Love on the NHS (27 page)

A lack of information from the coroner and the ombudsman did not surprise Luke. It had become commonplace for people in positions of power to release as few details as possible to members of the public; this was often said to be done for the benefit of people and to maintain patient confidentiality, privacy and dignity. On the other hand, all the details of any ordinary person who committed even a minor offence - or even were only have alleged to have - were openly written and talked about in the news: yet the actions of a person in power could be kept secret for twenty years at the very least, if not forever.

Records were burnt, sometimes in so-called accidental fires. And the other classic excuse was that data was hacked or computers stolen or broke. Nobody liked to admit it but the infamous riots of London of not long ago had been started by a reticence from police to communicate with people. As a number of concerned relatives and acquaintances of Mark Duggan had gathered outside a police station demanding answers about shots fired by the police, the officers had left them waiting for a very long time. The initial injustice had set the riot off, and although later there were copycat riots that were hijacked by opportunistic thieves, that did not alter the fact that the root of all the looting and violence was a lack of communication and information. Perhaps the relatives and friends had somehow known that he had been innocently killed; for a few years later when the case came to court the taxi driver driving Mark testified that he had exited his cab carrying no gun and had been set upon by angry police. Even the driver himself had been grabbed out of his vehicle by officers behaving like wild, primitive animals.

XLIII

It was blustery and overcast. Luke's feet ached terribly. He needed new shoes - he always bought the same pair from the Larks shop in Woecaster. Of the dozens of pairs he had tried they were the only that remained comfortable after a few days' wear. He had wasted hundreds of pounds before he realized this fact: on shoes he would throw out after a week because of the blisters and corns he got from wearing them. Luke kept all his receipts from buying his shoes because when the Department for Work and Pensions or the local council assessed him, they asked for evidence of expenditure related to his disability. Though each pair of shoes costed him £80 and despite their being comfortable, he still had to replace them at least every three months; it was a significant expense for him. It was worthwhile being able to prove that to people, even if it meant being so careful.

Even with the best shoes, Luke needed insoles. On his bus journey into Woecaster, he called up his mother. "Please can you send me some more insoles?" he beseeched in a message he left on her answering machine. Presently he arrived in Woecaster and walked along the high street, which now had two empty units and more bargain shops than last year. The decline of high streets had become a major crisis that was gripping the United Kingdom. As capitalism advanced, companies merged and took over one another. Small shops began to close as they could not compete and meanwhile large stores tried to turn people into obese, over-consuming lemmings. People drove in their cars to supermarkets and out-of-town retail parks to buy the lion's share of their shopping there while local shops gathered tumbleweeds. The last few tribes in the world's rainforests were threatened by extinction because of people's demand for consumer products - wood was becoming increasingly scarce and more land illegally encroached upon.

Luke felt if he could only live a somewhat more traditional life, it would in and of itself solve so many problems. He sometimes watched old television shows like Beatrix Potter and The Adventures of Parsley on YouTube. It was a nostalgic pleasure, reminding him of childhood. How wonderful life looked then, with Beatrix pottering with her basket in hand to get some produce from the local market. Many evenings of Luke's childhood were spent watching classic films with the family. Bruno recorded over a hundred TV adaptations of great novels like Silas Marner, The Rainbow and Wuthering Heights that they would all watch, bewitched.

A phone call interrupted Luke's internal monologue.

"Hello there. I'm trying to get hold of Luke Jefferson."

"Hi. Uh, that's me."

"Ah, hello. I'm Doug King. I've been assigned to be your new social worker. Can we arrange an initial meeting to get to know each other a bit?"

"Yes, sure. When would be convenient for you?"

"Next Thursday, 11 a.m.?"

"That suits me."

"Okay. See you then, Luke. Bye."

"Bye."

