The World According to Bob: The further adventures of one man and his street-wise cat (14 page)

Bob and I settled into a group in the middle of the procession as it worked its way along the riverside. They were a mix of students and charity workers, as well as a couple of middle-aged women. They were obviously genuine people who wanted to help in some way. One of the ladies started asking me questions, the usual things: ‘where do you come from?’, ‘how did you end up on the streets?’

I’d told the story a hundred times before during the past decade. I explained how I’d come to London from Australia when I was 18. I’d been born in the UK but my parents had separated and my mum had taken me with her when she’d moved down under. We’d moved around a lot in the following years and I’d become a bit of a troublemaker. When I came to London I had hopes of making it as a musician, but it didn’t really work out. I’d been staying with my stepsister but had fallen out with her husband. I’d started sleeping on friends’ sofas but had eventually run out of places to crash the night. I’d ended up on the streets and it had been downhill from there. I’d experimented with drugs before but when I became homeless it became a way of life. It was the only way to block out the fact that I was lonely and that my life was screwed up. It anaesthetised the pain.

While we were talking we passed a building near Waterloo Bridge where I remembered sleeping a few times. ‘I didn’t use it often,’ I told the lady, pointing it out. ‘One night while I was crashing out there another guy got robbed and had his throat slashed while he slept.’

She looked at me ashen-faced.

‘Did he die?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. I just ran away,’ I said. ‘To be honest, you just worry about making it through the night yourself. It’s every man for himself. That’s what life on the streets reduces you to.’

The woman stood there just looking at the doorway for a moment, as if she was saying a brief, silent prayer.

After about an hour and a half, we made it to the first stopping off point – the Hispaniola floating restaurant on the Embankment on the north side of the Thames.

I helped myself to some of the soup on offer while Bob lapped up some milk that someone had kindly sorted out for him. I was feeling pretty positive about the whole thing and was already totting up the miles that I’d done – and how many more were to come.

But then, as we were heading off the ship, we had a bit of a setback. Perhaps because he’d been refuelled or perhaps because he knew that my leg still wasn’t 100 per cent, Bob had decided to walk off the boat. As he padded his way down the ramp, right to the end of his lead, he walked straight into another
The Big Issue
seller who was coming up the walkway with a dog, a Staffie. It instantly went for Bob and I had to jump in front of it with my arms and legs out to stop him lunging at Bob. To be fair to the other guy, he gave his dog a real dressing down and even gave him a slap on the nose. Staffies do get a bad reputation for being violent, but I don’t think this one was. He was just being curious, not evil. Unfortunately, however, it freaked Bob out a bit. As we resumed our walk he wrapped himself around me tightly, partly through nervousness but mostly because it was his way of insulating himself against the cold. There was a bone-chilling mist rising off the Thames.

Part of me wanted to call it a night and take Bob home. But I spoke to a couple of the organisers and was persuaded to carry on. Fortunately, as we headed away from the river, the temperatures lifted a little bit. We wound our way through the West End and headed north.

I got talking to another couple, a pretty young blonde girl and her French boyfriend. They were more interested in the story of how Bob and I had got together. That suited me fine. Walking around London like this brought back so many memories, many of them too dark and distressing for words. As a heroin addict living on the streets, I was reduced to doing some hideous things just to survive. I wasn’t in the mood to share those details with anyone.

For the first six miles or so, my leg had been fine. I’d been too distracted by what was going on around me to think about it. But as the night wore on, I began to feel a throbbing pain in my thigh, where the DVT had been. It was inevitable. But it was still annoying.

For the next hour or so I ignored it. But whenever we stopped for a cup of tea I could feel an acute shooting pain. Early on I had been in the middle of the procession, walking along with the largest numbers of fundraisers. But I had been falling further and further behind, eventually reaching the back of the line. A couple of fundraisers and a guy from
The Big Issue
office were bringing up the rear and I tagged along with them for a mile or so. But I’d had to take a couple of breaks to let Bob do his business and have a cigarette. Suddenly I realised that we were now cut loose from the rest.

The next official stop was up in Camden, at the Roundhouse pub, a few miles away. I really didn’t think I could make it that far. So when we passed a bus stop with a night bus that headed in our direction, I made a decision.

‘What do you think, Bob, shall we call it quits?’

He didn’t say anything, but I could tell that he was ready for his bed. When a bus loomed into view and opened its doors, he bounded on board and on to a seat, bristling with pleasure at being in the warm.

The bus was surprisingly busy given it was well after 3am. Sitting towards the back of the bus, Bob and I were surrounded by a cluster of clubbers, still high from their night out in the West End or wherever it was they’d been. There were also a couple of lonely looking guys sitting there as if they were on the road to nowhere. I’d been there and done that, of course. I not only had the t-shirt, I had a wardrobe full of them.

