Unusual Companions

Andor sat in his small flat above Sebastian’s Nightclub. Below, music throbbed. Outside, drunks shouted and cursed. On the sofa, in front of the window, two dummies sat side by side. The male dummy wore a fair wig. The female’s brown hair was fibrous to touch. Outside, down in the puke stained street, if someone cared to look up, they would only see the dummies heads and, Andor hoped that whoever glanced up would assume he had company.
Though his companions were mute, he could tell by their sour expressions that they too disliked the stench of take away food that seeped through a hole in the rotten window frame which permeated the air like stale sweat but, on that night, a bitter finger of wind streamed through the hole, ruffling the female dummy’s dress as if she trembled with shock or maybe fear.
The city had been Andor’s home since he fled from the country of his birth and he often described to his silent companions stretches of fields of his childhood. He told them about his mother, stout and comfortable, keeping the family’s sturdy farmhouse spotless. He wept, even in his dotage, as he recalled her delicious spicy stews, her rough, gentle hands. He spoke of his father, broad in shoulder, short in stature, who’s lips would crack open, like a golden brown nut at some amusement.
And as he reminisced, his companions nodded their heads as if his memories were their own and Andor would tell them that when he passed from this mortal life, he would soar like bird over seas and countries until he reached his beloved homeland.
But, when the cold became so intense wind whistled through the hole penetrating the calor gas heated air sharp like a fencer’s sword, his thoughts turned to the young lad sleeping rough in a shop doorway, across the road. He knew, through years of experience and watching, that the boy had yet been untouched by drugs or drink and he mused upon the reasons why a boy and his dog slept rough on such a cold night.
********

Squatting in the shop doorway opposite, wrapped in a tatty pink blanket, the youth, pale faced, stared out unblinking at passers by as if they didn’t exist. But he was aware of his dog curled into a contented ball of brown and black fur. The youth’s hand, constantly stroked his mongrel’s bullet shaped head as if in the knowledge that, despite their recent, feral existence, both were a constant in each other’s lives.
The glazed stare of the youth looked outwards, past legs, to the place where he once lived; a place he fled from at the age of fifteen and, as he thought about that place, a woman sat in her kitchen, one hundred and three miles away studying a cherished photograph.

*********

From the sitting room of the old cottage, the woman heard the TV blaring and she knew, without checking, that her husband slept on the settee after a hard day’s drinking and tracing a finger across the image of her son, all neat and clean in his school uniform, her tears fell like rivulets of poison, blurring the smile into a sneer on her son’s face. But she was glad that her child had escaped from the fists that daily rained down and she prayed that her child had found a safer place to live.
******


