Nemesis Visits

"Ha, like he'd ever do that. I bet good chefs are much harder to replace than waitresses," I tell her. "How are Angie and Colin? I left without saying goodbye."

"Equally pissed off at what Leon did. Perhaps we should all go on strike, that'd teach him."

"No, don't: he'd probably just sack the three of you too. No, I'll just have to find another job. Fuck it, I liked working there with you."

"Maxie, mate, you should be doing a much better job than waitressing, though: you're too bright just to be a waitress."

"Thanks, Mary, you're very sweet. Anyway, enough about me, I haven't seen you for two days so how are you and Tom?" The smile on her face speaks volumes.

"Oh, Maxie, he's just great!" I cannot help smiling at Mary's happiness.

"Hmm, I think my friend's seriously in luuurve!"

"Yeah, well, maybe a bit," she blushes. "I'm sorry that you and Andy didn't hit it off."

"No, as I told you, we got on very well it's just... there wasn't the spark that you and Tom have. I've met him for a coffee a couple of times and once to help him buy a birthday present for his sister, so I guess we're friends."

"Perhaps you should ask him if they've any work in their company. He's in the IT section isn't he?"

"Yeah, but I don't have any qualifications, remember?" I point out.

"Yeah, but you're a bit of a ripper on that, that spreadsheet stuff you helped Leon with aren't you? There's no harm in asking, is there?" I have to accept that she's right. "Look, why don't you come out to the pub tonight?" she asks.

"With you and Tom?" I ask, "Won't I be in the way?"

"No, you'll be fine. Anyway, you could ask Tom if there are any vacancies in his firm and you could certainly use a drink!"

"Okay. Thanks, Mary."

Mary and I spend the day together with her insisting on taking me out for lunch. We were planning to walk to the park afterwards but the weather turns overcast and it starts raining so we hurry back to her flat instead, where we watch a film on DVD with homemade popcorn covered in far too much melted butter.

Suitably greased-out, we head off to meet Tom at the pub where a pleasant evening is had by all, even if Tom is a bit doubtful about the prospect of my getting a job in his company. "I will talk to Andy's boss; IT seem to get through a lot of staff and there always seems to be someone new when I have a computer problem," he tells me.

I don't stay to closing time as I can see Mary is keen to have her wicked way with Tom once again and who am I to stand in the way of love -- or lust-filled passion for that matter! I head home enjoying the night air which is cool and fresh as the sky clears in the strengthening breeze to reveal the odd star and a full moon. I step into a doorway, out of the wind, to look over the dark building across the street at the clouds as they glide serenely past the moon, each one edged in silver light and given a faint glow as it passes. There is one of those rare moments of stillness in a city when, for just a minute or two, there is no traffic. There is a sudden burst of music as the door to a bar down the street opens and closes and all is quiet again.

I hear footsteps, running footsteps from somewhere to the right and getting louder. As I listen I can tell that there must be at least two people, one with quicker, lighter steps and the second slower, heavier and louder. I look out from the doorway just as a large figure disappears rapidly into an alleyway a few yards away. Intrigued, I walk to the end of the moonlit alley and peer into it. There is scaffolding erected against the right-hand wall. I hear a cry and peer further down where I can just make out the large figure I saw enter the alley as its arm rises and falls. There is a sound that reminds me of dropping a piece of meat onto the kitchen worktop, a sort of wet clap, and what sounds like a cry of pain. I walk quickly but quietly forward, unable to stop myself; there is something unreal, almost dreamlike about what's happening before me. I see something pale appear on the ground below the large figure and, with a shock, I recognise it as a woman's face.

The horrible reality of what's happening asserts itself and I see the bulky figure of the man kick, once, twice the fallen woman. Fury erupts within me: HOW DARE HE HURT HER? When Jason assaulted me I was paralyzed with fear but I'm not now. Seeing a length of scaffold pole lying on the ground a little way behind the man spurs me on: I will use it to strike him down. Some small part of my brain is insisting this one of the stupidest things that I've ever done but my rage drowns out its protests.

