Page 51 of Don't Let Me Go
It was a warm September day, and as I didn’t have nothing better to do, I went down to the river to watch the boats. I used to reckon that when I got older, I’d get me a job on one of those boats. You know, spend my days cruising up and down the Thames, deliveringcargo. I’ve always liked the water even though I’ve never learned to swim proper.
I was thinking I might head over to the Surrey docks to see if there was any work going when I felt that funny sensation on the back of my neck again. Sure enough, when I turned around, there was the boy. Standing under a tree not twenty feet away, watching me.
I thought about giving him a good ticking-off, but there were people about, and I didn’t want to risk making a scene. So I satisfied myself by giving him a dirty look complete with the appropriate hand gestures and decided to shove off.
I kept myself pretty busy for the next few hours. Then, when the sun started going down, I made my way back over to Bermondsey. The railway arch by the Peek Freans factory was (and still is, I reckon) a good place to set up camp for the night, provided you got there early and claimed your spot. Nobody bothered you under the arch, and in bad weather, you had a bit of shelter over your head. Also, a few weeks earlier, someone had dumped a bunch of empty orange crates there that were about the size of mattresses and not half bad for sleeping in.
I’d just claimed one of these prize crates—by which I mean one thatdidn’treek of piss—and was about to tuck into the eel pie I’d pinched when I noticed the boy was back. I don’t know how he’d managed to follow me. I hadn’t seen him since the Thames. But there he was, standing under a streetlamp, still staring at me with his big green eyes.
I ain’t proud of what I did next, but I’d had enough of the me-and-my-shadow routine, so I picked up a rock and chucked it at him. It hit his foot, and he jumped back like a startled dog. I threw another, hoping to send him packing, and this one hit him square in the shoulder. But instead of crying out or running for cover, he just stood there, not taking his eyes off me.
At that point, I said,Right,enough’senough. I hopped out of my crate and marched myself over to him.
“Oi!” I shouted, trying to look nothing like a cherub. “What sort of game are you playing at?”
The boy flinched. He opened his mouth to say something but must’ve changed his mind because all he did was hang his head like a dog what knows he’s in for a beating.
“Well?” I barked. “What’re you following me for?”
The boy shrugged and kept staring at his shoes.
“Why’ve you been tailing me all day?”
Another shrug.
“Ain’t you got a home to go to?”
The boy shook his head.
“What about parents?”
Another shake.
“You all alone, then?”
The boy nodded.
“Well, what you want me to do about it?” I snapped in exasperation. “I ain’t the bloody Salvation Army.”
The boy didn’t answer. He just stared at the cobblestones.
Up close I could see that his clothes had once been pretty nice, but now the sleeves and collar were edged with dirt, and his wool jacket was stained. His face was dirty, and while I reckoned he’d always been a bit on the scrawny side, something about the way his clothes hung off his body made me suspect it’d been a while since he’d had a proper meal.
I didn’t like the thought of that.
Maybe it was the way he sniffled and buried his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. Maybe it was the way he reminded me of myself back when I was first starting out. Maybe I just have a thingfor strays. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t help feeling right sorry for the lad.
Except?.?.?.?no, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that I felt sorry for him. I feltresponsible.
Hang me if I could tell you why. It didn’t make no bloody sense. I mean, who was he to me? Just another urchin on the street. London’s full of them. It weren’t any skin off my nose if he went hungry. It’s a cruel world. And the sooner he got used to that fact, the better off he’d be.
Even so, I found myself saying, “All right, one night. You can doss with me under the arch foronenight. After that, you’re on your own. Got it?”
To this day I ain’t forgotten the look on his face. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas and he was Tiny Tim. And his smile did this funny thing to my heart because a second later I was also smiling. Damned if I could tell you why. All I knew was that, in that moment, his happiness made me happy.
“Right, follow me,” I told him, heading back under the arch.
It’d be a bit cramped with two of us in my crate, but I told myself I could make do. After all, it was only for one night.
