Meanwhile Gardens: An Urban Adventure
Written by Charlie Caselton

Chapter Twenty-two - Six Mass Sunday
Auntie Gem's favourite Sunday mass was the one with the Sisters at their chapel in St Charles Square. She hadn't missed their mid-morning prayers for - for? Auntie Gem wracked her brain but she couldn't remember, all she knew was that it had been many, many years.
This morning Sister Margaret had asked for special prayers for those lost and alone. Auntie Gem immediately thought of the ghost of the poor young girl she had seen in the cemetery and offered up a prayer for her deliverance. What with seeing the ghost and with her concern about Ollie this could turn into a six mass day she thought.
After the service and a cup of tea with the Sisters Auntie Gem crossed Ladbroke Grove and into Golborne Road. Even on a Sunday the little street was busy.
She bought some black olives marinated in lemon juice, Emma's favourite kind, from the friendly Moroccan. She could never call Emma 'Em' like others did. She quite liked 'Auntie Em' - but she couldn't call her charge 'Auntie' could she?
Auntie Gem chuckled at the thought.
Emma would always be her charge, would always be the mischievous creature she had cared for since a baby, had cared for, in fact, for all of Emma's 53 years - the first 19 of which had been spent in Jamaica. After 'the accident' as Auntie Gem referred to it - she had never believed Emma's father had committed suicide - they had been forced to come to England where they had been for the last 34 years.
Thirty four years.
Even though England was certainly her home and she was settled here now, Auntie Gem harboured thoughts of returning to Redlight, the tiny village of her birth in the Blue Mountains above Kingston.
Perhaps next year after she retired, she thought. Perhaps.
Auntie Gem picked her way through the crowds outside the cafes amazed at how, with the first hint of sunshine, the people outside Cafe Feliz wore shorts and T-shirts. She shivered and pulled her woollen coat to her. It would take a lot more than early Spring sunshine to get Gemma Nelson into something lighter.
Entering the Mews she could hear voices coming from the large corner house she shared with Emma.

Chapter Twenty-three - Eavesdropping
"And how was your run angel?" Auntie Em refilled Ollie's glass.
"Well, it wasn't so much a run Auntie Em as a jog." Ollie's brow furrowed slightly. "Actually even jogging is overstating things. It was more like a cross between walking and falling. I staggered and stumbled along the canal, bouncing off the walls, in fact lurching would be a better description."
"Something you'll be doing regularly then?"
"Perhaps. If you see a sign on my door saying 'gone lurching' you'll know where I am." Ollie paused to take a sip from his Bloody Mary. "This might sound ridiculous - "
Nicky and Auntie Em looked over. They both liked things that sounded ridiculous.
" - but I think Auntie Gem's ghost might exist."
Auntie Em stopped refilling Nicky's glass to give him an amused look. "Really?"
"I didn't have a chance to tell you before but when I was jogging - "
No one had heard Auntie Gem come in. She had hung up her coat by the front door and was about to make her presence known when she overheard Ollie's last sentence.
Feeling guilty for listening Auntie Gem remained motionless in the stairwell. She heard Ollie recount how he heard a young girl's laughter coming from the cemetery opposite the knoll overlooking Little Wormwood Scrubs.
"But the funny thing was the laughter seemed to have an otherworldly quality to it." He continued. "It just seemed to hang in the air."
"Couldn't someone have been on the other side?"
"No, you would see them. It's where the iron cemetery fence turns into a brick wall. The canal bank just there is hardly big enough for a goose let alone a person."
Auntie Gem could bear it no longer. "Hello." She called up.
"Don't say a word about the ghost." Auntie Em hissed to Ollie who nodded. Hum awoke from his slumber and trotted over to greet the elderly black lady as she came up the stairs into the sitting room.
"Doesn't he bark?"
"Only at people he doesn't like Auntie Gem." Ollie took an envelope from his jacket and gave it her. "A little present for you. Open it later."

Chapter Twenty-four - Rise & Shrine
It was closer to seven when Ollie and Nicky finally left. Trellick Tower loomed large above them, its crown of aerials half-shrouded in mist.
"Are you sure you won't come? 'All About My Mother' is showing at The Gate."