But that was the past. Tonight it felt very different. Tonight I felt rather pleased with myself. I know walking a dozen or so miles might not have seemed much of an achievement to some people, but to have made it that far given the state my leg had been in weeks earlier, was – for me, at least – the equivalent of running the London Marathon.

I’d also been reunited with some familiar faces, in particular, Billie. It had been a joy to see her again and to see how well she was doing. All in all, I just felt like I’d done something positive, that I’d given something back. I’d spent so many years taking from people, mainly because I had nothing to give. Or at least, I didn’t think I had anything to give. Tonight had shown me that wasn’t necessarily true. Everyone has something to contribute, no matter how small. Sharing my experiences tonight, for instance, I’d felt like I’d connected with a few people and, maybe, I’d opened their eyes to the reality of life on the streets. That wasn’t to be dismissed. It was worth something. And so, I began to quietly tell myself, was I.

Chapter 10

Tales of Two Cities

As I drew back the bedroom curtains and looked out across the north London rooftops, it was obvious the Wintry weather the forecasters had been predicting had finished its journey from Siberia or whichever frozen wasteland had sent it in our direction.

Thick banks of iron-grey clouds were stacked up overhead and I could hear the wind gusting and whistling outside. If ever there was a day to stay at home and wrap up warm, today was that day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a luxury I could really afford.

Things were particularly tight at the moment. Both the gas and electric meters needed topping up so the flat was icy cold. Bob had got into the habit of snuggling up close to the bed at night, hoping to soak up some of the heat that I generated under the duvet. For now, at least, the bottom line was that I had to keep selling
The Big Issue
and I couldn’t afford to take many days off – even if the weather looked as unpleasant as it did today.

So as I got my rucksack sorted the only question was whether Bob was going to come with me. As always, it was going to be his decision. I knew it was a decision he generally got right.

Cats – like a lot of other animals – are very good at ‘reading’ the weather and other natural events. Apparently they are very skilled at predicting earthquakes and tsunamis, for instance. The most likely explanation I’ve heard is that they are sensitive to air pressure. So it follows that they can also detect the changes in the air that predict bad weather is coming. Bob had certainly shown an aptitude for detecting that rain was in the air. He hated getting wet and had often curled up and refused to come out when the weather had been seemingly fine outside only for the heavens to open an hour or two later when I’d taken to the streets on my own.

So when I showed him his lead and scarf and he came towards me as normal, I guessed that his weather forecasting instincts were telling him it was safe to venture out.

‘You sure about this, Bob?’ I said. ‘I’m happy to go on my own today.’

I picked out one of his thickest and warmest scarves. I wrapped it snugly around his neck and headed out into the greyness.

The moment I set foot on the street outside the wind cut through me like a scalpel. It pinched. I felt Bob’s midriff curling itself even tighter than usual around my neck.

I dreaded having to wait at the bus stop for half an hour, but fortunately our regular service appeared within a few minutes and Bob and I were soon on board. Feeling a warmth on the back of my leg from a heater lifted my spirits briefly. But things soon took a turn for the worse.

We’d barely been on the road for ten minutes when I noticed the first flakes of snow swirling around outside. At first they were few and far between, but within what seemed like a few moments, the air was thick with chunky, white flakes that I could see were already sticking to the pavement and the roofs of parked cars.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ I said to Bob, who was transfixed by the transformation that was taking place on the streets outside.

By the time we got to Newington Green, a mile or so from Angel, the traffic had ground to an almost total standstill. I faced a real Catch 22 – I knew it was going to be tough to earn a few quid today and that conditions were going to be really challenging but at the same time, I was so short of money. I wasn’t sure I had enough to get back home, let alone put a few quid in the electricity meter over the next day or so.

‘Come on, Bob, if we’re going to earn anything today we’d better walk the last mile,’ I said, reluctantly.

We hopped out on to the pavement to discover everyone was walking at a snail’s pace, looking grim-faced as they picked their way along what was becoming a really treacherous surface. For Bob, however, this was a fascinating new world, one that he was soon eager to explore. I had put him on my shoulders as usual, but I’d barely walked a few yards before he was repositioning himself ready to clamber down to earth.

It hadn’t really occurred to me, but as I put him down I realised that it was the first time Bob had been out and about in snow, with me, at least. I stood there watching him dabbing a paw into the powdery whiteness then standing back to admire the print he’d left in the virgin surface. For a moment I imagined what it must be like to see the world through his eyes. It must have seemed so bizarre to see everything suddenly turned white.

‘Come on, mate, we can’t hang around all day,’ I said after a minute or two.

By now the snow was so heavy, it was hard to see in front of us.

Bob was still having a great time lifting his feet up in and out of the ever deepening snow. Eventually, however, it got so deep that his belly was lined with white crystals.

‘Come on, mate, let’s get you back up here,’ I said, grabbing him and sticking back on my shoulders.