Ep2. Brid on the Skids

Shadows in the Spotlight

July 1995

It took less than an hour to pack my stuff. I did one final check around the excuse for a ‘room with en-suite’ and threw the door keys down the toilet as a special gesture to my slum landlord, not bothering to close the door as I left. He was never going to pay my deposit back anyway.

Town was busy and hot. I was going to miss the murky sea view through the window of my hovel but not walking straight out into the craziness of the seafront on a summer’s day. My bags were heavy, and I wasn’t in the mood for the stop-start of tourists peering at the faded tat in the Rock Shop window. As I barged my way through, I heard a familiar voice calling,

‘You off then, Brid?’

I turned to see a scraggy young man sitting in a doorway beside a dog sleeping on a tatty sleeping bag.

‘Hey Jed, yeah, can’t pay the rent, so Arse-wipe kicked me out. Haven’t seen you around for a while - how’s it going?’

‘Alright, thanks. Where you off to then, you got a place?’

‘Yep, a room up at Clifton Heights; Polly offered me a place until I’m back on my feet.’

‘Good ol’ Pol. She’s an angel that one. I was going to say you’re always welcome here with me if you need a place.’ He said, his missing front tooth casting no shadow over his beaming smile.

‘Thanks, Jed, you’re a mate.’ I said, bending down to pet the dog.

‘Paddy, on the other hand, isn’t so good.’ said Jed, his face falling. ‘He was attacked a couple of days ago, and he’s not been himself since. I tell ya, Brid, it was awful. Some fucker went for me change, and Paddy here tried to warn him off. But the git set his dog on him, some big fighting bastard with a massive jaw. I thought Paddy was a goner.’

‘Good boy, Paddy.’ I said, gently lifting the dog’s snout. The dog looked up with red, forlorn eyes.

‘My God, Jed, he’s not himself at all, is he?’

‘Check out the bite on his back. I had to kick the other dog to get him off. The bastard owner took everything I had as well.’

Jed indicated the spot on Paddy’s back, and the dog whimpered as I parted the fur to see a lumpy, jagged bite mark with yellowing edges.

‘I’m no expert, but this looks a bit septic. Have you taken him to the vet?’

Jed frowned at me, and I immediately realised how stupid that question was.

‘The thing is, if I can get a book about dog bites and the stuff needed, you know, antiseptic, sewing stuff and that, then I can patch him up meself.’

I had no doubt Jed could do this. He’d taught himself loads of stuff from books he’d found or been given. He’s become a dab hand at mending clothes, made incredible origami, and played a mean game of backgammon. But without a home, I guess all those smarts got used up finding his next meal and somewhere safe to sleep.

As Jed stroked the dog’s head and cooed soothing words, the tinge of desperation in his voice told me Jed knew as well as I did that Paddy couldn’t wait for him to learn how to fix him.

‘Hang on a minute,’ I said as I headed off to the phone box round the corner.

Ten minutes later, I was back. I handed Jed a piece of paper with the address of a vet and an appointment time rolled around fifty quid.

‘Take this and get him seen to.’

‘Brid, I can’t take all that; I know you’re skint, mate.’

‘I have some shifts coming up in the restaurant,’ I lied, hoping Jed would forget I’d been fired a couple of weeks ago.  ‘So I’ll be fine. Take it for the dog.’

The dog made a sound, something between a frail bark and a whine.

‘You see, Paddy agrees.’

‘Thanks, Brid; I owe you one, mate.’

‘Here’s my bus. You’d better get your skates on to make the appointment. Oh, and there should be enough to get yourself a room tonight, but if not, I’ve moved out of the hovel, and the door’s open. You might be able to get yourself a night’s sleep on the bed in there if you’re stuck.’

‘Good luck up there, Brid; I’ll miss you, mate,’ Jed shouted as I ran for the bus.

‘Shut up, you soppy git - I’m only heading up the hill, not into outer space. I’ll see you and Paddy soon,’ I shouted back as the bus doors closed.

As I took my seat upstairs, I watched Jed stuff his sleeping bag into an army-style backpack along with his book and his bottle. After mounting the bag on his back, he made light work of picking up the long-legged wolfhound, carrying him with the tenderness of a father holding a sick child. I wondered if Paddy would pull through and blessed myself (old habits and all that) as the bus pulled away.

The choking smell of diesel oozed through the open windows as the bus chugged up the hill. When it reached the leafy cool of Clifton Heights, I jumped off. Then I realised I should have thanked the driver. I still found it weird that people did that here - no one did that in London. I turned onto a road lined with huge Edwardian townhouses, most of which had only one bell - the surest way to tell they hadn’t been carved into a hundred little shoebox flats. The sound of traffic faded, and the trees rustled as I neared the top of the road and reached the grand house that was to be my new home.