The youth stirred, as if touched by the fervent thoughts of his mother. His dog snaffled in a dream, one leg moving in an imagined chase. Tears squeezed out through the youth’s lashes, dripping onto his hand.
A clash of small change landed on his lap. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled to a pair of jeans and boots of black patent leather. When the legs moved off, the youth looked up and across the road to Andor’s window where over many nights, he’d noticed those two heads in the same position, never stirring.
Then the front door opened below the window and an old man, looking both right and left, limped across the road towards him.
‘You will die of cold.’ A heavy accented voice rasped at the youth who stared at well worn grey trousers and a pair of black slippers. ‘Have you eaten today?’ Andor stooped, his vein raddled hand extended to the dog. The youth shrugged.
Alert and wary, the dog, now sitting up, sniffed at the extended hand. Then his thick tail beat against the youth’s shoulder and a long red tongue licked at the old man’s fingers.
The youth visibly relaxed as if sensing the dog’s trust in the stranger. ‘His name is Blue,’ he said.
‘Hello Blue.’ Andor stroked the dog’s head. ‘I’m Andor. I live in that flat across the street.’
The youth looked up into dark brown eyes, eyes the same colour as his dog. ‘I’m Jason.’
Andor squatted down despite arthritic knees. ‘Well, Jason and Blue, I’ve a pan of stew on the stove that needs three mouths to eat it.’
At the mention of food, Jason’s stomach rumbled. ‘Why?’ His question sounded brusque and his gaze went to Andor’s window and the two heads.
‘Why?’ Andor smiled. ‘Because I cook for ten. And, on a night like this, it’s too cold for a dog to sleep outside.’
A drunk lurched into Andor, cursing. The old man, knocked sideways, put a hand out to stop a fall. Blue growled. Jason got to his feet and his dog, straining on a corded leash, snapped at a pair of designer trainers.
Taking hold of Andor’s elbow, Jason helped him to his feet, saying, ‘Let’s get you home.’
Andor puffed out his chest. ‘Not without you, my boy. This is a dangerous place.’
For a long moment both stared at one and other until Jason said, ‘You have guests. They can eat your stew.’
Andor glanced over his shoulder at the two heads distinct behind net. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said. ‘They’re not hungry.’
Jason guided Andor across the street and when they arrived at the open door, he looked up a steep staircase leading to another door which was closed but Andor, noticing the hesitation, hobbled up the stairs without a word.
Delicious aromas wafted downwards when Andor opened the door to his flat. ‘You and your dog are welcome,’ he said, not looking around. Then he added, ‘I won’t hurt you.’
Suddenly, a police siren wailed, close by. Stepping inside, closing the door behind him, Jason and Blue ran up the stairs and on entering, Andor said, ‘Make yourself comfortable.’ He drew back a red chequered curtain to reveal a small kitchenette where, on a stove, a stew of lamb, vegetables, a blend of herbs and garlic simmered in a large, battered saucepan.
Jason looked around the cramped sitting room until his gaze came to rest upon the two dummies sitting on a faded sofa and he began to laugh. Andor, emerging from the kitchenette, laughed too.
‘I will tell you about my silent guests,’ he said, stepping back into the kitchenette. ‘But first, Blue shall eat.’ Opening a tin of corned beef, Andor spooned the contents into a bowl, placing it on the floor and the dog, gobbling it up, chased the bowl around linoleum with his tongue.
After removing the dummies from the sofa, taking them into his small bedroom, he placed two deep dishes of stew onto an old coffee table and handed Jason a spoon. Like the dog, Jason demolished his meal in a few short minutes and, looking across at Andor, still eating his, said, ‘That was delicious.’
'Have more.’ Andor pointed a finger at the saucepan on the coffee table. Jason helped himself.
Later, after they had washed and dried the dishes, Jason sat on the sofa and Andor settled on his overstuffed armchair. Then Andor said, ‘A real head.’ Jason gave him a querying glance. ‘You, on my sofa.’
'Do you have a family?’ Jason asked.
'My wife died over fifty years ago.’ Andor sighed.‘Killed by a Russian bullet.’ Entwining his fingers, resting them on rotund stomach, he went on, ‘I escaped Hungary. Left my mother, father and the body of my lovely Adrienne behind.’
'And you’ve lived alone, ever since?’ Jason asked, his tone sleepy.
Andor nodded. ‘I worked for the city council. Bought this flat.’ He laughed. ‘Little did I know they’d put a nightclub into the bowels of the building, twenty years later.’
‘Why don’t you sell up?’ Jason stroked Blue’s head.
Andor looked about him. ‘Where would I go?’
‘What about friends?’ Jason settled back in his seat.
‘One or two from the old country. We meet up on Thursdays for a chat. A game of cards.’ A pause followed and only the sound of Jason gently scratching his dog’s forehead could be heard. ‘Have you a family?’ Andor broke the silence.