"There's something I have to do Nicks."
"We'll be at The Westbourne later."
"Maybe I'll join you."
Nicky kissed him on the cheek. "Liar."
Ollie watched Nicky walk out of the Mews. Without looking back she put one arm in the air and waved - just like Liza Minnelli in 'Cabaret' Ollie thought, smiling as he let himself into his house.
Closing the door he realised he could put it off no longer. "Hum." The dog sat down obediently at the bottom of the stairs and looked at his master. "It's time isn't it?"
Ollie took a deep breath and opened the door to his workroom.
It's surprising how neglected something can look in just a few weeks, he thought. Dust covered the surfaces, his tools huddled in disarray and sketches lay scattered over the desk and floor.
Spiders' webs stretched over and between the work in progress - an Empire table for Mrs Harrison, a cabinet for the Delameres, some elaborate arrow curtain rods and door handles for Lady Fairland, a coffee table - heavily inspired by Allen Jones - for Johnson Ogle and eight dining room chairs to match the table he delivered at Christmas for Donal O' Keane.
The answerphone flashed urgently with weeks of messages. Faxes, curling over and over, buried the machine.
Ollie looked around, took another deep breath and set to work.

In the corner house Auntie Gem took Ollie's envelope and sat before her shrine. She knew what was in it before she opened it.
Ollie never disappointed.
Inside was a picture cut from a magazine, a picture she hadn't seen before. It showed a tall, fair-haired woman with extraordinary eyes. She wore an evening gown, simple diamond drop earrings and a radiant, radiant smile.
Auntie Gem found a place for it with the many others that made up her shrine. All the pictures were of the same elegant woman taken at various points in her life.
Auntie Gem wouldn't be going to any more masses today, she decided. She would stay in front of her shrine, the warmth of the woman would calm and ease her soul.
Auntie Gem lit a candle and asked forgiveness for eavesdropping on the others this afternoon, she asked for the young girl's wandering soul to find its home and she asked that Ollie be comforted in his sorrow.
Auntie Gem looked into the eyes of the woman smiling down at her.
Diana, 'the Queen of Hearts, the People's Princess' would help - Auntie Gem knew she would.

Chapter Twenty-five - Villains Rogues & Royalty
Rion couldn't have imagined she would ever feel this good.
She could hear Jake clattering plates cutlery and pans as he washed up by the canal. The taste of the fish and vegetables he had cooked remained with her. The blackened billy atop the small fire promised tea within minutes and the stars pinpricked the darkness above. Rion pinched herself hard to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Was it really less than 48 hours since she had left home?
Home was such an ugly word she thought, it sounded as though it was always a place meant to be left. Rion shivered, lightly feeling the cigarette burns on her wrist - a souvenir of 'home'.
But here she was. And no one from 'home' knew she was here.
Jake had helped her clean out the chamber. The mattress had been scrubbed and aired, the table, chest and shelf wiped down, the floor swept and when the candles were lit - well, you could be anywhere.
Rion smiled with a sense of pride as she looked down the steps into the candle-lit space. It was really rather cosy she thought. The picture of Blondin was pinned under the one of Jesus with the open red heart. Her thin trousers of black and white checks, her socks and assorted tops were neatly laid out on top of the chest of drawers. Her washpack, her prized Walkman and tapes were on the shelf by the bed. Her collection of magazines from Tanya's salon (dog-eared copies of year-old Vogue, Ultra and Hello) and her favourite self-help book were on the rickety table. The only thing she had put away was her underwear, which she had placed in the top drawer of the small chest.
Jake had given her a faded pink blanket which was now tied back over the small open doorway. As long as it didn't rain, or at least didn't rain too hard, she would be OK.
The clattering stopped. Within seconds Jake pushed into the small, fenced clearing.
"If Blondin inspired you there are several others here you should know about."
Rion held out her hands over the flames, enjoying the warmth of the fire. "Like who?"
"Like Dr James Barry for a start."
Rion shrugged her shoulders. "Who's he?"
"Who's he?" Jake laughed. "Don't you mean who's she?"
"She?" Rion shook her head in disbelief. "James isn't a woman's name!"
