Okay Commuter (4)

The next morning we awoke early with the sun, but even at that hour the camp was now abandoned. Those still awake when we had crawled to bed in the never-never hours were already up and gone away. We decamped and soon discovered where they had gone, another soup kitchen, this time a sort of breakfast bar, specialising in sausage sandwiches and coffee.

“Coffee,” said John with affection, “I’ve missed it more than I’ve missed the wife.” By instinct he immediately checked his phone, as he’d just been talking to her and was clearly concerned that he hadn’t hung up properly.

“Coffee’s good,” I said, “but the sausage is perfect. Who’d have thought that the homeless were getting grub this good, makes me wonder why I’ve been working all these years.”

“Ahahaha,” laughed Cecil, “we does all-right we does, tis why I wanted to come this round, no good grub like this along your computer line.” He was referring to the route John had traced out on googlemap, the one we hadn’t followed.

After breakfast we set off. We had walked 18 miles, but had almost twice that distance left to cover. The towns we passed through from this point onwards were outside London and the lair of the tiger. We expected these to be bustling with relative normality, with buses or taxis to take us home, or at the very least a chance to hitch a lift, but these towns too were barren and empty.

John and I discussed whether he should call his wife and arrange for a lift, but she would have to bring the kids with her and there wouldn’t be room for all of us. Besides which, John didn’t want to bring his wife to these desolate streets.

So on we trod.

Midway through the day Cecil directed us to another soup kitchen and again that night. We even got to sleep in real beds, as there was a hostel in the town. True we had to share with sixteen other men, but by this time we were accustomed to the company of strangers and this seemed no hardship.

The next day dawned and with it the final leg of our journey, just over ten miles. We trudged on, heartened by the approach of home.

Eventually we reached the outskirts of the town where John and I lived, the town from which we had both commuted without incident every day for a decade or more, yet which had taken us three exhausting days to stagger back to on foot.

On the outskirts of the town John’s wife picked us up in her car. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Kirsty, thanks for taking care of my husband. I’ve got spaggetti for tea, will you join us.”

“Not ‘arf,” said Cecil enthusiastically and I agreed, even though I was desperate to see my home I wasn’t going to turn down the offer of a home-cooked meal.

We picked up John and Kirsty’s kids from their neighbours and spent the next few hours in a form of heaven: a group of friends, sitting in comfy chairs, eating cooked food and drinking beer. I almost wept with the pleasure of it.

Eventually it was time for me to leave; Cecil was staying for a few days, either until it was safe for Kirsty to drive him home or until he got bored, whichever was sooner. John drove me to my door and we embraced, the sort of embrace you can only have with a man you’ve been sharing a duvet with for the past three nights.

As I approached my door I heard the phone ringing.

Without stopping to check my mail or anything else I picked it up. It took me a second to recognise the voice, but it was my boss. “Hi,” he said, I’m just phoning to let you know; the tiger’s been caught so we’re expecting everyone to come in tomorrow for a normal day’s work.”

“Thanks,” I said, not meaning it. I went online and checked the trains, which claimed they would run a normal service the next day.

So this was it, my escape from the routine of commuting had been but temporary. But – I remembered all I had seen, heard and learnt. I was determined that I would be a commuter drone no more. There had to be more to life.