A Perfect Christmas (2 page)

He managed to groan, ‘Please will you stop that yelling or my head will explode?’

Mercifully the shouting ceased and a woman’s voice cried, ‘Oh, thank God you’re not dead! Thank God. Thank God.’ Then her tone of relief became defensive. ‘But if I had killed you, I was only acting in self-defence.’

Glen was tentatively examining the side of his head with one hand, fully expecting to find half of it gone considering the pain he felt. His fingers touched a lump under his hat. It felt as big as an ostrich egg and he let out a small cry of: ‘Ouch!’ How on earth did he come to be lying here on the ground with an injury like this to his head? Then memory flooded back and he accused her, ‘You attacked me!’

Her tone of voice was still defensive. ‘Well, what did you expect me to do? Just sit back and allow you to do whatever you were about to?’

He managed to force open his eyes but couldn’t lift his head to look at his assailant as he was feeling disorientated, still seeing stars, though not so many as when he’d first come round. Scowling down at the hard ground, he queried: ‘What was I about to do?’

‘Rob me or . . .’

‘Or what?’ he snapped. ‘Listen, lady, the only thing I was attempting was to offer my help. You were upset . . . crying. I was concerned for you.’

There was silence for a moment before she uttered, ‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Then defiance returned to her voice. ‘Well, how was I to know?’

‘You could have asked before you whacked me! Just what did you hit me with, by the way?’

‘My handbag.’

‘A handbag! What do you carry in it . . . a ton of bricks?’

‘No, just one. A woman has to protect herself from the likes of you in this Godforsaken place.’

He managed to lift his head then and look at her. The light was poor and it was difficult to tell her age or what she looked like, her face being cast into shadow, but he guessed she was in her early-forties and, from the coat and headscarf she was wearing, appeared just like an ordinary housewife, albeit with her clothes rumpled and a little dishevelled. What the likes of her was doing in this place he couldn’t begin to guess. He wanted to be angry with her for inflicting such unprovoked injury on him, but he also appreciated the reason why she’d lashed out. The characters who frequented this place were about as unsavoury as they came and she would have no reason to believe he was any different. ‘Look, I know I might not look exactly my best,’ he said, ‘but we’re not all thieves, winos, drug addicts or murderers, you know. Many of us haven’t chosen to live this life, but circumstances have given us no choice in the matter.’

Janet Clayton narrowed her eyes and looked him over. What she saw was a shambles of an individual, wearing clothes that should have been cremated a long time ago. It was hard to determine his age and whether he was good-looking or ugly as his face was hidden under a mass of facial hair, and it was her guess that under his holey woollen hat the hair on his head was equally as bushy and matted. The smell coming off him was vile. She doubted his body or clothes had seen soap and water for a very long time. She shuddered as it struck her that he was probably riddled with body and head lice and that she was in close enough proximity to catch them from him. There was one thing that confused her about this man, though. He didn’t blaspheme or have a coarse tone of voice, as she had always expected from low-bred people of his ilk.

Her look of utter revulsion made Glen inwardly cringe. He had lost count of the number of times he’d been viewed in this way by the general public. The humiliation and shame he experienced never diminished. As always he felt a desire to crawl into a hole and hide himself away from critical eyes. Despite still feeling woozy from the blow to his head, he struggled up, muttering, ‘I need to get off.’

Jan watched him stumble away unsteadily, keeping as close to the wall as possible, skirting around the rowdy drunken group gathered around the brazier. The fright and disgust she felt were making her nauseous.

Under normal circumstances she would never have placed herself within a dozen yards of such lowlifes, let alone actually be close enough to breathe the same air as them, but then her circumstances were far from normal at present and she was acutely aware that if she didn’t do something to change them, and quickly, very soon she would look and smell like the dirty creatures she found herself amongst now, being perceived as the dregs of the earth by the rest of society.

But how she’d get herself out of this situation was anyone’s guess.

