Naked in Knightsbridge (4 page)

Thanks to the fire at Mrs Pho‘s, she was minus a computer and camera.

Great. What was she going to do now? Maybe go to an Internet café but they cost money, and right now, every penny borrowed from Mel was going straight to Rocco to preserve her life. It wasn’t polite to ask Mel for more money – besides, the lucky cow had taken off to New York for a work conference.

Jools stood up and gazed out of the grimy window for inspiration. There, tempting her, was a lovely new computer, sitting in the bus station’s staff canteen.

Ideal. If only she could get in there, just to get the auctions started. Then she could use just the Internet café to check emails, without having to spend too much.

Alright, there was still the camera issue to contend with, but she could be good with words – like those advertising copywriters who entice people with snazzy syntax.

The canteen was empty. It might be possible to jump out the window and sneak into the canteen, but what if someone noticed. Besides, there were no guarantees she’d fit through the window.

‘
Psst.’

What was that? Not Rocco! But after quickly scanning the tiny flat, she was relieved to find it free of kebab-scoffing lunatics.

‘
Psst!’

It was coming from outside.

Hunk of No Fixed Abode was standing in the door next to the canteen, eating a doughnut.

‘
Want one?’

Was he actually a bus driver? It wouldn’t surprise her. Some London bus drivers
did
look like a Darwinian dream of the missing link. But Hunk of No Fixed Abode didn’t seem to own a uniform. If he wasn’t a driver, he definitely couldn’t be management – that required at least a shower and some form of hairbrush.

He must have just snuck in there to steal food. Jools hadn’t eaten for at least forty-five minutes and right now a calorie-loaded treat would hit the spot perfectly. Ignoring the little voice in her head that said being an accomplice to doughnut-pinching was just as bad as stealing, she leaned out the window.

‘
Yes, please,’ she replied in a whisper, in case someone caught them in the illicit act.

Taking a plate from the table in the canteen, Hunk of No Fixed Abode came over to the window – which was only slightly higher than him. He must be around 6 foot 2, Jools estimated. Impressive!

A plate of fresh, deliciously-iced doughnuts was held up. They sat in a neat pile, begging to be eaten.

‘
Thanks,’ said Jools, taking only one. It wouldn’t do if Hunk of No Fixed Abode thought she had no self-control. Luckily, he couldn’t see the contradictory expanding backside from out there.

‘
You’re welcome.’ He was surprisingly well spoken. Posh, even. And those eyes! Plus, up close, he looked cleaner than from afar. The hobo outfit was definitely third or fourth-hand, but the skin underneath seemed relatively clean. His cuticles seemed well cared for too, though the hands were grubby. Interesting, thought Jools, a hobo with good personal hygiene. She couldn’t wait to tell Mel. Surely hygiene in a hobo was a major plus point? And he didn’t appear pissed or stoned either. The plus points were stacking up!

The plate was raised again. ‘Another?’

Jools shook her head. It wasn’t good to come across as greedy. As a distraction from the lure of the doughnuts, she jerked her head towards the canteen: ‘I don’t suppose they have a computer in there they aren’t using?’

Wide-eyes stared back, unblinking.

Shit. He thinks I want him to steal one. ‘No, I don’t mean nicking one,’ Jools spluttered. ‘It’s just, I need a computer to make money and if I could just pop in and use one… ’

Hunk of No Fixed Abode didn’t reply, just smiled and passed her the plate once more. ‘Have another.’

I’ll take that as a no. Unable to resist, she grabbed another high-in-every-kind-of-fat no-no and sank back onto her dirty little sofa to enjoy it – and to contemplate the hobo’s bum as he wandered back towards the canteen.

How did he manage to make those manky old combats look so bloody sexy?

Chapter 4

Dear Mr Fortescue,

I’m sure an intelligent man such as yourself appreciates that in order to make money, one must spend money. Therefore, I can assure you that should you allow the cheques I have written to a number of establishments during the last week to be added to my overdraft, you can expect a speedy and swift payment in the very near future.

Fondest regards,

Julia M. Grand

TWO DAYS LATER, as Jools was preparing a delicious supper of instant noodles and white chocolate mousse (virtually free from Handimart since they were well past their sell-by dates), she heard a soft
thump
outside, right by the front door.

Fearing Rocco, she held her breath and hid in the shower until receding footsteps could be heard, then opened the squeaky laminate door to investigate.

There, sitting neatly on the step, was a dirty old laptop with a power cord taped to the base. A scrappy note attached to the screen said:

fond in scip, al yours. Bus intnet works.

Hunk of No Fixed Abode had come through for her. Jools’ heart skipped a beat. He went skip hunting just for her. For her! There must be some feelings there.

Then reality set in. Feelings or not, any laptop found in the rubbish by a hobo ran the very real risk of not working. There was a reason such things were in skips in the first place. Jools grabbed the cord, plugged it in and turned it on. There was a whirring and a dainty ‘ping’ and the familiar PC logo sprang to life. Yes! It actually worked. Hunk of No Fixed Abode deserved a medal. Well, he probably deserved a good meal and a decent roof over his head but Jools was in no position to offer that, was she?