Well, maybe I'll finally get a social worker who does something hoped Luke. He returned to his inner train of thought... When Luke was dedicated to a gluten-free diet - but without the strictures of the  specific carbohydrate diet - he would make stews and curries for weeks on end. Writing the shopping lists, gathering all the items and simmering everything in a big pan was like creating his own rural idyll. This fantastic ritual he followed was never quite authentic because Furchurch was too suburban. It did not fit the part of the unspoiled paradise; the supermarkets he shopped in were too crowded and commercialised too. When Luke was following his diet, he would look in disbelief at how many fat and lazy people filled their trollies with frozen meals, crisps, biscuits, instant gravies and sodas.

If it was not for supermarkets people could walk to their shops, have a little chat and develop a feeling of community again. Yet Luke knew, having read some of Marx's economical critique, that so long as capitalism existed it would always strive to expand. People who wanted to make money had history on their side for now; they wrote it and made it, as hideous as it was. And they would do all they could to squeeze small farmers, producers and shops out of existence. But oil and gas were running out, more so every year. If Luke did not die a Shelleyan death he was sure he would live to see a time all this economic expansion would unwind.

It was lovely to think about but reality would always set in. As of now, life sucked. People were hooked into a world of reality TV that was anything but real; flattering their egos by expressing an opinion on every triviality on Twitter. On Twitter, Luke noticed everyone seemed to be a comedian. He occasionally looked at Twitter feeds of old friends. Despite being interesting windows into their lives, he always tired of how their Twitter feeds so often resorted to outbursts of wit . Wit could make a conversation sparkle but too much of it dulled the soul - which was precisely why everyone was having such a laugh; souls were becoming a rare commodity.

Some day Luke might experience the visceral thrill of a life in touch with nature... For now, there was no chance of people getting out of their cars and walking. No chance to appreciate the countryside and fresh air around them. Even though the news told people most United Kingdom species were in decline, people did not think twice about driving everywhere and continuing to waste so many resources by buying so much. When people got in a car they became self-absorbed and it became normal to them. Luke had noticed when pedestrians tried to cross roads that drivers would very rarely make any effort to allow room, leaving people stuck for minutes sometimes. It was worse for cyclists going about their daily commute - most  car drivers would look at them furiously as though they were invading their space. Luke pitied people like that; how sick they must be to not have the capacity to be generous. But what a shame they were dragging everyone else down in their misery.

It was not only traffic jammed roads and super-sized grocery stores that had ruined so much. So too had attitudes, such as the attitude towards disabled people. When he boarded a bus and used his disabled travel pass people stared with hostility and disdain - both drivers and passengers. Many begrudged anyone getting any aid they themselves did not receive Then there was the not in my back yard-ism of people responding to plans to build wind turbines; even though without them conclusive scientific evidence showed the planet's ecosystems would be thrown out of balance. Was the view from their home as important as the well-being of the planet? Greed too was tearing people apart. Why could doctors not job share? If they did, they would make less errors as fewer working hours would translate to less tiredness and stress. Out of the question! Most would rather keep the extra few thousands of pounds they earned which otherwise could have been paid to give some other poor, unemployed person a job.

Luke could not forget the education system. It costed more to send a person to prison for a year than for a year's tuition and board at the best school in the country, Eton. If the government had paid to have children from problem families sent to Eton then most the future prison population could have been vanquished into nothing.  Psychiatric professionals were talking about how self-harm among children was at a record high. Kids were not stupid. They soon realized how opportunities were drying up; even the ones who did not could not fail to notice their parents unable to afford to heat the house, go on holiday or buy them things wealthier school-friends had.

Mindful of the subject of crime, Luke would think again of how cars had opened a Pandora's box of problems. They allowed a quick, private getaway - a valuable asset for a criminal. Guns and booty were easier to hide in a personal motor vehicle than on a bus or train. Cars afforded both a degree of anonymity and great speed too. Most gangsters could not have operated without them - well, that was probably an exaggeration. They always seemed to find a way - but the opportunities for them were certainly much greater. However cars were so useful too; you could throw a guitar or box of tools in the back and travel worry free, whereas on a bus or train you would be worried about theft and would be too heavily laden on a bike. Cars were merely a tool that had given people so much more freedom. In the process, they had unleashed all hell from a population unready for them. They had created an all the more urgent need for a more economically equal society. Only with people living more alike one another - without big differences in incomes - could the will for so much crime to be committed be defeated. Then it might all be by the hand of fate, Luke would consider - did inventions and progress come our way to force us to change?