Thinking of her circumstances brought a fresh swell of miserable tears to her eyes. She felt so alone and vulnerable. She was ravenously hungry but all she wanted to do was sleep for a while, to find some relief from the nightmare she was living. She pulled her coat around her and turned up her collar. Clutching her handbag to her, she slumped back against the hard wall and tried to make herself comfortable on the uneven ground, but just as she was about to close her eyes she realised with horror that several of the inebriated men around the brazier had noticed her and were taking more than a passing interest. Sheer panic overwhelmed her. When she had belived she was being accosted a few minutes ago she had screamed blue murder yet not one of the other inhabitants in this place had even looked in her direction to see what she was howling about, nor had they when she thought she had killed her suspected attacker, so if these men were taking an interest in her now it was for no good reason and she couldn’t expect anyone else to come to her aid, no matter how loud she screamed.

Her heart was pounding. She needed to get out of here . . . fast.

The only exit she was aware of was the way by which she around had come: past the men closely watching her now, standing around the blazing brazier; the same way that the tramp she was sure had been about to attack her had made his departure. Holding her handbag like a weapon, a determined look on her face, she took a deep breath before weaving her way towards the entrance. On nearing the men by the brazier, she skirted around them as far as was possible and in a meaningful tone addressed the ones taking an interest in her.

‘I’m warning you, don’t any of you make a move towards me or you’ll be on the receiving end of this.’ She waved the bag at them. ‘It’s got a . . . boulder in it. A huge one. Big enough to knock any of you into next Wednesday. If you think I’m bluffing then go and ask the man who’s just left. He tried it on with me, and he’s lucky to be alive.’

She was almost past them now, daring to think that her threat had worked. The men’s interest in her had waned and they seemed to have returned to carrying on with their drinking and rowdy gambling games. Then she noticed that one of them was still staring at her intently, a nasty glint in his beady eyes as he drained the dregs of his bottle of meths. If she had been able to see his mouth under his matted beard she would have seen a malicious smirk. There was no question what was on his mind.

Horror filled her. Without looking away from him, giving her handbag a threatening thrust in his direction, she hastened towards the entrance. It was only a few yards away but to Jan it seemed like miles. Then, to her absolute terror, she saw the leering man chuck away the empty bottle. It crashed against the wall behind him, smashing into smithereens, as with surprising agility he wormed round the back of the brazier and stood between her and the entrance, blocking her way.

Despite being aware that it would do her no good, Jan let out a terrified scream, which echoed around the cavernous walls. The light from the brazier flashed in the man’s eyes and she could see he was laughing at her, knowing he had her cornered. The next thing she knew he had lunged across and grabbed her wrist, holding her handbag to prevent her from attacking him with it while yanking her hard towards the back of the pitch-dark arches, where it was apparent he planned to have his way with her.

Screaming hysterically, she tried to dig her heels into the ground to counteract his fierce grip, but to no avail as the earth was too hard. She tried to kick out at him but her foot only contacted air. Then she tried to bite his wrist but the pair of filthy gloves and coat he had on left no bare patches for her to dig her teeth into. She was powerless to put a stop to his evil intentions. Her mind froze, her subconscious dreading to visualise what lay ahead.

He had dragged her almost as far as the light from the brazier reached. Ahead lay darkness where only the most fearless vagrants chose to sleep. Then, to her astonishment, he suddenly stopped dead and she heard a low voice say: ‘Let her go unless you want a taste of this.’ In the feeble light she could just make out the shape of a man standing in front of her assailant, pressing something into his side.

Jan held her breath, her heart thumping wildly, as the two men stared at each other for what seemed an age but was in truth a matter of a few seconds. Then her aggressor gave a grunt, released his grip on her and spun on his heel, giving her a rough shove out of his way. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he returned to the brazier, swearing and cursing en route, and snatched a bottle out of a crony’s hand, much to his displeasure, glugging back the contents.

She jumped as she felt a prod in her own side and a voice said, ‘I’d make a run for it, if I were you, before he changes his mind. And if you have any sense, you’ll give this place a wide berth in future.’