More miraculous still, upon clicking the Internet icon, the connection launched immediately. The bus garage must have unsecured access – not extremely wise. (Someone who lived within spitting distance of Mrs Pho’s had downloaded the entire Beatles back catalogue, courtesy of Julia Grand Cleaning, and BT had hit Jools with a huge bill which, as she recalled, she had yet to pay.)

Quickly putting aside thoughts of her ever-mounting debts, Jools thought about the hot hobo and wondered how to thank him. Maybe make him a meal? But what did she have to offer but close-to-the-sell-by-date beans? Still, he was a hobo, so maybe he wouldn’t mind risking salmonella for the chance to eat? Yes, when she saw him again she would ask him over for a spicy date of beans and cider. At least she didn’t have to be embarrassed about her paltry circumstances, did she?

Jools was longing to shift her online sales career into high gear, but she’d arranged to meet Mel in a nearby café to hear all about her trip. She reluctantly trundled down the stairs from her flat and out onto the damp pavement. Outside, buses coughed and mumbled exhaust that made the garage look like a grim nineteenth-century mining town. Through the haze, she narrowly avoided a newly deposited pile of vomit just outside her building. Flip-flops were a little too precarious for this neighbourhood.

After her latest job rejection – from Lucky Loo ‘We Want You’ Cleaners of Willesden Green (who told her ’we no want you type of clean’) – she’d grabbed the closest thing to hand and lobbed it out the open window into the street. Problem was, it was the left shoe of her only decent pair of flats. So now the choice was between too-small Adidas trainers (which she planned on selling anyway) or £1 Primark flip-flops.

She checked her watch. Shit, better get moving – Mel didn’t appreciate being left alone around here. She flipped and flopped with determination to Mama Blue’s Café, buoyed by her gift from the hunky hobo and the possibility of making enough of a living to avoid being unceremoniously evicted and/or bashed by the evil, kebab-hoarding Rocco.

Mel was already waiting inside, hands warming around a steaming double-shot café latte, feet cosily encased in expensive Uggs that were kicked up on a chair. Jools waved and headed to the counter – no such thing as table service at Mama Blue’s.

She was starving, as usual. She checked the menu for the cheapest item: a coffee and plain-toast combo for a quid.

‘
That‘s supposed to be for retirees,’ scowled the barista as she took Jools’ money.

‘
Well, as it happens I’m currently retired.’ Jools held her head high. ‘And put some whipped cream on it.’

‘
The toast or the coffee?’ the barista snorted.

Jools shrugged. ‘Both.’

She lifted Mel’s feet off the chair and squeezed herself into it.

God, she was only 28 but she felt about a hundred. She deserved that retiree deal.

‘
Alright?’ asked Mel, looking pointedly at her feet. ‘Bit cold for flip-flops, isn’t it?’

‘
Doing great, thanks. And I can‘t afford new clothes, or shoes, so don’t start.’ replied Jools more snappishly than intended. Hunger did that to her.

‘
How’s the job hunt going?’

‘
Still looking, but, you know, I have a few ideas.’

‘
Your ideas are what got you into this mess. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from social services yet?’

‘
Still waiting for my appointment, but I’m sure it’ll go well. They say they’ll back-date the payments.’

‘
Good luck with that.’ Mel bit into her pricey-looking almond croissant. Jools couldn’t take her eyes off the flaky goodness.

‘
Thanks. You’re very supportive.’

Somehow, Mel missed the sarcasm. ‘That’s what I’m here for, Jools, to cheer you up.’

‘
I think you must be mistaking these convulsions for laughter. I’m actually suppressing the biggest anxiety attack you’ve ever seen.’

‘
You can always crash with me if things don’t pick up. There are people who love you, you know.’

‘
Well, one person. You.’ Jools took a big slurp of cream to make her life seem less pathetic.

‘
What about your dad? I know you hate talking about him, but if things got bad I’m sure you could stay with him couldn’t you?’

Jools bit into her slice of burnt toast. It was so black that its origins as bread were hard to discern. At least the cream tasted good. ‘Last resort, Mel. That hovel in Tooting is definitely the last resort.’

‘
Well, like I said, you’re more than welcome to move in with me. Ever since Michel left . . .’

Jools interrupted the start of her routine lament with a wracking cough barely masking an underlying ‘Arsehole!’

Mel frowned. ‘I know you think he’s no good and I agree, he was then. But not anymore.’

Jools dropped her charcoal toast. ‘What? Anymore? Don’t tell me . . . Have you talked to him?’

‘
Just once. He called, I answered, he apologised and… ’

This wasn‘t looking good. ‘You slept with him, didn’t you?’

Mel was affronted. ‘No! Are you insane? After he left me for a fifty-year-old stripper? What kind of sucker do you think I am?’

Quite a large one – literally and figuratively, if you could believe Mel’s boasts. ‘You’ve taken him back twice before.’

Standing up, Mel grabbed her stuff. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got a meeting to defend some misguided youths. Poor things, they’ve been accused of a laptop scam or something. I’d better get going.’

Jools was immediately reminded of Hunk of No Fixed Abode and his computer. She was definitely not telling Mel about his gift now. She’d only force her to report it to the police, and Jools needed that particular piece of equipment to survive, at least until the dole kicked in.