Jason shifted in his seat. Blue stirred. Raised his head. Then flopped it down again with a grunt. ‘Yes,’ he replied with reluctance. Andor waited. Jason looked down at the floor. ‘They live in Wales. My father’s out of work. Has been since the Foot and Mouth epidemic. My mother is a school dinner lady.’
'Your father was a farmer?’
'He worked as a herdsman.’ Jason looked up. ‘When he lost his job, he started to drink. Started to hit my mother and me.’ Red suffused the lad’s cheeks.
‘So that’s why you left?’ Andor leaned forward in his chair.
Jason nodded. ‘Last summer, my father got picked up by the police. He’d punched a teacher from my school. Mr. Price had come round asking questions.’
‘What sort of questions?’ Andor kept his tone low.
Jason shrugged. ‘Why I had bruises all over my body. He’d seen them when I was changing for football. I used to hide the bruises by changing in the toilets but on that day, I forgot.’
‘What happened.?’ Andor’s eyes brimmed with tears. He coughed, clearing his throat.
‘My father was drunk. Called Mr. Price names and laid into him.’ Jason grabbed hold of a glass of water from the coffee table and took a long drink. ‘What I can’t forgive,’ he went on to say in almost a whisper, ‘Is my mother not standing up for herself and me all these years.’
‘You blame your mother?’ Andor shook his head. ‘She’s as frightened as you are, Jason.’
‘After that night, I left. I couldn’t face going to school. I didn’t want Social Services interfering and I thought that if I left, it would make it easier for Mum.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘I brought Blue with me. I was afraid Dad would take it out on him.’
‘Have you spoken to your mother?’ Andor asked. Jason shook his head. ‘She will be worrying about you.’ Jason shook his head once more. ‘Perhaps you could write her a letter?’Another adamant shake of the head.
‘Jason, you’re too young to live on the streets. You should be in school.’
The lad jumped to his feet and Blue sprang up, barking.‘I’m not going home.’ He moved across the room, picking up his tatty pink blanket from the back of the chair.‘You can’t make me.’
Andor got up, saying, ‘I won’t make you go home.’ Jason spun round, a blend of anger and fear etched on his gaunt face. Andor stepped towards the boy. ‘You can stay here. Sleep on the sofa.’ He looked down at Blue, adding,‘Your dog needs warmth and a roof over his head even if you don’t.’
The pink blanket fell to the floor. Jason’s shoulders sagged. Then he began to cry and, Andor, stepping over to him, placed an arm around those skinny shoulders until Jason stopped crying.
The following morning, Andor, lying in his bed, could smell the aroma of coffee. He smiled at the comforting smell. Getting up, wrapping an old plaid dressing gown around him, he left the bedroom.
‘Here.’ Jason gave him a mug of coffee, still black and unsweetened.
Blue thumped a welcoming tail on the floor, his wide jaws appeared to be smiling. ‘We must buy food for the dog,’ Andor said.
‘I’ve two pounds fifty,’ Jason told him.
‘We will sort money out, later.’ Andor let out a laugh. ‘My lady and man dummies are sitting on the floor in the bedroom sulking.’
Jason smiled. ‘There’s room enough for them on the sofa.’
Andor sat down on his chair and it creaked as if exhausted by old age. He shivered, put a hand to the back of his neck, feeling that finger of cold air brushing against skin.
Jason sat down on the sofa. Regarded the old man for a long moment.
'I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘I could mend your window. Put a lick of paint around the rooms.’ He nodded a head in the direction of the kitchenette. ‘Mend those dripping taps.’ He stopped, cheeks flushing. ‘I mean, I could be useful. I could still do a bit of begging. Get some money together for the small jobs.’
‘No!’ Andor slammed the palm of his hand down on the arm of his chair. Jason winced and Andor, seeing that wince, recognised fear. ‘Sorry. I’m not a violent man. Proud, yes. You are my guest. I invited you in. I want you to be safe.’ Andor grinned. Shrugged his shoulders and added, ‘It would be good to have young company around and, of course, a guard dog. But you will not beg. I have a little money put by in the Post Office. If you want to stay, you and I will have a plan.’
Jason frowned. ‘A plan?’
‘You should continue your education.’
‘I can’t! They’ll want to know where I live. Who my parents are. I can’t just walk into a school and say, ‘I need some education.’’
Andor leaned forward. ‘We will think of something, Jason.’ He got up. Ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I know a man who has a son. He teaches pupils at home.’
Jason looked up. ‘That costs money.’
Andor beamed. ‘He owes me a favour.’
‘What sort of favour?’ Jason asked.
‘When I escaped from Hungary, I saved this man’s life. My Adrienne and I helped people to flee. She got caught while I was helping this man across the border. Now this man lives here. He has a family. Grandchildren. One of his grandchildren is a teacher.’
‘Will he keep quiet?’ Jason asked.
Andor nodded. ‘I will explain your position. Tell them that you are afraid to go home. My friend will understand. He knows fear. We all know fear.’ A long pause followed. Then Andor said, ‘And maybe, when you are stronger, you can contact your mother, but only when you are stronger up here.’ Andor pointed a finger at his temple.
*********