She realised from his voice that this was the vagrant she had clobbered with the brick inside her handbag only minutes ago. Before she could say anything to him he had turned away and was heading towards the entrance.

Jan was so befuddled by this sudden turn of events that she stared after him without saying anything for several long moments. Then her perilous situation occurred to her and she acted on her rescuer’s advice. She hurried after him, careful not to fall over any sleeping bodies, speeding up as she ran past the brazier and the men gathered around it, not daring to look in the direction of the vile creature who’d been about to rape her. Outside she did not pause to draw breath, desperate only to put some distance between herself and that awful place.

Suddenly she crashed into an unexpected obstacle and let out a cry of shock as the force of the impact sent her careering backwards. She landed heavily on her backside, handbag flying out of her hand and landing with a thud some feet away. She sat there feeling confused for a moment, wondering what she had collided with, then stiffened with alarm when she heard a groan of pain. She flashed a look around but it was too dark for her to see much as the street lights around here had been deliberately broken. Finally she saw the dim outline of a shape prostrate on the ground several feet away from her. She stared as it struggled to sit up, groaning painfully all the while. It was obviously a man.

It seemed he was better at seeing in the dark than she was. Rubbing his head where it had made contact with the pavement, he grumbled, ‘You seem hell-bent on finishing me off. Have you got some sort of vendetta against me?’

She recognised his voice. The man she had collided with was her saviour from the arches. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted, ‘I didn’t see you. I was trying to put some distance between me and that awful place. I was terrified that dreadful man might follow me.’

Glen had managed to get himself sitting upright now, one hand cradling another lump on his head, which he’d sustained at the hands of this woman. She was on her feet by now and stepped over to him, holding out her hand. ‘Let me help you up.’

He didn’t need to look at her face to tell that the thought of touching him was repellent to her. Ignoring her hand, he said gruffly, ‘I can manage, thank you.’ Once he’d managed to stand up, he checked that his sack of belongings was still attached to his frayed trouser belt, straightened his tattered clothes, then offered her a piece of advice before he turned and made his departure. ‘What you’re doing in these parts is your business, but as you’ve found out these are dangerous streets. If you’ve any sense, you’ll give the likes of the Grand Union arches a wide berth in future.’

She watched as he shambled off, shoulders hunched against the biting winter wind. The darkness soon swallowed him up, and then it seemed to descend on her, immobilising her with pure panic. Jan’s imagination ran riot. She envisaged eyes watching her, the people to whom they belonged ready to pounce. Maybe it was the man from the arches she was sensing; maybe he’d decided to come after her. If that were the case then she could forget her rescuer coming to her aid again as he had gone. She gave a violent shudder. She needed to get out of here and into the better-lit streets where she’d feel safer. She urgently needed to find some sort of shelter for the night, believing she had done so in the arches until she realised she had chosen just about the most dangerous place there was for the likes of her. It was barely past eight o’clock but bitterly cold already. There was no telling how much colder it was going to get as the night wore on. People froze to death in weather like this. But where could she find somewhere safe to rest her head, with no money in her purse? A vision of her saviour flooded back to mind. He was obviously a veteran of the streets so it was likely he would know. He was probably heading for it now, a safe haven for the night. She would follow him and see where he went.

Glen knew he was being followed. Whoever it was wasn’t trying to hide the fact. If they were after robbing him then they were wasting their time. He thrust his hand in his pocket and grabbed hold of his penknife, flicking open the blade. He stepped swiftly sideways into the shadows of an entry. As soon as the footsteps drew level with his hiding place, he jumped out, brandishing the knife at his suspected assailant. Before he could say anything his pursuer let out a scream. He recognised that sound. ‘You again!’ he snapped accusingly at Jan. ‘Why are you following me?’

She was staring wildly at the penknife. ‘Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me . . .’

He flicked shut the blade and thrust it back into his pocket. ‘I’ve never hurt anyone with it yet. It’s just a deterrent. Up to now it’s worked. But I would use it if it were a matter of my life or death. Now why are you following me?’