'being Sian' - Living Day To Day

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‘Being Sian’ Living Day To Day It was four o’ clock when my pager got a message. The Homeless Centre had rang and told me to give them a call back. Racing to the phone box in the street, I dialled the digits onto the metal squares with my fingertips. I hope this meant we got a place, I kept thinking as the ringing filled my ears. “Hello East London Homeless Service, how can I help.” A bright voice answered. “Oh Hello…” Suddenly I didn’t know where to start. “I got a message today, you called me, about a place…” “What’s your name?” She interrupted, cutting to the chase. I gave it to her and she paused, typing into her computer. “Oh yes. We rang to tell you there is a place on the night shelter service, have you got a pen with you?” I didn’t, but tried to remember the information. It was in a Church in Forest Gate tonight. I tried to repeat the road name in my head, over and over. ‘Bradshaw Street, next to Ridley’s Bar, you can’t miss it.’ I opened the door of the phone box and repeated it out to James. “Remember that. We’ll get a pen from somewhere.” I said.

3 We spent the rest of the day doing nothing till eight o’ clock arrived. He had tried to send me home to my mother instead, to let him disappear on his own, but I had argued, pleading: “I dowanna go back to her, she gets on my nerves. Can’t I stay with you?” I couldn’t think of what he wanted to do so badly without me being there. When I asked him this, he muttered something about “Needing space, we’re living in each other’s ear, as it is.” This made no sense to me either. That’s what couple’s were supposed to do, didn’t he love me? We took the bus from Poplar High Street towards East Ham. James had refused to sit next to me, in another of his huffy moods. They were frequent now, and sprang out of nowhere. I could never foresee them. I stared miserably out of the bus window, my right shoulder squashed up against it. Asian men gabbled quickly in their babbling language behind me, and once again, I envied the lives of strangers, somehow convinced that their lives were happier than mine right now. I didn’t know what to look out for in the streets outside, the directions she gave me were probably invisible from the bus route, so I kept an eye on the hunched shoulders of James, for my cue to leave. This happened three stops later. He didn’t look back at me to check I was following, as he grabbed his bag up from the floor. He joined the queue of passengers as they moved towards the stairwell of the bus directly ahead of where I sat, bodies climbing down in front of him a step at a time. He had to turn direction to face the back of the bus as he inched forward, glancing up at me reluctantly over the metal rail. I knew that if it faced the other way, he wouldn’t have made the eye contact, using the location as his excuse. I met his bland, cold face warily, knowing what his thoughts were, but he cleverly managed to turn it on me, his sharp eyebrows raised to the ceiling in a sudden jerky motion. ‘Come on, what are you waiting for, are you slow or something?’ is the message he shot out at me with this one simple move. I followed, feeling the last scraps of my energy disappear along with my spirit.

4 We turned into Bradshaw Avenue besides Ridley’s Bar, just as the woman had said. I felt like a cockroach as I passed the loud cheerful office men as they got tipsy, jeering at each other playfully in mock brawls. The light in their eyes died as they looked at us in their cold, analytical way. I felt like a common scumbag, as I passed their patch. We didn’t have enough money to eat with that day, let alone call in pint after pint like they were. The towering grey Church was impressive, standing grandly over our pitiful lives. We were late, so there were no crowds pushing in through the doors when we arrived. I felt unsure of myself as I pushed open the heavy wooden door, as if we didn’t have permission to be there. Inside, scrawny men stood around clutching cups of tea and soup, handed out from a small table with tiny narrow legs. It looked like it would topple over, sending hot liquids flying, just waiting for a drunken fool to crash into it if he lost his balance, the warm air dizzying his cold face. It didn’t happen; I was almost disappointed. A woman smiled at me from the next table, asking if I needed any clothes. I looked at the black bin bags stashed next to her, jumpers and tops spilling out. I looked through them curiously, repulsed at the lack of style and fashion in the grannyish patterns of the stiff, itchy woollen jumpers, and politely declined. A television was on, channels dancing out colours and images, the sound turned down very low. The glazed eyes of homeless men fixated on the screen, not caring whether it made no sense, hypnotized out of their plaguing thoughts and the cold. We were shown into the large hall inside. About forty single collapsible camper beds were stacked in rows. They told us to help ourselves to the sheets and bedding in a cupboard in a small hall, next to the Confession booths. The whole set up seemed surreal, as if being Catholic was not a condition to receiving this kind of help, as we were beyond it. After a while, we might come to our senses after our physical needs were attended to first. I felt like we were cheating, by tricking them into an expectation of converting in the future.

