Second Chances

Chapter 1

I locked the shop door for the final time, 4.30pm Christmas Eve. That was it, officially retired at just 45 years old. If I was honest I didn't really know what I was going to do now. I wasn't relishing retirement, just sitting doing nothing. I suspected I was going to be lonely!

I went round the back of the shop and got into my new SUV, a retirement present to myself. It was really too big for just me but I'd always fancied one and 'what the hell' - I'd made enough money selling the business that I could afford it. As a salve to my conscience I'd bought a Mazda CX-5, something with low emission and with reasonable fuel economy.

A quick visit to Tesco then back home - I had no intention of leaving home again for a few days - not until the festive season was over. I'd watch TV, listen to music, read or surf the net to keep myself occupied. Don't get me wrong, I liked Christmas as a family occasion, but with my wife dead just over three years now, from cervical cancer, and my two kids living abroad, it was just me.

My daughter Sarah had met a Kiwi at university and followed him back to New Zealand - they had married in the Summer just past. My son Pete had moved to the States when he was twenty and now played drummer in a band. They were never going to be huge but played lots of gigs locally and made reasonable money. With the extra he earned teaching drum kit out of a local music shop he lived OK.

Was I lonely? I had got used to living on my own. I kept busy with work. Until now anyway!

I had built up a very successful business. Fortunately I didn't know what I wanted to do when I left school, and couldn't see the benefit of going to Uni just to get a degree in something I wasn't really interested in. I took a year out and managed to get a job in a local chemists shop.

The pharmacist was a nice chap but not very with it! After a few weeks I noticed that a lot of clients coming in to get their prescriptions filled were asking where to buy other 'over the counter' products. I persuaded Charles, my boss, to invest in some shelving and bought some simple products - shampoo, talc, some cosmetics, etc. (most prescriptions were brought in by women I had noticed). Sales jumped up and soon the shop was making more from over the counter sales than from the prescriptions.

I sat Charles down after I had been there a few months and showed him a business plan I had made. He was a bit wary but eventually decided to give it a go as the over the counter sales had done so well. It worked - we were making much more money, reflected in an increase in my wages. Charles was not really a businessman - he was a pharmacist and a good one, but had taken over his Dad's pharmacy one year out of University. Despite having no formal training in business I seemed to have a head for it and soon was running the shop all except for the pharmacy.

After two and a half years Charles asked me to be a partner, as we were making so much more money. He felt I was going to leave and set up a rival business. I had hinted to him I would like to own my own business. Within five years we had a small chain of pharmacies in the town and surrounding smaller communities.

We computerised our records as soon as computers took off, which helped us streamline the business. When internet pharmacy became legal we started an online business - that was the deal breaker. Getting in at the start meant we picked up a lot of the early business, and ended up renting a business unit to deal with the volume of sales. The business rapidly grew and we employed more and more people. Charles was older than me and when his wife became ill when he was mid fifties he decided he wanted to retire.

We had the business valued and when I found out what it was worth, I couldn't afford to buy him out without selling the business. A major internet company offered us over twenty million for the business so we jumped at it. We sold the shops separately to the individual pharmacists, they were separate from the internet company anyway, and netted another couple of million approximately for those. After the government took its share in Capital Gains Tax we were both left with more than enough to live on without ever having to work again.

Charles retired immediately, and I agreed to work for another six months at two of the shops, in a consultative capacity, to teach the new staff the business. Today was the last day. I'd gone to one shop in the morning, and come to the second one at lunchtime to just check that the new owners were happy with everything, The owner of the second one was stressing about getting everything ready for Christmas for her young family so in a burst of Christmas spirit (or idiocy) I offered to let her go early and run the shop for the afternoon, then lock up.

I turned left out the car park to head to the supermarket. Most of the shops in the row mine was in (not mine any more - had to stop thinking of it that way) were closed already and in darkness. I did notice a girl standing in the doorway three shops down, huddling back to avoid the flurry of snow that was just starting. Probably waiting for a lift, I thought. The snow we had had over the last few days had partially melted earlier in the day but the temperature was dropping rapidly, my dashboard thermometer told me it was below freezing already. It felt bloody cold!

