H/ The Ticket Collector

20. EIGHT LIVES LEFT

The cat, Minnie, jumps on my chest.

I'm in bed.

She's purring. I assume she wants food. I stroke her head, back and
then her tail. The end is wet, bony. I look at my hands: blood. I sit
upright and see blood on the duvet cover, the sheets. A section of
Minnie's tail is missing.

I yell. Wash my hands in the sink.

Phone the vet.

'My cat, my cat,' I say, 'its tail is severed.'

'How did it happen?' says the American receptionist.

'I don't know but it's horrible. A car perhaps. A door. I don't
know.'

'Bring her in,' says the receptionist.

'I will do, yes.'

'Is she insured?'

'No.'

'If we operate on her tail it will cost around four hundred
pounds.'

'You're kidding?'

'Are you willing to pay?'

'Yes, yes,' I say, 'it'll go on the credit card.'

I find the cat box. Gently coax her in. She's subdued. Weak. I phone a
mini cab and we go to the vets.

I collect her the following day. A white bandage covers what remains of
her tail.

I pay three hundred and eighty pounds.

The receptionist hands me Minnie's course of antibiotics and two
leaflets about pet insurance.

When I return to the flat, the landlord, Mr Darwish, has left a letter
for me on the dining table. He's visited, seen how I live and wants me
evicted.

Plus I'm late with the rent.

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21. RAINBOMBING

A policeman in a booth is spying on me. How do they say it: watching me
out of the corner of his beady eye????

The bomb is in my rucksack.

Tourists take photographs, strike poses, put arms round one another,
absorbing the architecture, making it part of themselves.

Whereas I'm going to blast it into oblivion.

The tempo of the falling rain increases. I'm standing there, looking at
the clock, the statues, the arches.

I unzip the rucksack and, a knee touching the wet pavement, I look at
the wick disappearing into the bowling ball bomb.

Lightening streaks across the sky, followed by thunder.

The tourists head for shelter.

I flick the wheel on my lighter with my thumb. The flame rises, blue
then yellow.

The wick lights. I know the policeman is watching me so with my other
hand I remove a copy of the A-Z.

I brace myself.

The flame is burning into the gunpowder.

The seconds go by. It's said that you never hear the bullet that kills
you. I don't know if that's true....But the same must apply for
explosions, if you're killed outright, which is what I'm hoping for
here.

I'm still alive, I think.

Tentatively, I open one eye, then another and come to terms with the
fact it's a dud.

Zipping up the rucksack, I head for the garden next to parliament,
passing the bronze statue of the three old tramps.

I toss the rucksack into the river.

My clothes are clinging to my skin. I'm watching the bag?Carried along
by the tide?sinking.

I raise two fingers at parliament, then unbuckle my belt and do a
moony, pulling my arse cheeks apart. 'FUCK YOU,' I yell. 'FUCK LONDON.'
I start swinging my cock at the Thames, then at parliament. 'ENOUGH,' I
shout, 'IS ENOUGH. I'M GETTING OUT OF THIS CITY. NO MORE. SCREW IT. I
WON'T HAVE YOU KEEP TAKING THE PISS OUT OF ME ANYMORE. NO WAY. I'M A
MAN, NOT A MONKEY SO THIS IS IT, OKAY?'

And I know I'm serious. This is it. London is, without doubt, the
stupidest city in the world.

Policemen enter the park. They're running towards me. I hoist up my
Y-fronts and jeans, buckle my belt and run as fast as I can towards
Lambeth bridge. I stay on the path. The policeman are cutting across
the grass, but where it's wet, they keep skidding and slipping.

I get to the bridge. If I make it to Lambeth Palace they'll never catch
me.

I make it.

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22. VICTORIA COACH STATION

My coach is due to leave in thirty minutes.

I've heard that Somerton, in the West Country, is nice at this time of
year. So that's where I'm going.

I know Jane used to live there. Perhaps she still does. I don't
know?don't care. If we ever meet up, I wouldn't say hello. I doubt
she'd recognise me these days. I've changed so much. I really
have.

I don't care where she is...not me.

Minnie is in her box. That's all I have with me, the cat.

We're going to make a new life. A fresh start.

Country walks. Fresh air. Living in a community where everybody knows
who you are.

Minnie and I aren't asking too much from life.

Basic things, that's all we require.

'Isn't that right, Minnie?' I say, raising the box. She looks at me
through the wire door, meows, showing her pink mouth.

'Yes,' she says.

I've asked her about the journey. She doesn't mind. I've given her a
tablet before we left.

The vet says the tail, what's left of it, is healing well.

Some good news, then, to take with is on the journey ahead.

the end