Max has seen many films where Bruce Willis or Jason Statham effortlessly wields a length of scaffolding pole to the destruction of the baddies. However, this particular piece of scaffold pole is, as I quickly discover, a real two-inch diameter, three-foot-long length of thick steel pipe and I am not Bruce or Jason, nor even Max. Put simply, it is too bloody heavy for me even to pick up, let alone wield and all I succeed in doing, as it slips from my grasp, is to make it bounce with a noisy ringing on the ground. This stops the woman being kicked but now makes me the focus of the man's attention.

We stare at each other for a moment, motionless. He is going to beat me senseless as he has just done to that woman, I am sure. A memory pops into my head, a woman in Leonardo's describing the self-defence course she'd been on that day: 'The trainer said that it's no use screaming rape because rape is just the victim's problem, so people ignore it. Instead, you should shout "Fire!" because fire very quickly becomes everyone's problem!'

"Fire!" I scream at the top of my voice as he lunges towards me, "Help! Fire!" Instinctively I duck and step backwards as his arms grab for me, one hand catching me a glancing blow to the head that staggers me. Curiously, I am saved by a scaffold pole as, in the monochrome moonlight, he fails to see the one sticking out above me and slams his head against it as he lunges for me a second time. He staggers back, dazed and blood wells in a line across his forehead. "Fire! Fire! Help!" I keep yelling.

"What's the matter? What's going on?" a man's voice calls down the alley. The assailant looks past me towards the voice before turning and drunkenly staggering away. I shake my head to clear it and hurry over to the woman lying on the ground who is not, as I had feared, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" I say and curse myself for asking such a stupid question: there is blood across her swollen face and she is curled defensively in on herself, of course she's not okay. As I bend close I hear her breathing is shallow and ragged. "Hello, what's your name?" I ask as I gently take her hand.

"Mm Harri," she replies in a low voice through numb, swelling lips. Fumbling in my pocket I pull out my mobile phone and dial 9-9-9.

"Emergency, which service do you require?" the operator asks.

"Ambulance please, quickly. There's a woman who's been attacked and beaten up."

"Hello, ambulance service. Can you give me your location, please."

"Erm, yes, it's a little alley off Bermondsey High Street near the Old Jamaica Pub." I'm surprised at how calm and coherent I am as I give my mobile phone number and name, the fact that it is a woman in, apparently, her mid-twenties, who has been kicked and punched; that she is breathing, shallowly, and is conscious; she's bleeding and I relay her complaint that she has pain in her chest. As I'm talking, the man who called out from the end of the alley comes up.

"What the hell happened to her?" he asks, shocked.

"Beaten up," I tell him. At the prompting of the operator, I ask the man if he can go to the end of the alleyway and look out for the ambulance to direct them here. He walks off and the operator tells me that the ambulance is on its way before ending the call.

"The ambulance is coming, Harri," I tell her, "it'll be here soon. My name's Maxie, by the way."

"'Lo Mashi," she manages. "Than' you f'r help'n me."

"That's alright, Harri. What kind of name is Harri, anyway?" I ask to keep her talking.

"Short f'r Harriet but... n' body call me that, n' body tha' matters."

"I'm Maxine but friends call me Maxie."

"Then I... def'nly call you... Mashi!" she tries to smile and I laugh softly. I'm seriously impressed: here's a woman in god knows how much pain and she still has her good humour. There is a loud burst of a siren and blue lights strobe across the alleyway as the ambulance arrives.

Paramedics in green uniforms arrive and I am gently moved to one side. They quickly get to work assessing Harri's injuries before lifting her onto a trolley to convey her to the ambulance. When they begin to move her she turns her head to look and me. "Mashi!"

"Can I come with Harri?" I ask. One of the paramedics looks at me.

"We're not supposed to, except for medical reasons," he informs me.

"Sorry," says his colleague. "Er, is that a bump on the side of your face?" he asks. I reach up and touch my cheek.

"Ouch, yes. The guy who attacked Harri punched me and nearly missed."

"Come on, you can get checked out at the hospital too."

CHAPTER 11: Taking in a Stray

Harri and I talk quietly in the ambulance; at least, I talk and Harri replies as best she can with her swollen, split mouth. They're going to want to know your name at the hospital, Harri," I warn her, "so do you want to tell me your surname?"

"It's Rain."

"Rain as in water from the sky?" I ask, a little surprised.

"No, that'd be... shilly. It's spelt Are-Ay-Why-En-Ee... Rayne."

"Hello, Harri Rayne. Have you a middle name?"