In the cottage, weeks later, Jason’s mother waited for her husband to return. He’d been out all night and the weather, foul and freezing, seemed to spread an icy blanket over the countryside.
She’d rung The Lamb, earlier, and asked Terry, the landlord, if her husband was still there. ‘I chucked him out at eleven thirty, last night, ’ came the reply.
Sitting in her kitchen, she took out the photograph of her son. His smiling face brought a brief lift to her perpetual depression. She prayed that Jason was fine. She wept, hating her own weak spirit.
Hours later, she answered a knock on the door. Opening it, a policeman, asked her if he could have a word. Stepping back, letting the young constable inside, she took him into the kitchen.
‘Sit down, Mrs. Jenkins,’ he said. She did as she was asked, her heart thumping with a certain knowledge that her husband was in serious trouble once more.
‘Your husband, Derek Jenkins, has had an accident.’ She waited.‘He fell from the foot bridge, some time after leaving The Lamb, last night. The roads and paths were icy.’
Hours later, as twilight filled her kitchen with shadows, Sheila Jenkins nursed a cup of tea and tried hard to feel some emotion over Derek’s death. She wanted to mourn. She needed to cry. But all she felt was relief and guilt; guilt that she couldn’t grieve for the man she’d been married to for seventeen years. Relief that her husband’s fists would never beat her again.
'You can come home now, Jason,’ she said, looking down at her boy’s photograph. ‘Please come home, Jason. Don’t hate me.’ But she realised as she spoke that perhaps she was asking the impossible.
*******