5 The staff took us to one side, recommending that we sleep in the small hall by ourselves, not with the others in the main hall. I was surprised. That was like star luxury under the circumstances, men were being crammed into every corner by now. I looked at him, and could almost hear the silent explanation in his head; ‘You know, if you want any hanky panky.’ But he was far too polite to say it. As it turned out, we did get down to a guiltily snatched moment or two under the covers, though initially I wasn’t in the mood. Nothing could have been further from my mind, until James hand wandered down into my knickers when it was dark and we were truly alone. Even the door to this tiny hall was closed, and we didn’t expect anyone to interrupt us now. The tiny narrow beds were making things difficult, so we abandoned them to crash out directly onto the floor, the smell of carpet and wooden floor hitting our noses. Suddenly James crawled down under the sheet, pulling down my underwear to insert his face in between my thighs, the warm tip of his tongue seeking out my clitoris to massage it gently. However, I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it, one eye cautiously glued to the Church door behind us. There was no sign of anyone about so I turned back again, watching his head under the white sheet, rocking up and down. Then I heard a loud creak, and a guilty panic overtook us as James bolted back up towards me. This was a move that could obviously be seen by the guy moving down the aisle past us, a staff member carrying a pile of blankets, his head averted in discomfort. We just died of shame. The next morning hit us as bright rays of light spilled through the Church windows, illuminating the coloured stained glass that had been unnoticeable the previous night. We were told to tidy up our blankets by folding them and putting them back onto the shelves of the small room again. The beds were to be collapsed and stacked against the wall. A few weeks passed like this; one church blending into the next, in a confusing whir of different places, none of which I tried to remember.

6 After being informed of the next night’s sleeping location, it was up to us to disappear into the street outside and find something to do till then. We were informed of the homeless day facilities in East London, so we returned to Whitechapel for the free food at the Day Centre there. I hadn’t even known it existed before. It was like a community centre, with tired scruffy men grabbing cans in corners and trying to dodge the staff who shouted out their ‘no drinking policy’. Showers were available but most of them had no interest, preferring to huddle together in groups of communal misery, deft fingers rolling tobacco with ease, which contradicted their helpless, weak body language of inability. James had no interest either in a shower. I didn’t bother either, dreading the cold, and the prospect of there being no towels. Anyway I felt drained and lazy. I was hungry now though, so we went to the canteen to staff who stared at the queue suspiciously, the thought clearly in their heads that we were all trying to scam them somehow. They shoved stale rolls and lukewarm soup at us without manners or care. I laughed to myself, imagining these mousey smelly men trying to sell extra rolls in the local market for a pound or two. It was as we were leaving the Day Centre that James attacked me. I was saying how lucky we were that the Day Centre was there to pass the time, and that it was cold. “Just shut up! I dowanna hear it.” He flung at me, spinning round to glare at me with sharp eyes of rage. “What?!” I’d asked, shocked and confused. “Stop fucking complaining! I’m not in the mood for your whinging right now.”