"Marion isn't a man's name but it was John Wayne's." Jake carefully put two measures of tea in the bubbling billycan and left it to stew. "Dr James Barry - " Jake let out a loud sigh of appreciation. " - was way cool. She disguised herself as a man and had a hugely successful army career, eventually becoming Inspector General of the Army Medical department."
"Didn't anyone know?"
"Not even her landlady or her servant."
Rion giggled.
"The truth only came out, so to speak, when she died."
"But someone must have guessed, must have suspected, I mean they must have."
"She even fought and won a duel with a fellow officer at the Cape of Good Hope."
Rion paused for a while to take in the extraordinary information. "I guess if there were doubts," She conceded, "fighting a duel is a pretty good way to remove them."
"It's a typically dumb male thing, fighting a duel I mean, not a very feminine response is it?"
"And her name was Dr James Barry?"
Jake nodded. "There are other characters here like - Wilkie Collins?" Jake looked over at Rion.
Rion shook her head. She hadn't heard of him either.
"He wrote 'The Woman in White' - acclaimed as the first detective story. He was a friend of Dickens and Thackeray and is buried here with his mistress." Jake glanced at Rion who wasn't shocked. "He was extremely tall and due to a difficult birth had a huge head and tiny feet - feet so small that he could wear women's shoes."
"Did he? Wear women's shoes I mean?"
Jake didn't think so but to make the story more interesting said, "Embroidered with red roses I hear!"
Rion clapped her hands in delight.
"Throughout his life he suffered from rheumatoid arthritis and so was prescribed laudanum - an alcohol/opium mix and very popular in Victorian times - which he took to like a natural. His fondness for laudanum increased his tolerance and he was forced to take it in ever larger measures, so much so that when, at the end of his life, his housekeeper mistakenly swallowed half of his draught she promptly keeled over and died!"
"I bet she didn't mistakenly swallow it."
Jake smiled. "Probably not but I bet she regretted it!" He poured the tea into two mugs. "Milk and sugar?"
Rion nodded. "One please."
Rion felt herself relax. Sipping the hot, strong tea she listened as Jake told of villains, rogues and royalty. There was something rather calming about someone else doing all the talking, she thought. Rion's heart went out to the sadder stories, amongst them Princess Sophia, unhappy daughter of George 111, who was seduced and made pregnant by a scheming courtier more than twice her age.
Almost exiled to Europe she led a lonely life and was, towards the end, totally blind.
There was also an infant prodigy pianist by the name of Elizabeth Soyer who took fright, poor thing, during a tremendous thunderstorm and died; but perhaps saddest of all, Rion thought, was the story of Mary Hogarth, Dickens' sister-in-law, to whom he was devoted. She died of a heart attack at the age of 17 in her carriage on the way back from seeing one of his plays. Her death at such a young age affected the great writer for the rest of his life.
"And he never, ever got over it." As Jake finished he looked over at Rion who was clearly entranced.
Rion took a last sip of her now cold tea. She swirled the tea leaves around the bottom of the mug before tipping them out on the ground. Straining her eyes to see them in the darkness she realised their pattern would hold no clue to her future. Rion slowly raised her eyes to the tousled young man in front of her. "And how did you come to be here Jake?"

Chapter Twenty-six - I'll show you mine if you show me yours
Jake laughed at her question. "You realise if I tell you my story I'll expect to hear one in return."
Rion weighed this up. His story must be more interesting than hers, she guessed, and besides when the time came to tell her story she could plead tiredness or - ? Or? Something would spring to mind.
"Are you sure that's fair? I mean, the story of how you came to be living in a treehouse in a cemetery in London will take some b - " Rion was going to say 'beating' but the word was abit too familiar for comfort. "will take some topping."
"It's not a competition Rion."
He said Rion! That was the first time she had heard someone say her new name.
"Would you say that again?"
Jake's face glowed in the firelight. "Wha - ?"
"I'll tell you about it - perhaps in my story."
"Perhaps?" Jake asked.
Rion gave in. "Perhaps certainly."
"It's not a competition."
Rion gestured for him to continue. "It's not a competition - ?"
"It's not a competition Rion."
Perfect. It sounded perfect she thought. And natural. Perfectly natural.