Perhaps where it had all gone really wrong was in design. Businesses built high fences around their premises and employed big, bald security guards sitting in trailers. Farms had metal fences - sometimes even with barbed wire on the top - to deter criminals. A necessary evil, no doubt, in many places yet Luke felt it was tragic so much of the world now resembled a prison. No wonder children could no longer play outside. There were barriers; dangerous, speeding vehicles and burly men - criminal or those employed to apprehend the former (though, of course, some of the latter were criminal too!) - everywhere. Most people cared not a jot about making their property look nice and inviting because security was the buzzword of the day. "Are we having fun yet?" Luke would think. "Does anyone really think this how to live?"

He wrote missives and made phone calls several times to a company situated across from his apartment. The subject was improving their building layout. He suggested they could paint their fence again as some railings were painted green, while others were a bare silvery metal on which half an older coat of blue paint had peeled off. He asked them to consider building one consistent fence instead of the three alternate sized ones that looked so incongruous. Luke put it to them they might want to get rid of the fence that was made of wired netting and bent out of shape - this being another fence besides the aforementioned one; completely unnecessary, since it was smaller and easy for an intruder to climb over. He also pointed out it would be pleasant if they put a fresh coat of paint on their large factory which was becoming a rusted, discoloured eyesore. Like a busybody was how they treated Luke. From their hidebound and parochial viewpoint, he was just a person with too much time on his hands. "We don't have the budget to make any site improvements," the manager had said to him on the phone. Ironically, two years after his contact with them expired, they replaced a roof and installed a new, taller fence to the two already there; somehow they had found money in the budget after all.

XLIV

Since galleries had no interest in his art Luke phoned his new social worker, Doug, about approaching people on his behalf. He wanted Doug to ask places to display his work. Doug told him as a social worker that was not part of his role and he was there to refer to services and to organise community care. Such a by the book approach was completely missing the point in how to help Luke. What he needed just as much as that was assistance in getting known - but as Luke realized, most professionals are only there to earn their wages and clock in and out.

Luke did not contact Jolly again but the police paid him several unannounced visits. Luke felt harassed by the officers making these spontaneous and frequent calls; the dictionary definition of harassment being suffering a feeling of distress or alarm from the actions of another. Many young men who had grown up on large housing estates would have already been familiar with such intrusion. Most by now would have been in prison at least once - such was the us and them culture of hopelessness that unintelligent policing fostered. Nobody cared that many of these youngsters were being aggressive as a cry for help; assistance was too hard to come by when they asked politely, most probably. The officers paid visits to Luke mostly to discuss posts that had been made on Twitter. He could not delete them as he had forgotten his password. Since the email address he had signed up with was inactive he also could not request a new password. The visiting constables used free and easy language to a vulgar degree, quite unbefitting their high office. On each visit there were two officers, one of whom remained a constant and the other of whom always changed.

On the first of these meetings, the recurring officer introduced himself. His name was Simon Marzakios. The rest of the officers became a blur in Luke's memory, each as faceless and forgettable as the next. Marzakios was not a pleasant person to sit with, let alone become familiar with; his large face, the result of a kebab and burger too many - and corpulent belly - were formidable and intimidating, quite unlike the gentle fat some people carried. When he talked his large and piercing eyes shot in different directions like grapeshot. The visits at Luke's apartment happened at all hours, once even in the pitch black of ten in the evening. The large-bodied officers with their belts holding handcuffs, torches, batons and pepper sprays were foreboding and they clearly held Luke in some contempt.