I just needed a few perishables, milk and bread mainly. God, Tesco's was crammed. I had no option, having offered to work till the end of the day, but surely most of these other people, especially Mums with kids in tow, should have shopped earlier. It took me an hour to pick up a few essentials and get through the checkout. People are strange - shopping trolleys packed to overflowing. I wanted to shout at some of them - "They're only closed one day. Sunday opening hours on Boxing Day." You'd think they were stocking up for a national disaster. What a waste to time and money!

At last - home, to lasagne and garlic bread, and I thought, a glass of red! I had to retrace my journey and go past the shop on my way home, which was on the other side of town. I did notice a strange lump in the same doorway three doors down from the shop out the corner of my eye. Ten minutes later I was unpacking the shopping and putting it away. Lasagne in the oven - I'd prepared it last night.

Fed and the dishes in the dishwasher, I relaxed in my big, comfy leather armchair. A second glass of wine sat with my coffee ready for drinking, the TV on in the corner for some sound, though I wasn't really watching the programme, a Christmas film, and I suppose I started to dose. Certainly I wasn't thinking about much. That's when my brain obviously started to process information gathered through the day.

Suddenly alarm bells were ringing in my head. I sat up, tried to work out just what my brain had been subliminally working on. I took a swig of coffee, it was lukewarm now. I jumped up, grabbed my thick jacket off the chair in the hall, picked up the car keys and went out.

The car windscreen was frosted up, but a spray with de-icer and a couple of minutes sitting with the engine on sorted that out. Ten minutes later I was pulling up just past the shop. Yes, the lump was still in the doorway. I left the engine running and got out to investigate. It was a blanket over the top of something, and it was frozen to the doorstep. A good tug got one corner loose and I was able to pull it off. My brain had been right, underneath, huddled on the doorstep, was the young girl I had seen earlier, and not in a good condition. Her breathing was shallow and her lips were blue. She was freezing.

She was non -responsive when I tried to talk to her. Should I call 999, police, ambulance? Bugger it, I stooped over, one arm round her waist, the other under her knees and pulled. I almost ended up falling on top of her. The long jacket she was wearing was, like the blanket had been, stuck to the floor. I bent my knees a bit more and repeated the process and up she came. God, she was light. I carried her to the car and buckled her into the passenger seat, went back and picked up the blanket and a small rucksack, presumably personal items, chucked them in the back seat and set off, with the heater and fan on full blast.

Fifteen minutes later she was wrapped in a dry blanket, in my armchair. She was starting to shiver and the blueness round her mouth was less noticeable. All good signs. Still not responding when I talked to her though. I made another coffee for me and a hot chocolate for her, and added three heaped spoonfuls of sugar. I took it back through and tried to feed her sips of the drink.

It gave me a chance to really look at her. Young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, blond hair I suspected though it was filthy, pretty, heart shaped face. Why was a young girl like this living rough on the streets? Presumably a runaway from home.

I heated up a couple of wheat pillows in the microwave and put one behind her and one on her tummy. I checked her hands. Although cold, her fingers looked fine, no frostbite. I removed her trainers and wet socks, again her feet though wet and cold, were OK. I put on 3 pairs of my socks on her to try and warm her feet up. I knew I had to get her out of her wet clothes and into something dry.

I called Sammy, one of the girls who'd worked in one of my shops, who I knew lived this side of town too. By this time her two young ones had been put to bed, so a bit reluctantly she left her husband in charge and came over. I answered the door and explained my predicament. Sammy, God bless her, took over as I found some old pyjamas of Sarah's and some more dry socks. Soon the girl was in bed in my spare room, wrapped up in the downy with the reheated wheat pillows to warm her up. She had mumbled "Thanks" to Sammy, but still wasn't really talking.

"Thanks Sammy, go home to your kids. I didn't feel it was right for me to strip her. When she wakes up hopefully she'll talk to me and we can get her story."

