Callie and Jools
Part one of the first of the Covent Garden stories.
the young woman with the grave profile
Jools was sitting in a deckchair outside of the Transport Museum reading a paperback he’d stolen from Watkin’s when Callie first walked past. It was a quiet Tuesday and the market and its environs were quiet; tourists were in short supply. Jools didn’t know her name then, hardly noticed her, just a girl walking past, even if she walked slow and struggled with a bad limp; and anyway, the book he was reading was engrossing.
It was October but the weather was mild, and he was just wearing worn-out jeans and an old cotton sweater over a long-sleeved t-shirt, sockless feet beneath battered Converse. He’d cashed in a couple of brand-new iPhones he’d snared from the Apple shop on the other side of the Garden so he had money in his pocket and he was feeling content. He’d even thought of popping up to Macdonald’s on St. Martin’s and treating himself to a burger and a milkshake. But not yet. He had a book to read.
Human beings are pattern-recognition machines however, and the second time Callie walked past, he did notice. She was walking slowly and it was clear she was in pain. She had a bad limp, like someone had driven a nail through her left foot. The third time she walked past, he closed the book and stared. She seemed to be just walking round and round the Garden. The sun went behind clouds and he shivered, but he watched her ‘til she disappeared around the corner, then he stood, pocketed the book, folded the deckchair and took it back into the Transport Museum, where he swapped it with Michael the security guy for the backpack he’d left stashed behind the counter.
He went back outside and waited. For a long time he thought she might not show, but then he saw her, she was walking even more slowly, in more pain. She saw him too and looked away but as she passed, he fell in beside her.
‘Can I walk with you?’ he said.
‘Why?’ Speaking seemed to take a lot of effort.
‘I want to know what you’re doing?’
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘Jools.’
‘Is Jools short for Julian?’
‘Yes. With an E.’
‘I’m Callie,’ she said.
As she walked, he saw that any change of pace or direction, even just looking round at him, pained her.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked again.
‘What’s the book?’
‘This?’ He took it out. ‘Thérèse Raquin.’
This stopped her, and the pain sent a faint ripple across her face. ‘You’re reading Zola?’ He nodded. She started walking again, slowly, and in pain. ‘What’s it about?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer her straight away. She was suggesting he wasn’t really reading it, that he was just posing. Finally, he said, ‘It’s about the price we pay for getting what we want.’
She took a deep breath but said nothing, kept on walking, slowly, with her limp and her pain. He struggled to keep to her slow pace. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked for the third time.
‘Paying the price for getting what I want.’
‘Clever,’ he said. She gave a tiny smile. They turned the corner, she didn’t get any slower, but she wasn’t getting faster either. ‘You’re injured.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re working through it? Walking it off?’
‘Something like that.’
‘To get what you want.’
‘I’ve got what I want. I’m trying to keep it.’ She glanced back, over her shoulder towards the Royal Ballet.
‘You’re a dancer.’
She nodded.
‘An injured dancer.’
A sigh followed by the briefest of shrugs.
‘You look cold,’ he said, pulling off his sweater. ‘Pain is tiring. Put this on.’
She pulled it over her head. ‘Thankyou. But now you’re cold.’
‘My cold is less than your pain.’
A nod.
‘You don’t want to admit that you’re injured,’ he said. ‘And you’re walking it off.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it working?’
‘So far? No. But I am a little warmer, thankyou.’
This made him smile. ‘How far are you planning on walking?’
‘Anna told me to walk twenty-thousand steps.’
He calculated in his head. ‘That’s about seven miles. Who’s Anna?’
‘The choreographer.’
He said nothing, and Callie waited for more questions but none came, and despite the fact she hadn’t wanted his company, his silence irritated her now. She didn’t realise but he was trying to pace his steps to hers; it was difficult to walk so slow and he was concentrating. ‘I got the injury yesterday, Monday,’ she said. ‘I have to be fit for Thursday, or I don’t dance on Saturday. Anna said the only cure is to walk twenty thousand steps today, and if it isn’t better, the same again tomorrow. Or I go home.’
How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Seventeen. Next month.’
‘That’s young to be dancing at the Covent Garden.’
‘I’m something of a prodigy.’
‘You are?’
She paused, lifted her foot with some difficulty. ‘This foot would tell you otherwise.’ Below the cuff of her jogging pants and above her trainer sock he could see blue/black swelling.
‘Shouldn’t you strap that up?’
She nodded, putting her foot down gingerly. ‘Anna says I shouldn’t.’
‘Well, fuck Anna.’
This made her laugh.
‘How many steps have you done so far?’
She took out her iPhone and checked. ‘Three thousand-ish.’
‘How long’d that take?’
‘An hour and a half.’
‘Only another nine hours of walking then.’
‘You’re full of good news,’ she said.
They turned the corner.
‘Where’s home?’ he asked.
She looked at him. ‘Where’s your home?’
‘Covent Garden,’ he said. ‘Here.’
‘You’re rich?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. You’re homeless.’
‘You make it sound dirty.’
This made her smile again.
‘I had a place to stay on Floral Street, but the owner leased it out to a movie production company and I had to move out.’
‘Where’s Floral Street?’
‘Behind those houses there,’ he said, pointing at a row of tall pink buildings.
‘Looks very expensive. And what are you, sixteen?’
‘Birthday next month.’