"Do I haff to?"

"Probably yes, and an address," I tell her.

"It's... Gladysh, if you... must know. I hate it."

"I can imagine," I sympathise. "I bet Gladys was your grandmother's name?" She nods. "And your address?" I ask.

"Ur.... I don' have one, not at th' momen'."

"You're homeless? Shit. And that bastard was beating you up," I feel my anger rising.

"Bast'd thought I was... a pros'tute so I... slapped him an' ran. No' fast 'nough, obv'ously."

"How are you still joking?" I ask in amazement.

"Is easy: bett'r 'n crying!" she replies.

"True," I concede, though I now know that there are times when crying is the only option. "I hope the police get that bastard who did this to you," I tell her.

"No, no police... they just say... it w's my fault. Say I prob'bly... stole from him."

"But he beat you up, Harri."

"Pleesh, Mashie... be my... friend. No police." She gives me a pleading look and my heart goes out to her. Somehow I feel connected to her, responsible for her. What's that saying: that you're responsible for the person whose life you save? Did I save her life back there?

"Okay, Harri, no police, I promise as a friend." I think she tries to smile but, with the swelling, it is more of a grimace.

"Than' you. Mus' rest, feelin' shleepy," she says and I'm sure that's not a good sign.

"She says she's feeling sleepy," I tell the paramedic, "is that a problem?" He nods and moves across to squat next to her.

"Come on Harri," he tells her, "try and stay awake. We're nearly at the hospital. Harri?"

She just about hangs on to consciousness and, on arrival at the hospital, she is wheeled in quickly. A doctor and two nurses come over and there's a brief exchange in fluent 'Medicalese' between the paramedics and the doctor.

What follows is a bit of a blur. One of the nurses, Nisha according to her name badge, takes me aside to check my battered cheek and take my details. I check out as clear from any concussion and it looks like my cheek is just bruised though she warns that my eye might close up with swelling overnight. She gives me a cold pack that she tells me should help with the swelling.

The other nurse, Jackie, asks if I know Harri as she had no ID. I tell her I can help and give her name: Harriet Gladys (sorry Harri, I think) Rayne. The nurse asks if I know her address and I feel sure that saying she's homeless will very likely get the police automatically involved. On an impulse, I give my address. "So she lives with you?" Nurse Jackie asks suspiciously. "Only, her clothes and the state she's in, it looks like she's been sleeping rough."

"No, she just got dirty. And being kicked around an alley didn't help, either. Anyway, she lives with me: Harri and I share the apartment. She moved in ten days ago," I add in case there are other questions I don't know the answer to. There are several questions like that, her date of birth and next of kin being the most significant, and I can only apologise and tell her she'll have to ask Harri later. I see Harri being wheeled off, to be X-Rayed and for an MRI scan of her head apparently. Jackie says I can wait in the cubicle for the time being as they're not busy; Wednesday night is about as quiet as it gets in Accident and Emergency.

I lie on the bed and doze, my cheek throbbing a little. After a while, I go in search of a hot drink and I find a vending machine whose coffee isn't totally undrinkable. I'm definitely getting bored waiting and impatient to know how Harri is when the doors at the end of the corridor open and I see her being wheeled back in. I hurry over and find that she's been cleaned up a bit and appears to be asleep. Nisha the nurse allows me to sit beside her before hurrying off to another patient. For the first time, I get to look at Harri carefully.

She has rather short blonde hair that I suspect isn't her natural colour given her dark eyebrows. However, it seems to suit her. Her face is very swollen from the punches and kicks, hiding her normal looks, though I suspect she might be quite pretty. The cut to the side of her head has been taped closed, so I suppose she'll have a scar there in time. She is smaller than me; given the size of her hand when I hold it, possibly quite a lot smaller but is difficult to tell with her lying down.

Nisha returns to check on her. "Is she going to be alright?" I ask.

"Yes, she is. The MRI scan of her head came back clear, so there's no serious damage in there but there are signs of a concussion. However, she does have two cracked ribs where she was kicked so she'll be sore, and it looks like her right wrist is sprained from falling." I look across to see the bandage on the other wrist as Nisha continues, "We'll keep her in for observation for twenty-four hours, just to make sure there are no problems or complications. She will need someone to help care for her when she goes home, are you able to do that?"