I sat for a while, had another coffee and listened to some music. I put on some classical music, Bruch's Violin Concerto, to help me relax. I checked on the girl a few times to see she was OK. The shivering had reduced and had now stopped, her face felt warm and she was deeply asleep. Although not really very religious, I always went to Midnight Mass at the local church on Christmas Eve. Not this time though, I couldn't leave the house. I watched the service from Westminster Abbey on the TV, a final check on the girl then I went off to bed too.

Chapter 2

I woke up before eight, before the alarm. I was going to have to re-train my body clock to stop waking up early now. I lay for a minute unsettled, then realised why. Jeez! I jumped up, pulled on jeans and sweatshirt and quietly went to the spare bedroom. I gently pushed open the door and looked. All you could see was some hair on the pillow, everything else was under the covers, but I could see gentle movement of the downy confirming regular breathing. Quietly I closed the door, went for a shower and downstairs for breakfast, coffee and croissants (traditionally we'd always had croissants for Christmas morning breakfast)

I searched the net for local homeless shelters. There were some provisions locally for 16-25 year olds, which I thought she would qualify for. Why hadn't she tried to get a bed for the night instead of sleeping rough? More questions I didn't have answers for. I prepared the vegetables for Christmas dinner, and put the turkey in. I'd managed to find a small turkey, far too big for just one, but the remains would freeze OK for future dinners and I would make stock for soup from the carcase.

About 10.30 I heard a noise upstairs then a scream. I rushed up the stairs and knocked on the bedroom door.

"Can I come in?"

"Where the fuck am I?" Almost a scream, certainly high pitched and loud!

"If I can come in I will explain."

There was a chair in the corner of the room, I picked up and took it to the side of the bed. She was sitting upright, and immediately pulled the downy higher to cover everything but her face.

"Hi, I'm Mark, Mark McKay, I found you last night, half frozen."

"Where the fuck are my clothes. And who stripped me you fucking pervert?"

"Calm down. I asked a friend of mine to help me last night to get your wet stuff off and dress you in dry clothes. She left her young kids in bed to come and help me. I put your clothes through the washer last night and they're in the drier now.

"If you look in the dresser there, bottom two drawers you might find something that fits you - they are some old clothes of my daughter's she didn't take when she left. They'll be a bit big for you but will do till yours are dry. There is a bathroom with shower just down the hall. Get a shower if you want." She badly needed to clean up but I wanted to be tactful.

"Then I'll make you breakfast and we can talk." I got up to leave. "Oh, use any of the towels on the rail, they're all clean." As I walked out the door I had a thought, I turned round, smiled and said, "By the way, Merry Christmas."

Fifteen minutes later she came down in a baggy jumper and a pair of jeans too big for her, presumably held up with a belt. Couldn't see really as the jumper came down past her bum. She was subdued, but asked for tea when offered a choice, and toast.

First order of business, her name. A bit reluctantly she offered "Emma", no surname. Yes she was living rough, had been for several weeks, had moved from the local city to our town a couple of weeks ago.

"Why didn't you go to the homeless shelter? You're of an age they would let you in?"

"Fuck! Ruth. I have to go. I have to get back into town. Where the hell am I anyway?" The voice rapidly becoming higher and more tense.

"Who's Ruth? Where is she?" I asked

"My friend, she's my only friend. We sleep together to keep each other warm. She can't get into the shelter, she's too old. Please, take me back to where you found me." She jumped up.

"Where are my trainers?"

"I'll get them. I put them on a radiator to dry"

On the way into town Emma told me Ruth was also homeless, older and had taken Emma under her wing. She tried to get Emma to go into the shelter but she refused, staying with Ruth while they lived rough. We looked at the shop doorway I had found Emma in, where they had arranged to meet - not there; then drove round town checking their usual haunts. Nothing.

We drove around them all again, then a third time.

"Anywhere else?" I asked.

"I don't know, I can't think," she was in tears.