"Ok. Where to start?" Jake was silent for a moment and then began his tale. "I dropped out of university in 1994, my second year, and I've been here ever since. It was easier then, there were no guards and there were more of us - well, just Old George and me were here but under the gasometers was a whole secret community. You'll see on the other side of the canal there's an old cherry tree - its main branch twists over the towpath wall - well you could just hop over there and you would be in this hidden world. There were also many more people living on canal boats then too - "
"But why here?"
Jake didn't have to think to answer. "Because it's so easy. There's everything I could want here. Fish, eels, duck and goose eggs, Cuban meals twice a week, even spliffs and rum."
Rion wrinkled her nose. She knew what a spliff was even though she hadn't tried one. Or wanted to.
"Where do you get those from?"
"From the grave of a Caribbean bandleader. His funeral was packed. Packed! I've never seen who leaves them but they're regular - not as regular as Senora Padilla but not infrequent either. And I love it here. It's so quiet and where I sleep moves and creaks with the tree. Where else in London could I get that?"
Rion didn't know. Feeling that it might be her turn soon she stretched and gave an exaggerated yawn.
"And I do P & D - painting and decorating - there's always work." He pulled out a mobile phone from his worn jean jacket. "The boss calls me and I'm there. I've got work all this week."
"And your family?"
"Haven't seen them in years. We're not compatible - you know?"
Did she ever.
Rion stifled another heavy yawn. "What about your friends?"
"A couple know. Most don't. If they want me," Jake tapped his mobile phone. "they know where to find me."
"What about.." How could she put this? "What about, 'when the tree's rocking, don't come knocking'?"
Jake chuckled. "That's personal." With relief Rion saw him get up to leave. "I'm going to turn in, I can see you're tired too."
Saved, Rion thought.
"I'm working early tomorrow. There's a couple of apples in the bag,longlife milk, sugar and - are you up to making tea?" -
Jake could see the thought of bubbling billycans, fires and pan holders, even in daylight, was not an attractive one to Rion.
- "If not you'll have to wait until about five. I'll bring some supper but you'll have to sing for it."
Oh God, Rion cringed, he can't possibly mean karaoke can he?
"And you're ok?"
Rion nodded.
Jake smiled and was gone.
Rion stayed beside the dying fire until it lost its warmth. With a real yawn she went down the steps, got into the sleeping bag, blew out the candles and was soon fast asleep.

Chapter Twenty-seven - Ophelia Revisited
Auntie Gem didn't mind Mondays. Unlike others who dreaded the start to the week Auntie Gem looked forward to it.. She liked the fresh feelings Mondays brought, no matter what the weather, like slipping into clean sheets in an old bed.
She had worked at Peters & Peters ever since she had come to England with Emma. Every day she walked to and from the factory that bordered the canal on the other side of the cemetery. Auntie Gem was sure the daily walk, rain or shine, blow or snow, was the reason she was so rarely ill.
For the first time in three generations there was only one member of the Peters family in the business. The company, makers of "Peters Garden Helper - the Spray the Garden Loves!" and "Peters Kitchen Helper - the Spray the Kitchen Loves!" amongst numerous other snappily named and advertised household cleaners, was run by the last of the line, her boss Sir Edwin Peters.
Auntie Gem was in charge of the executive trolley for teas, coffees and biscuits. She would also bring Mr Edwin (despite his recent knighthood she still addressed him as 'Mr' Edwin a fact that both endeared her to her boss as well as annoyed him) his meals when he was too busy to come to the dining room. It was easy work and she enjoyed it.
Walking down the canal on her way to work this Monday morning she was struck at how her daily life so often turned her thoughts to the Queen of Hearts.
Ollie's dog Hum made her think of Diana. His eyes, large, trusting and sometimes sorrowful were so like the princess' - especially when he looked up at her through his heavy eyelids. Could human souls move into animal souls?
Could they?
Auntie Gem wondered - afterall, she thought back, Hum must have been born around the time of Diana's death.
Had the soul of the Princess of Wales moved into Ollie's dog?
Such a bizarre notion was too weird even for Mondays. Auntie Gem immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thought. She quickly crossed herself and carried on.