7 “But….” I tried to defend myself. I couldn’t figure out what I’d said wrong, or why it made him so livid. “Look, if you don’t like it, maybe we’re better off splitting up Sian. I’m warning you. It’s up to you.” Suddenly he moved from attack to control, making it seem as though he was being reasonable to a girl who was clearly a problem. I panicked, wondering what he meant by us breaking up. I would do anything to stay with him. So I stayed silent, whispering a small timid ‘sorry’ to pacify him. He ignored my peace plea now, storming away from me in long cold angry strides. I followed behind, heavy with dread. Part of me, the alive bit deep inside the back of my chest, fought back with the thought: ‘Maybe I’ll just leave him here, and be the one to dump him. That’ll show him, maybe he’ll be sorry then.’ Of course I didn’t do that. I stayed behind him following submissively, like an Asian wife who steps behind her husband. My chest hammered now as I hoped things like this wouldn’t keep happening, that I’d seen the last of James’ unpredictable temper. We didn’t have to wait very long to be allocated a shelter; less than a fortnight later, we were given a double room in ‘Poplar House’, near Mile End. Despite the doubts I had about James, I was relieved at getting a place to stay. I was getting tired of changing churched every night and wandering every day by myself, when James left me to it. Poplar House was formerly an Old People’s Home, converted into a shelter for the Winter. Of course, my mother was happier with me being there, as it was closer to where she lived in East London than Victoria Place was. She insisted on visiting me there, ‘To see where it is, so I know where you are, if you ever go missing.’ Events moved very quickly; we were soon offered a flat together. Myself and James barely had time to unpack and settle in our room before we

8 were called upstairs to the Manager’s office. My heart was pounding; I thought we were in trouble about something. Instead, a busy, firm looking man sat with his arms across his chest, barking threats across the table about behaving ourselves in our new flat or we’d end up back here again. He was a ‘no-nonsense’ type- straight away he told us the offer was nonnegotiable, ‘Take it or leave it’. We had to accept it as a joint tenancy, he said, since we were a couple. We were not entitled to separate accommodation. He shoved forms across the short table in a swift move, demanding signatures, without a smile. His face was the hardest I had ever seen, I was surprised. It was time to tell my mother about it. She arrived at our room, as I stood alone in front of the mirror cabinet. James had gone on another mystery tour an hour before. “I’m moving in with him, mum.” I told her firmly as we walked along the street from Poplar House. I was becoming braver by the month. I tried to stand up for myself now. “I mean it. We’re moving in together. The hostel gave us a flat.” “Oh no, you’re not.” She said, with dark vicious hatred. “You ain’t living in sin. Get married or leave him!” Unwilling to be a part of her as we walked together in unison, I fell silent and edged away from her. Stubbornness was rising inside me, but I didn’t know what to say back to her. “Well, we’ve got the flat now, and I’m not turning it down.” I said eventually, the cold rift between us like the view from a cliff edge, huge and unforgiving. Silence filled the next few minutes. We went into the local pub, her face set in anger. The pints sat in front of us as Robbie Williams played in the

9 background, the happy atmosphere clashing with our argument, bitterness cutting our table off from the rest of the people around us. After a miserable hour and a half, I told her I wanted to go back to the hostel. “I’ll bring you back.” She told me, gruff and unrelenting. Back inside, I went to the small stuffy room I shared with James, and collapsed onto the double bed that consumed it. I peeled off my socks, and one rolled over the edge of the bed. As I retrieved it, I noticed a small mouse, dead in a trap by the side of the dressing table. I felt sorry for him, he reflected my own deadness inside. Alcohol did nothing to lighten my mood after being crushed again by the presence of my mother. Despite needing to oppose her domineering control, I knew that James was not everything I needed. It wouldn’t be long before we moved into our flat, but small little ice cubes of doubt melted away inside my chest. I resisted them, they were not going to be helpful now; it was too late. They had already noticed that we were a couple, and had refused to house us separately. Besides, I knew I didn’t want to ‘go it alone’ now at this stage; I’d lived in hostels too long to wait for my own place. Also, it would sicken me to give up on James, that would be admitting I had made a mistake. Nothing to delight my mother more than for me to come crawling home to her hostile black piercing eyes, with her taunts of; ‘See, you won’t succeed in this world because you shouldn’t be out there, you should be at home with me! When will you learn? Why d’you have to do things the hard way all the time?” I was lonely and needed to be part of someone else right now other than her. Years of her abuse had to be diluted now with normality and a life, with friends. So far James was the only person I had.

copyright@emmasharn2009