We were passing a church. There were still a few people outside. I had a brainwave. "Are there any churches doing Christmas lunches for the homeless?" I asked. She didn't know. I pulled in and said, "Wait here, I'll be back in a minute." I found the vicar and asked if any of the local churches were doing food for the homeless. Yes, it was an interdenominational thing, this year at St Jude's church hall. Ironic, St Jude's was my local church, where I would have gone to midnight mass.

I jumped back in the car and told Emma. Five minutes later we pulled up and got out. They hadn't started serving but there was a large crowd waiting. I hadn't realised our small town had so many homeless people. Emma rushed through the crowd looking then shouted "Ruth" and ran up and threw her arms round a tall, thin woman. She wasn't just thin, more gaunt, deep shadows under her eyes, lacklustre, dirty red hair. She looked like she'd been living rough for a while. However on seeing Emma her face broke into a relieved smile and you could see a bit of life come into her eyes.

I went over and introduced myself. "Hello, you're obviously Ruth. I'm Mark. Emma was going frantic worrying about you. I found her half frozen last night and took her to my house to warm her up." I paused, then continued, "Look, I know you can get food here but I've got a turkey in the oven at home and it's just me there. Emma's stuff is still back there too. Why don't you both come back with me and have Christmas dinner at my house? Please?"

I actually surprised myself with the offer - I was usually more reserved than that. Ruth looked me over carefully, then asked for a minute to speak to Emma. I went over to chat to one of the helpers, who pointed me to the vicar so I spoke quietly to him for a few minutes before Emma came over and said they would come with me. While she was there I told the vicar that I was taking two of the homeless ladies back to my house to feed them, and gave him my address. I made sure Ruth, standing back a little, heard me.

Chapter 3

We headed to my house and I offered Ruth the opportunity of a bath or shower whilst I finished off dinner. The turkey was doing fine and I had the vegetables all prepared - some for roasting, some for boiling. Emma went upstairs with Ruth and I pottered round the kitchen getting everything ready, and setting the dining table. I have to admit I tended to sit in the lounge to eat, with just me there was no point in using the dining room. However I set three places and set out three wine glasses - I wasn't sure if Emma should have wine, but if she was old enough to live away from home she possibly expected to be treated like an adult.

Emma came down and asked if Ruth could wear some of the spare clothes as hers were dirty. I thought they may be a bit on the short side - she looked a bit taller than Sarah was, but I told her to look through what was there. She also asked, a bit shyly, if Ruth could use a razor. Having a beard and moustache I didn't shave, used an electric trimmer when necessary, but I thought there may be some old razors in the bathroom cabinet and told Emma to tell Ruth to look. I also told her dinner would be ready in about half an hour.

What a difference a bath could make - it didn't hide the fact that Ruth was far too thin, but with clean hair and a scrubbed appearance she was obviously pretty. If she put on some weight to fill out her appearance she might just be more than pretty, possibly very attractive.

We talked over dinner. Both ladies were wary about giving out too much information, but I talked a lot, told them a bit about my circumstances, about having retired the day before after selling the business, about being a widower with the children far away. Half way through dinner the typical - Pete could never work out time differences so phoned to say 'Merry Christmas' and have a chat. He didn't talk long, going to someone's house for Christmas. Good, at least he wasn't alone.

I manage to tease at bit out of Emma - a fractured family, Dad long gone, Mum with a succession of boyfriends, then remarried. Her Mum became ill and new Stepdad thought she could become his new bed partner. When she told her mother she suggested it was time to pay back her stepfather for the money he spent on the family. That was the last straw. She stole all the money from his wallet, walked out and caught a bus to the Midlands. Lived rough in Birmingham for a week, then Nottingham for another week before moving to our town. She met Ruth the first night in town and they had been 'looking after each other' since. Ruth had gone last night to try and find some food and had arranged with Emma they would meet on the street where I found her. She had walked the streets all night trying to find Emma, and had turned up at the church hall, not just for food but to see if Emma was there and ask the other homeless if they had seen her. You can't really report a runaway as missing to the police, so there wasn't much else she could do.

Ruth was much less forthcoming, just saying she was down on her luck and ended up living rough. I could tell there was a lot more to her story, but she was only going to tell it in her own time.