Another reminder of Diana was the heron she almost always saw on the way to and from Peters & Peters. If she didn't see the heron she felt disappointed and strangely abandoned. Seeing the slightly sinister looking bird always took her back to the eve of Diana's funeral, a clear, cool Friday evening in early September, when she had gone with Emma to Kensington Gardens.
Auntie Gem remembered that painful time so well. She had taken a week's leave, spending most of it in the tribute-filled gardens in front of the palace, and had especially wanted to be there for the princess' last night in her home.
As the sun set over Kensington Palace Emma had pointed out the heron, wings closed over its body like a monk's cowl, beneath one of the three enormous stone urns on the roof above Diana's apartment.
At first they had taken it for a decorative sculpture until it changed position and shook its pointed beak at them - right at them! Silhouetted against the dying sun the bird remained guarding the princess until night fell and they watched it fly slowly northwards.
Since that time Auntie Gem had wondered if what she now called 'her heron' was indeed the one atop Kensington Palace that night.
Was it? She asked herself. Could it really be the same bird?
As if to confirm this the ring of a bicycle bell interrupted her musings. As the cyclist sped past Auntie Gem looked up and there, watching motionless from the opposite bank, was the heron.
But that wasn't all that got her attention.
Auntie Gem saw that she was now just further on from the gasometers. With a shiver she looked over at the opposite bank, at the tightly planted saplings lining the cemetery wall.
And then she heard it. A young girl's tuneless singing. All Auntie Gem could think of were the lost and lonely warblings of Ophelia before she threw herself in the river and drowned. The words were indistinct, the voice unclear as it dipped then grew in intensity, seemingly lacking in rhythm or rhyme.
More proof of the wandering soul of the poor young girl.
Ollie had heard the otherworldly laughter, she herself had seen the spectral, virginal figure and now here was further proof.
Auntie Gem kept her eyes straight ahead. She blocked her ears and quickened her step, relieved to see the chimney of Peters & Peters beyond Mitre Bridge in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-eight - "I wanna do great things, don't wanna compromise I wanna know what life, is it something you do to yourself? something I do to myself? something we do to ourselves?"
Unaware of the ghostly status she had achieved Rion sang along to her favourite group, playing and replaying the same songs but now, she realised sadly, the batteries in her Walkman were running down.
Remembering they can be recharged if left in the sun Rion took the headphones off, removed the batteries from the Walkman and placed them in the brightest bit of sunlight.
She had had another good night, finished Jake's last apple and now wondered what she was going to do. Even though she had no money she knew something would turn up, besides Tanya would send the savings she had been entrusted with, but - where would she send them?
Old George's Cavern, Kensal Green Cemetery, London?
Rion smiled and picked up her wellworn copy of "Face the Fear and Eat It" - the book that had propelled her to London in the first place.
Sitting in the sun Rion was unworried. It would all be ok. The realisation that her family could no longer touch her made her smile and smile.
Today she was enjoying her freedom, the sun on her face and doing nothing. Absolutely nothing.
And as for the storytelling later?
Rion stretched and wiggled her toes, she would think about that when the time came.

Chapter Twenty-nine - Priestly Garb
Ollie was in his workroom when the phone rang. "I'm not disturbing you am I sweetness?"
Ollie looked around him. He had been up since early that morning, returning calls, replying to the most urgent of faxes and placating angry clients.
"No, Auntie Em."
"I've just put the phone down on poor Gem. It seems she had another haunting experience on her way to work this morning."
"Another one?"
"At exactly the same place apparently."
"Further on from the gasworks?"
"So I believe, she was a bit upset and it was hard to understand exactly, anyway, she's refused to walk back."
"I could go and get her Auntie Em."
"Thanks for offering angel," He was such a kind boy she thought. "but I'm going to collect her from work later, the thing is - I need a favour."
"Ask away."
"Well, Auntie Gem has refused to walk down the canal until - well - until that part has been exorcised."
The penny began to drop, albeit slowly.
"And you want me to - ? Auntie Em you know how terrible I look in priestly garb, remember Nicky's Halloween party? I mean I just can't carry it off and besides - "
"Sweetness, I was only going to ask you to investigate - just so we can tell Gem there is no ghost and nothing to be afraid of."
Ollie wasn't exactly thrilled but he felt he had to satisfy his own curiosity anyway. "It'll have to be later on."
