Jon McGregor - Even the Dogs

Like Danny at the phonebox by the Miller’s Arms where we saw him last. Waiting there still, in the dark, with the evening’s trains rattling past and the door to the pub slamming open and shut somewhere behind him. Shivering and moaning and Einstein curling round and round his ankles, as if that could make him feel better, as if that could help at all, as if anything but what he was waiting for could help or can help him now.

 Do you think He believes in you.

I could just really do with something to hold me until I get out, is there anything you can do.

Pardon me for asking but if you could just, fucking.

And it was Danny doing more or less all the begging out of those two. I’m not being funny and that but I’ve not really got the temperament, Mike said, when they talked about it. Weren’t much of a discussion. I’ve not got the patience la, he said. People can be funny when you’re sat there like that, and I switch a bit easy, you know what I mean, I like lash out and that and it causes more trouble than it’s worth. I tend to misinterpret people’s faces Danny, that’s my problem, that’s one of my problems, I tend to see the worst in them pal and then it all kicks off. So like it’s best all round if you do the sitting and I’ll keep lookout and plus once we’ve got the cash I’ll take care of the scoring is that cool with you?

Muttering all this into Danny’s ear like it was a question but it weren’t really a question at all. Things weren’t like that. Were they. Mike was the one with the plan. That’s how it was right from when they first hooked up, when Danny’s first giro ran out and they had to leave the old warehouse and head out for more cash. Mike telling him the plan all the way there, stooping while they walked and spitting it into Danny’s ear.

And that was when Steve started seeing them around the place. Sitting outside the wet centre waiting for it to open, reading a book or talking to the others waiting there as well, and it seemed like every other time he looked up he’d see Danny and Mike rushing past one way or the other. Mike chatting into his phone and Danny pulling that dog along behind him. Skinny buggers the both of them, needle-thin, all hands and arms and tripping over their feet, Mike always striding out with Danny tagging along behind, Danny squinting ahead of him like he was venturing into a long dark tunnel or something. Looked like people with a lot of business to attend to. Looked like they were in what you might call a high-stress occupation. Was what Steve thought, then.

There’s a patch in the underpass we’ll try first off, over by the bus station, big crowd from the offices coming through, should get enough for the first bag of the day. This is Mike, with his plan. Then we’ll get you signed up at the Issue , they barred me a while back for like a misunderstanding, you know what I’m saying, but you’ll be all right and they give new boys the best patches so with a bit of joy that’ll be enough for bag number two. Then if you’re any good at lifting we’ll go through Boots and get some blades and batteries and that and sell them on at the King’s Head, maybe tap up a few more people on the way back to the flats and we’ll have enough for a third bag which’ll hold us through until it’s time for the coming-out-of-work crowd so we’ll get back down the underpass and we’ll be sorted in no time la. Then we’ll think about finding somewhere to sleep. Full-time job living like this and then some. Takes a lot of dedication. Takes a lot of planning. Got to have a plan Danny boy, got to have a plan. Stick with me and you’ll be all right. I’ve got the plans. Got them all up here.

Tapping at his head and tugging Danny’s sleeve to guide him through the crowds by the bus station, the two of them clearing a path, Mike with his long black coat swinging around his knees, Danny with his mouth still swollen and red from the lamping he’d taken the week before.

Two of them made a pair sometimes, striding through the streets with Danny hauling a load of blankets and dragging his dog along, and Mike chatting away on his phone, giving it all No you listen to me pal youse all listen to me. Like he was talking to his agent or his stockbroker or something.

Takes a lot of fucking, what, commitment and that.

Steve spent a lot of time at the wet centre when he started drinking again. Waiting. Easy place to be when he needed to get out of the rain, and no one bothered him. Didn’t have to talk to anyone unless he wanted to. And he didn’t want to after the year he’d had. This was when, long time ago now. Ten years or something. Who knows. After he’d gone dry for a time, a big mistake he was more than making up for now. Which put him in good company but he didn’t go there for the company did he. Went there for the food, the dry clothes, the chance to get out of the weather. He was what you might call between residences, meaning he had no bastard place to stay, but he’d learnt enough survival skills in the army to know that you make use of whatever resources are available to you at any given time. And the wet centre was a resource and a half and no mistake. Even if he had to wait outside half the morning for the place to open.

That dog though, what a state. Danny told him about it one time, said it was how come he’d left London in the first place. Some dealer smashed her back leg with an iron bar on account of Danny owing him money, and he thought it was best not to wait and see what might happen next. Keep trying to get to the PDSA to get it looked at, he said. But I don’t want no one taking her off me. Else what would I do then.

Some people are never comfortable just sitting there like that though. When they’re sat waiting for the same thing, at the doctor’s or the housing or wherever. Think they have to break the silence. But not Steve. He could sit and wait in silence all day if he had to. Something he’d learnt on manoeuvres. Patience. Sat outside the wet centre though and someone would always crack on about the weather or the police or asylum seekers and Steve would just give them a look and go back to whatever he was reading. That was enough, mostly. That and H growling at them. Weren’t even a growl hardly, just this noise in the back of his throat that you knew would get much worse than a growl if you didn’t stop whatever it was you were doing. He was good for things like that. Mean-looking stump of a dog, white-faced and black-eyed with a flattened nose, not exactly what you’d call playful or affectionate even with Steve but at least he kept people out of the way. Which was what Steve wanted, mostly.

But one time Heather turned up, and crouched in front of H and scratched his chin and he didn’t make a sound. And Steve looked up, and Heather said You look like you could do with a drink. Made him laugh. Felt like he hadn’t laughed in a long while. Felt like a start.

Knew Heather from around but hadn’t spoken to her before. Hard to miss though. Big woman, with layers and layers of clothes and long knotted hair that she kept changing the colour of, and a whole bunch of tattoos including a tattoo of an eye in the middle of her forehead. Which was what people mostly noticed first. Was hard to miss.

So I can keep an extra eye out for trouble, she said, when people asked her why she’d had it done. There’s sort of always trouble to look out for.

They started drinking together, Steve and Heather, and they got talking, and she asked him about H. He said he’d had him about twelve or thirteen years, since he was a puppy, and that was more or less how long he’d been out on the streets. Been through a lot together, he said, and Heather finished a can and said Haven’t we all sweetheart.

She said it sounded like they’d been on the scene for about the same time. Said she’d been in a band before that, they’d done a lot of touring and it had been going well but things hadn’t worked out. Musical differences, she said, rolling up her sleeve and showing him the state of her arm. All the marks from what the needles had done. Plus this other stuff, these rows of raised pink scars all up and down her arm. Helps to distract you sometimes, sort of keeps you from doing other things or thinking about other things.