‘Snap,’ she said. ‘So how could you afford to live there?’
‘The owner took a shine to me.’
She looked at him.
‘He was ok. Didn’t molest me or anything.’ Something occurred to him. ‘Want to go and have a look? Must be boring just walking round and round in a circle.’
‘Alright.’
They changed direction and began walking towards James Street. As they passed the Apple Shop the doorman glowered at him. ‘Friend of yours?’ Callie asked.
‘Adversary. I keep stealing iPhones.’ She glanced at him, frowning. ‘Reparations for the Chinese slaves who make them,’ he said.
‘Reparations, huh. And do you send the money to China?’
‘No. I keep it for myself. In lieu.’
She glanced at the novel shoved into his hip pocket and even the movement of her head made her grimace in pain. ‘You’re very literary for a homeless criminal,’ she said. They passed the side door of the Apple Shop. Another security guard glared at Jools. They walked slowly past the Swatch shop, more shops, the Sketchers. He walked over to one of the human statues and dropped a five pound note in his box. The statue gave a slight nod.
‘I’m in possession of a library card,’ he said, returning. ‘Turn left here.’
‘This is Floral street?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he didn’t molest you?’
‘He just wanted to drink my blood.’
‘Yukk!’ she said, her step stuttering in shock, causing her face to flush with pain. ‘That’s gross.’
‘It was just a little bit.’
‘You let him?’
‘Yeah. Thought I’d give it a try.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Like being asleep. And when I woke I felt elated.’
‘Did he take a lot?’
‘No more than a cupful.’
She stopped walking, lifting her left foot off the ground a little. She was interested now. ‘So, are you a vampire or something? Do you want to drink blood too?’
‘Me? No.’ He smiled. It was a nice smile, she noticed, and he showed no sign of having long canines. ‘He told me it wouldn’t catch.’
‘Still, it sounds gruesome.’
‘Paid my rent for a year.’
She began hobbling again, and he kept pace. ‘The price we pay for getting what we want.’
‘Indeed.’
She shrugged. He paused at a building on the left built that was clad in square white blocks. ‘See these?’
‘Yes.’
‘See how the mortar in between the blocks curves down?’
She nodded.
‘That’s so you can’t use the gaps to climb up the wall. Your fingers slip.’
‘But you climb up the wall,’ she said.
‘Of course. You just hold the corners, pull inwards. It’s easy.’
‘Easy for you.’
‘When your leg gets better, I’ll show you.’
‘What do you do when you get to the top?’
‘There’s shelter up there. It’s safe. It’s where I live, on the roofs. No-one bothers me.’
‘Apart from the occasional vampire.’
‘He went abroad. Back to the old country, he said.’
‘Transylvania?’
‘That’d be my guess.’ He turned and pointed at a brick building opposite. ‘That was where he lived. Where I lived.’
‘And now you live on the roof.’ She started walking and he saw that she was still in pain. ‘How do you keep clean?’ she asked.
‘The disabled bathroom in McDonalds.’
This made her face twist a little. Or it could have been the pain. ‘Walk on the pavement,’ he said. ‘The cobbles are uneven.’
‘Food? Clothes?’ she asked.
‘I steal iPhones. I sell them for two hundred each.’
‘Which is why the iPhone security guards give you the evils.’
‘Which is why they give me the evils.’
The followed Floral Street until they reached Garrick Street, where they turned left. ‘How does your choreographer know that you’re walking? Maybe you could stop somewhere and I could walk for you.’
‘Is this a long con just to get me to give you my phone?’
He frowned. ‘What sort of phone you got?’
‘Samsung.’
He almost laughed. ‘No. Your Samsung is safe from me. I just thought maybe I could park you at a café and do a bit of walking for you. You can keep hold of my phone if you don’t trust me.’
‘Anna might call, and if I don’t answer…’
‘…you get sent home.’
‘I get sent home.’ She paused to scratch very gingerly at her bruised ankle, her right hand holding his left arm as she did so.
‘How long have you been a dancer?’ he asked when they began walking again. He wished she could have kept her hand on his arm while they walked.
‘Since I was an infant,’ she said. ‘Before I could walk, mummy would hold me up and have me doing first and second positions.’
‘You’re not English.’
‘Mum is. Dad is Swiss. He’s got lots of wives and ex-wives and a host of children. When I was born he told mum that I was going to be a dancer.’
She had excellent posture he saw.
‘You speak lots of languages?’
She nodded like it was not even a thing.
‘I feel diminished in the face of your various skills and talents.’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Where did you learnt to speak like that?’
He patted the novel in his pocket. ‘I’m an autodidact. But it’s true, you appear to be very talented.’
‘You are a prince among thieves, I think. You’re a white Aladdin.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll go for that.’ Then he said. ‘Where exactly do you live?’
I have an apartment in Bern. But I really have no skills other than dancing which, and she smiled, ‘I am exceptionally good at.’
‘There’s no way you’re going home.’
She shook her head. ‘Dancing is my home.’
‘We’d better keep walking,’ he said. ‘Only sixteen thousand steps to go.’ They crossed the road and turned right onto New Row. She checked her phone. ‘Fourteen thousand, nine hundred and seven.’
‘Result,’ he said ands smiled at him again.
To be continued…
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Epigraph: from Thérèse Raquin
Again a series I can get into, thank you!