"You're an angel, angel."

Chapter Thirty - I love your...Socks?
It was close to 4.30 when Ollie knocked on Nicky's door. He could hear music coming from her studio which normally meant she was working.
Nicky opened the door and looked him up and down. "You've got quite good legs you know." Having decided his tracksuit bottoms were too cumbersome Ollie had changed into shorts. "But shouldn't you have a day's break between exercise?"
Ollie closed the door behind him and followed her into the large open room on the ground floor. "Well, if I stop now I'll never start again. I'm not disturbing anything am I?"
The studio was set up for a shoot. Hum raced to the other side of the large piece of black material that split the room in two.
"I was just taking some pictures of - you two know each other don't you?"
Ollie stuck his head around the screen to see the instantly familiar face he dreaded. Dressed all in black with yellow socks the man sat on a stool in the middle of the space. Hum sniffed him curiously.
It was Will.
Or was it Andy?
"Oh. Hi." Ollie nodded, his heart beating furiously. "Could I borrow a tape Nicks?"
"What - fed up with Bush already?" Nicky nudged him in the ribs and grinned. "There are some on the counter."
Acutely aware of Andy's presence Ollie rooted through the tapes - a mixture of old, new, borrowed and blue.
"Andy needed some shots done. He's off to Japan next month."
Trying not to show too much interest Ollie grunted.
He picked a tape that would satisfy even the strictest of style police. Taking it out of its cover he waved it in the air as proof. "It's Al Green." He kissed Nicky on the cheek and whispered. "Don't talk about me."
Clutching the tape Ollie whistled for Hum and made his way out. He was dying to say something to Andy - but what? Turning at the edge of the screen Ollie said, as coolly as possible, "I love your socks."

I love your socks? Did he really say that?
With Hum barking excitedly in front Ollie jogged through Meanwhile Gardens and onto the canal. After the shortest of times his legs began to ache. Nicky was right, perhaps he should have rested for a day or two.
He had just lumbered under Ha'Penny Bridge when Al Green began to croon, "I'm so tired of being alone, I'm so tired out on my own, won't you help me please just as soon as you ca-a-a-a-n?" Deciding Al was a touch close to the bone Ollie clicked off his Walkman and continued in silence.
After half-a-mile he turned off the canal and walked breathlessly over the bridge at the top of Ladbroke Grove. Ollie entered the cemetery through the small gate by the Dissenters' Chapel and quickly made his way along the woodchip paths until he saw he was opposite, but further on from, the huge gasometers.
The graves were neglected here. No author's societies, no ennobled families, no loving relatives tended these forgotten tombs.
Snuffling happily Hum skirted several overgrown headstones before arriving at the iron-railing fence that marked the cemetery border. Without looking back Hum squeezed through a loose railing and vanished into the rows of tightly planted saplings on the other side.
"Hum!" Ollie barked angrily but the hound had gone.
Ollie could see a small trail stopped at the fence and then carried on the other side. Wishing he had brought a bottle of holy water with him, Ollie pushed the weak railing to one side and went through.
Despite having been in the sun for most of the day the batteries hadn't re-charged. It figures, Rion thought, the only thing I can remember from science class and it doesn't work anyway. Disappointed she took the headphones off, realising she couldn't get any more batteries until Tanya sent her savings down.
But again she wondered - where would Tanya send them?
A rustling and a panting broke into her thoughts. A black, shaggy dog, obviously young, bounded into the tiny clearing and over to her. Tail wagging it sat at her feet and gave her a paw. She could see large brown eyes grinning up at her from behind its unkempt fringe.
Rion immediately recognised the dog. Panicking slightly she realised that its owner couldn't be far behind.
A more ungainly huffing, puffing and crashing announced Ollie's arrival. "Hum!" He called in annoyance as he pushed along the increasingly narrow path between the saplings. To his relief he saw an opening ahead. With a final thrust he propelled himself through.

Chapter Thirty-one - Dr Livingstone?
Ollie staggered into the clearing to find a young girl with long, long hair looking at him with apprehension. Ollie knew who it was. Immediately. The girl who had stopped him on the canal.
