stared up at the hostel, in through the window that looked out from his old room. A couple of bottles rested on the inside of the glass. They’d already found someone to take his place. Better not fuck it up with the old geezer. He turned and walked down to the end of the road, and dipped into the Bent Spoon.

  “Hey, Joel!” Sue called over from the hatch that opened into the kitchen. The cook put a plate of steaming omelet and chips on the shelf for her. “Missed you yesterday.”

  He found a table, surprised to find a newspaper under his arm. He must have followed his usual route past the newsagents. He shook his head, and opened the paper. The body of a woman had been found out on the train tracks between Tilehurst and Reading. The suspicion was she’d been drunk, and following the tracks. Then a fast train on its way to London had hit her. Joel grimaced.

  “What can I do you for, love?” Sue arrived beside him, pulled a battered notebook from her apron, and retrieved the pencil from her ponytail.

  “Give me the usual.” He stared down at the headline again. “Any rumors going round as to who she was?”

  “Sorry. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Cheers.”

  Three days passed before Mr. Saunders knocked again. “I care for a young lady tonight. Please deliver her for eight o’clock.” He turned on his heels, without further word.

  “No probs, gov,” Joel replied even though he knew the old man had gone. He might open up a bank
account with his next bonus. Start clawing his way into normal life. Get a debit card. He left his flat after lunch, and caught the train into Reading. Just past the back of Waitrose, he spotted the yellow police tape of a cordoned off zone. He wondered if there was more to the death than the papers had reported.

  Clouds blanketed the sky, dribbling rain down as he walked to one of the seedier neighborhoods. He found a young white girl first, with short spiky black hair, and enormous pupils. She staggered towards him, and flashed her tits. “Want some-a-this?” she asked. Then she doubled over and puked on the pavement.

  “Classy,” Joel mumbled, and passed her with a wide berth. Mr. Saunders advice came back to him now. After a shave and the purchase of some nicer clothes, he’d have no problem picking up girls. With a change of direction, he headed into town. He’d not bought anything new in a long time. His wardrobe consisted of Oxfam specials – nicked from bags left outside the doorway overnight. He decided on BHS as his mum had shopped there when he was little. The men’s clothes were upstairs. He felt the cameras spin to follow him as he ascended to the upper floor on the escalator. He tucked his head down, and ignored the plain clothes security guard who emerged from an unmarked side door, and hovered a short distance away.

  He resisted the impulse to show the cameras his cash and tell the security man to bog off. Next time he came, after a trip to the barbers and wearing reasonable attire, perhaps no one would even notice him.

  To the side of Joel was a rack of jeans. He stared at the labels for a few minutes, realizing he’d no clue of his size anymore. He pulled at the waistband of the stained and ripped pair he currently wore. Then he took three pairs off the rack.

  After some experimentation, he discovered he had a slim twenty-six inch waist. He chose the twenty-eights – he’d be having regular meals now. Chances were he’d gain weight. Before he left the cubicle in the changing rooms, he pulled out the envelope from his pocket. He’d taken two hundred with him. Counted it twice in his flat. But he licked a finger and recounted one last time. He didn’t want to get to the counter and find there wasn’t enough. The jeans were thirty pounds. He redressed his own scruffy clothes, and returned to the sales floor. After a small amount of consideration, he picked a polo shirt and a jacket that looked like suede. He tried that on in front of the mirror at the end of the rack. Satisfied it wasn’t too baggy, he smiled at the security guard, and made his purchases. Before departing, he visited the disabled loo and changed his clothes to the new ones. Feeling almost like a new man, he shoved his old clothes in the BHS bag, and left the shop.

  Even though he knew his hair was messy, and he had four-day stubble that was almost a beard, he saw immediately the change in attitude towards him. Other pedestrians didn’t avoid him. Their eyes normally lit upon his hands, and grabbed securely at their wallets and bags as he passed by. Today, he garnered a couple of smiles from the ladies. He glanced skyward, and thanked Mr. Saunders silently, and made his way towards an area with some nice pubs. A classier companion might be found in one