"Yes, since getting sacked yesterday I'll have lots of time to look after her," I say. Somehow, the thought that I can do this for Harri makes me feel that some good might come from my sacking.

I sit holding her hand, listening to her breathing as I try to analyse my feelings and understand why I did what I did this evening. Introspection was definitely not a trait of Max's so this is a strange experience for me in many ways. I could have walked past and not got involved but somehow I was drawn to find out what was going on. When I saw it I was furious, I remember, furious that here was a man abusing a woman... Max had never actually hit a woman, and though he may have once or twice threatened violence his abuse generally had other forms; however, in some ways, it felt the same. When I saw what was happening, I wanted to smash the man's head in and, I realize, I feel that Max deserves no less. The Goddess may be punishing me for what I, Max, did but the pain is mental and emotional and not, apart from the incident with Jason, physical.

I look at Harri and see a small, vulnerable, injured woman, alone and apparently without shelter... friendless. I imagine what I would feel like in her position, how lonely and insecure, scared of, well, everything. And yet she joked with me... she must be an amazing person inside to have such strength.

And there it is: Harri is a person, a unique, separate person like me, better than me. Mary too, I now understand, has her own life and thoughts and desires and yet she took the time to do things for me, a stranger: she is another, unique separate person. Andy, Alison, Jo, Angie... all real, human people. I realise, in a rush that feels like a transcendent revelation, that in my life people have been little more than objects that move by themselves: some beautiful, some ugly, some useful, some dangerous... some male, to be manipulated or cooperated with to my advantage or self-protection; some female, to be used to satisfy my pride or lust or to be dismissed, mocked, ridiculed... all existing to gratify me, Max, in some way.

"Hello, Harri," I whisper, "I've really not been a very nice person in my life so far... but I want to do better and be a good friend to you." Emotions churn within me but there is a feeling that something has changed inside me, something fundamental, though I cannot tell what this means, not yet.

I rest my arms on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand, and lay my head on my arms. The sound of her breathing lulls me and I sleep...

"Hello, friend Maxie," Harri's voice startles me from sleep and I sit up sharply. I see her looking at me with her pale blue eyes. "It'sh very nice to wake up and find you shtill here holding my hand," she tells me, her voice still slightly slurred from the swelling of her mouth, and I find myself blushing. "They told me that I'm lucky that my flatmate shtopped me being beaten up any worse," she gives me a long look. "You told them that I live with you," she says in a nervous, quiet voice.

"Yes... because you do, I mean you can, if you want to. I've a spare room and, somehow, I feel that it's meant for you. Does that make sense?"

"Absholutely not!" she replies, slurring as she tries to smile, "but thank you, I'd love to be your flatmate." I feel her squeeze my hand and, through a very strange set of events, I have a new friend.

I spend several more hours at the hospital, most of it sitting beside Harri as she sleeps, sometimes dozing myself. We do talk but she seems unwilling to reveal too much about herself whilst sat in a hospital cubicle.

One thing I do discover is that what she was wearing constitutes almost her entire worldly possessions and these are now filthy, blood-stained and ripped. The only other items are a couple of pounds worth of coins and an old mobile phone that were in her jeans' pockets. The phone works but has a crack in the screen that might have been caused by her falling or being kicked. I take the clothes to wash them when I eventually leave very early the following morning, after Harri has finally been moved to a bed on Florence ward. At home, looking at the jeans with holes in the knees and the torn hoodie, I seriously wonder whether there is any point in washing them.

I make a decision, probably as stupid as the one to rush in to save Harri: I will buy her some new clothes. Given that I am now out of work, dipping into the Nemesis money is the last thing I should be doing but I don't care. My recognition of Harri as another unique person the previous night has done nothing to lessen the sense of responsibility I feel for her; just the opposite, in fact. Actually, it is more than feeling responsible: in some way, Harri has become a means by which I can make amends for some of what Max had done. Max never looked after the people he should have cared for, only interested in what he could get out of others. I am going to care for someone simply because they need caring for. If, when she's healed, Harri walks away then I will let her go with my blessing; if she becomes my friend, then that will be lovely. Whatever she needs and makes her happy, I want to give her. However, though I would love to buy brand new clothes, if I'm to look after Harri then we'll need food too, so I may have to go with decent second-hand clothes for the time being so as not to spend all I have.