With some annoyance he saw Hum sitting contentedly at her feet.
"So you're not a ghost?" Ollie smiled, relieved, not that he had ever seriously entertained the notion, all the same the proximity to the graveyard had caused him to think more than twice.
Rion stayed silent.
"You've been scaring my elderly neighbour half to death. She's convinced you're a lost soul wandering between Heaven and Hell." Ollie grinned again to show her he meant no harm but the young girl again stayed silent.
By the ashes of the dead fire in front of him Ollie saw a well-thumbed book. He reached down for a closer look, picked it up and saw it was 'Face the Fear and Eat It' - the bible of the self-help set. "Any good?" He asked.
Rion nodded nervously.
"A friend of mine saw his wife reading this - a week later she served him with divorce papers."
Rion didn't know what to say so simply looked at the ground.
Sensing his presence was unnerving her Ollie made to leave. "Anyway I didn't mean to disturb you. Hum!"
He noticed the young girl freeze slightly. The beginnings of a small smile spread over her lips before fading as abruptly as they appeared.
"I don't mean you." He joked. "Hum!" Ollie ordered again but the hound simply lay on his back and stretched.
"It's your dog's name isn't it? Hum?" Rion asked.
"Short for Humdinger - Humdinger the Third that is." Ollie felt slightly embarrassed. "I know - pets' names, where do they come from? - but at least he's not called Truffles - "
" - or Nero." For the first time he heard the girl laugh. "Hum." She smiled as she bent down to stroke the dog's stomach. "You know when I bumped into you I thought you, and the woman you were with, were telling me to hum."
Ollie let out a yelp of laughter before chuckling apologetically. "Sorry."
"I was getting upset because the only tune I could think of was the National Anthem!"
"You must have thought - " Ollie laughed. "well, what did you think?"
"I thought you were all mad." Rion smiled remembering the incident. "It's my first time in London you see."
"And your mother told you we'd be like this?"
Rion tensed. How did he know that's what her mother had said?
Ollie looked around the small clearing. Behind the girl he could see an opening, half-screened by a pink blanket, through which he could make out some sort of chamber. "What brought you to the city?"
The girl pointed to the book Ollie held in his hand. "Well, that book played a large part."
Ollie looked again at the worn copy of the self-help bible. "So it is that good." He gestured to the pink blanket tied across the opening. "And you live - here?"
"It's meant to be a secret really. Jake said - "
"Your boyfriend?"
"No!" Rion said quickly, feeling her face turn a bright red. Why couldn't she control her blushing? she asked herself for the thousandth time. "Just a friend. He helped me find this place actually."
As if on cue the four notes whistled into the clearing.
Rion gently whistled back. She looked at her watch. It was just after five. "Here he is now."
Ollie watched as a young man, a Sainsbury's bag held tightly to his chest, squeezed through the narrow opening. Ollie judged him to be about the same height as himself but more ruffled, more sloppily handsome.
"I hope you're ready for - " Jake began before doing a doubletake upon seeing Ollie. He looked quickly at Rion.
"I was just talking about you." She smiled at Jake to let him know everything was all right. "This is Jake, I'm Rion and you are - ?"
"Ollie. Ollie Michaelson."
Rion peered into the supermarket carrier. "Is there enough for three?"

Chapter Thirty-two - Old Enough(and wise enough)
As the sun went down Jake built and lit a fire with the speed and ease of someone who had done it many times before.
"Lucky I bought a couple extra eh?" Jake took several potatoes from the carrier. He wrapped them in foil before placing them away from the main flame but still in the heat of the fire.
"You live near here don't you?" Ollie asked.
Jake wondered how much Rion had told him. "Yes." He replied truthfully. Ollie didn't have to know how near.
"I thought I'd seen you before." Through the woven mesh of branches Ollie could see the sun's dying rays reflected in the canal. "You'd never know this place existed from the other side, there just doesn't look to be enough room."
Jake pulled out a small bottle of Appleton's rum and two matchstick-sized joints from his army trousers.
"Are they from Marks?" Rion asked knowingly.
Ollie looked over at the tiny cigarettes, their ends rolled into twists. "And Spencers?" He asked amazed. "Which branch do you go to?"