Spring took a long time to emerge but when it arrived, Andor and Jason, had finished decorating the flat. Now the rotten window was mended. The sitting room was painted in pale yellow. Brightly coloured throws and new cushions, bought in a Pound Shop, were scattered on the sofa and Andor’s armchair.
Jason’s second hand pull down single bed, was tucked, neatly into one corner and, beside his bed, he had a small desk where a computer sat; a second hand computer given to him by Andor’s friend who owed him a favour. Blue had an old duvet covered in a tartan blanket to sleep on.
Three nights a week, the teacher called and, on that last week, informed Andor, Jason was an excellent student but, he added with severity, he should attend school if the boy wanted to go on to college or university.
'Call your mother,’ Andor said, after they’d eaten. Jason shook his head.‘I know you’re thinking about her,’ Andor continued in a quiet voice. ‘You don’t have to tell her where you are, Jason. Just tell her you’re all right.’
Staring at the old man, Jason didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he replied, ‘Maybe tomorrow.’
********

At lunchtime, in the cottage, Mrs. Jenkins answered her phone. At first, all she heard was silence and the sound of traffic. ‘Mum.’ At last Jason spoke.
Tears fell. ‘Oh, Jason. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, Mum. I’m fine.’ A long pause followed and Mrs. Jenkins was afraid to speak; afraid that if she did, she’d be cut off. ‘How are you?’ her son spoke at last.
‘Fine, love. Fine.’
‘How’s Dad?’
Mrs. Jenkins closed her eyes, wondering if the news would upset or relieve her son. ‘Your Dad died a few months ago, Jason. An accident.’
‘Drunk was he?’ The question, bluntly put, made her flinch.
‘They think he slipped on the icy road and fell from the foot bridge,’ she explained. ‘It was late. Ed, the milkman, found him.’ A silence followed and Mrs. Jenkins held her breath as if fearing that any sound of exhalation would scare her son away.
‘Sorry,’ Jason said, breaking the silence.
‘Are you coming home, love?’ She gripped the receiver.
Another silence followed. ‘I’m sixteen tomorrow,’ Jason said.
'I know. I want to give you your present, love. I want to give you a birthday card.’
‘I’m living with someone,’ Jason said as if he hadn’t heard her plea. ‘He’s old. He saved me and Blue’s life. He took me off the street. Fed us both. Gave us a roof over our heads.’It was Mrs. Jenkins’s time to remain silent as another fear and ran through her mind.
And as if picking up on that fear, Jason said, ‘He’s not a pervert, Mum. He’s just plain good.’
'Thank God,’ she uttered.
'I’ll ring again,’ Jason told her.
‘No, love, please don’t go. Please tell me where you’re living.’ But as she pleaded, the line went dead.
******

Andor sat in his armchair, half of him relieved that Jason had decided to call his mother. The other half regretting the call despite him urging the boy to do so. If Jason returned home, he would be left alone, once more.
Looking about his flat now colourful, breathing life and warmth into his soul, he dreaded the day when his dummies would be placed back on to the sofa but he knew that day would come soon and he must be strong.
The door opened. Jason walked in, Blue bounding in after him, lapping at a bowl of water, sending droplets flying into the air as he shook his bullet head.
'I phoned Mum,’ Jason sat down on the sofa, flinging his legs out, staring down at his trainers with an unreadable expression on his face.
Andor thought the boy, verging on manhood, looked petulant.‘How is she?’ He asked.
‘She says she fine.’ Jason swallowed deeply. Then said, ‘My Dad’s dead.’
The cold statement shocked Andor for a brief moment. Then he replied, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not,’ Jason punched a cushion. ‘He was drunk. Fell over a bridge.’
But Andor sensing his protégé’s inner confusion and pain, said, ‘Now, Jason, you’re free to go home back to your mother. Give her some comfort.’
Jason looked up and into the old man’s sad, brown eyes. ‘I’m not leaving you,’ he said.
‘Jason, your mother needs you. You can go back to school. Finish your exams.’
‘I don’t want to go home.’ Jason sat up, tossing the cushion aside. ‘I want to stay here, in the city, with you.’
Andor smiled. ‘Think about your life, Jason. Think way ahead into the future. Do you want to end up like me, living in a place like this? Do you want to live the way your father did, doing a job that took him out in all hours and weathers. Being paid a small wage for such hard work.’
'He drank himself to death.’ Jason’s face closed.
'I’m not making excuses for a man who beat his wife and son,’ Andor explained in a quiet voice. ‘He lost his job. He felt useless. He took to drink for comfort but that comfort turned on him and his family.’ Silence fell. Blue’s breathing sounded thunderous. ‘If you want better, you must work hard for qualifications, Jason. Not for my sake, nor your mother’s sake, but for your own.’
Andor got to his feet. ‘I won’t force you into any decision, Jason. What ever you chose, will be all right with me.’
******

Two weeks later, Jason walked through a small village and down the lane leading to a cottage. Blue, running ahead, came to a stop outside a gate, his tail thumping dust motes upwards into late afternoon sunlight.
Blue barked and the cottage door opened. A tall, slim woman came out of her door and ran to the gate. Opening it, she bent down to stroke the dog and looking up, tears brimming in her blue eyes, she met the serious gaze of her son.