Page 12 of A Miracle on Hope Street
Paul had two positives on his list so far. He had the roof over his head in the hostel, and he had a new friend called Terence who made him laugh. Best of all, Terence wasn’t a drug addict. That was a huge bonus.
The hostel where Paul lived was clean and the lady on the desk, Sonia, always said hello to Paul by name, but apart from that, he didn’t really talk to anyone these days. Apart from Terence. Terence was cool, but sometimes Paul was afraid that Terence didn’t really understand what he was getting into with the whole drug thing. Terence didn’t know anything about drug culture and his parents would never have accepted the like of Paul into his life because Terence’s family didn’t know yet he was gay. No one knew Paul was gay, either. Maybe someday they could make it happen, but Paul had a feeling it was going to take a long time.
He looked at his watch. It was going to be a slow morning and he felt that old familiar itch again. Oh no. It was almost time for Screw to start his morning rounds.
He covered his ears and waited for that everyday sound to come his way.
And then it started. Bang, bang, bang.
Paul’s heart skipped a beat. His head dropped and he concentrated on his breathing.
If only it wasn’t so easy to say yes. If only it wasn’t so hard to say no.
Bang, bang, bang.
But he wasn’t going to answer. They’d keep coming though, they’d keep pushing. If he could only get to the other side of Christmas he’d be able to make that fresh start he’d been dreaming of, the one he’d made on paper, thanks to Julie. Focus on that, he reminded himself as the knocking and the banging continued. Focus on taking one day at a time.
Bang, bang, bang.
Paul closed his eyes and pictured his mum’s face when he’d turn up in just a few month’s with his new clothes, his longer hair, his skin and eyes clear and fresh and his new car in the driveway.
The banging on his door in the hostel got louder.
He closed his eyes again, tighter this time. He saw his mum’s smile, her arms open, and he felt the warmth of her body, the smell of her lavender perfume, the tears she would cry of pure joy at her baby boy coming back home. Margaret would be there too and he’d apologise for all the horror he’d put them through over the past few years. Margaret would forgive him and she’d finally let him see his baby nephew who he would teach how to kick a ball as soon as he got on his tiny feet. They’d have a great Christmas next year and he wouldn’t have to hear the knocking which was now getting louder and faster.
Paul put his hands over his ears tighter now.
Maybe the woman from the newspaper, Ruth Ryans, didn’t reply to everyone like she said she did. Maybe she was just busy and he was next on her list. He liked to think that might be the way. He was next. Everyone was busy at Christmas, and someone like Ruth Ryans had probably got hundreds of messages from hundreds of people like Paul.
The banging kept banging. The itch kept itching.
‘It’s almost Christmas, you little ponce!’ he heard Screw shout from the other side of the door, his voice like someone scraping their nails down a blackboard. It made Paul wince. ‘Be good to yourself, young Paul. Ho, ho, ho, Santa is here. Open the door, you wee shit. You know you want it. Come on!’
The girl from the newspaper would know what to say to Screw. She would know everything, if she would only just reply. Paul had listened to her on the radio. He had read her replies in the newspaper. She seemed like she was a really nice person. As well as his Margaret, she also reminded him of Julie.
If only she would hurry up and reply. Maybe he was next on her list.
Chapter Seven
Ruth
When Nora disappears into the busy city, I let out a long sigh and look at my phone. The café is quieter now but I’m not ready to leave just yet. I’ve ten new emails in my inbox since I left the house. Ten more problems to solve or at least advise on, yet I’ve no interest in dealing with any of them and no idea if I’ve the strength to either. A message from the Today boss, Margo, sits in my WhatsApp inbox along with another from a really old date, asking if I’m ready to join him for dinner again anytime soon. No meaning, no depth, no warmth, and I realise that, on my account, no interest. Social media ‘friend requests’ are queued up awaiting response. Smiling faces, happy lives . . . more people I’ve never heard of before who I have to keep up with in an online game of happiness.
I feel tears prick my eyes. I pinch them back and when I open my eyes, Gloria is sitting across from me. She moves Nora’s plate to the side and leans her hands under her chin.
‘Now, missy,’ she says. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that little head of yours, apart from the obvious? It’s a tough month for you, but you’ve got the eyes of this city on you and I hate to see you look so sad. You’re losing your sparkle, girl, and I can’t just sit around and let that happen!’
‘Please don’t be nice to me, Gloria,’ I say. ‘You know I’ll be a blubbering mess if you show me any sympathy and Nora has already told me I look like crap, so I don’t need to hear it from you too.’
She tilts her head back and lets out her bold, hearty signature laugh.
‘Me oh my, you are just like your daddy!’ she says to me and I raise a smile. ‘He hated me being nice to him too because he was, just like you, so used to be the one helping others out and he didn’t know how to take a little bit of help back for himself.’
‘He really was one in a million,’ I agree and I close my eyes, just for a second, to remember him in his prime. A well-respected, educated man who wore his heart on his sleeve and who touched everyone he came across with his hands-on approach and grassoot ways of looking at issues from all walks of life.
‘He was a problem-solver too,’ she says to me. ‘You solve this city’s problems everyday, yet you seem to be struggling with your own. What’s up?’
We sit in reflective silence for a few seconds.