Jake grinned. "Mr Marks the bandleader. He's buried - "
"He's dead?"
Jake nodded. "One of his supporters leaves an offering every now and then." He took a swig from the rum before offering it to Ollie.
Feeling curiously like an egyptologist in the Valley of the Kings Ollie looked at the bottle. "This isn't graverobbing is it?" Deciding it wasn't he raised the bottle in a toast to the departed steelband leader. "To Marks!" He took a gulp, nearly choking as the 150% proof Jamaican rum burned his lungs and throat. A shudder started in his shoulders worked its way down his spine through his groin and all the way to his toes that curled involuntarily.
With eyes watering he offered the bottle to Rion. "How old are you?" He gasped.
Rion took the bottle. "Old enough." Without taking a sip she passed the rum to Jake. "And wise enough."
Another rum judder sent heat coursing through Ollie's body. He waited for the aftershock to subside before asking Jake. "Are there any other - er - things people leave?"
"Lots of flowers of course, some Cuban food - "
"Cuban - ?"
"Yup, food, it's delicious," Rion added.
"Letters and mawkish poems - "
"You read them?" Rion asked Jake
"If they're not sealed sure, why not? Don't you ever read other people's post- cards?"
Ollie and Rion spoke at the same time.
"Yes!" Ollie said.
"No!" Rion answered.
Not that she had the chance, Rion thought. No one in her family ever got sent any cards. The only card she had ever received was from Tanya when she went to Greece two summers ago and everybody had read that before it got to her.
Ollie was still curious to find out about the young girl. "Rion was just going to tell me her story when you arrived." He looked over at the young girl. "Could we continue?"
"How much time do you have?"
Ollie opened his hands palm up as he looked at Jake. "I'm not going anywhere are you?"
"Nope." Although slightly hurt that Rion felt she could open up to Ollie when she had only just met him when he, Jake, had done so much to earn her trust, Jake hid his feelings. He picked up one of the small joints, lit it and gestured for Rion to go ahead.
As Rion vanished behind the pink blanket Jake passed the joint to Ollie who took three quick puffs before handing it back.
"To Marks." Ollie toasted again, struggling not to cough. Within seconds the small spliff had sizzled to an end, the sinsemilla mingling with the rum to produce a most enjoyable buzz. Ollie and Jake stretched out in the fireglow and waited for Rion to return.
They didn't have to wait long. When Rion returned she had with her the cutting of Blondin crossing Niagara. She knelt on the ground beside the fire and took a deep breath.

Chapter Thirty-three - Rion's Story
Rion told her story quickly and simply. She looked at the fire, occasionally glanced at the picture of Blondin in her hand but steadfastly avoided Jake and Ollie's eyes.
"I'm the youngest by several years of four girls. My mum says my dad always took a lot of stick from his mates about his three girls and no boys. They somehow questioned his masculinity at not producing any sons so I was sort of his last ditch attempt at proving himself."
Ollie nodded. He understood the fragile male psyche.
"Anyway when I came along Dad took even more stick."
"Producing three girls might be regarded as foolishness but four looks like carelessness?" Ollie enquired.
Rion smiled but still refused to meet their eyes. "Something like that." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "So growing up I was a constant reminder to him of his failure. He always went on about wanting a 'pride and joy' - that's what he called his longed for son - and I most certainly wasn't that - "
Jake interrupted. "In his eyes."
"Sorry?"
"You might not have been his pride and joy - "
"I'm no-one's pride and joy." Rion shook her head vehemently. "No-one's. Ever since I can remember my Dad picked on me and when my sisters saw it was alright to pick on me, in fact that my Dad seemed to encourage it, well there was no stopping them. They were like a pack together and I was outside it."
Ollie and Jake listened in silence, the Jamaican spliff heightening their empathy with Rion. Then Ollie asked something Jake had wanted to ask but hadn't dared.
"Is that why you have cigarette burns on your arms?"
Rion instinctively hugged herself as if to hide the telltale marks. Then she relaxed, she wasn't going to hide them any longer.
Rolling back the sleeves and collar of her fleece Rion displayed the marks of her abuse. Even in the firelight the twin scorched circles of skin, scabby and painful, were clearly visible on the soft white underbelly of each wrist. Further up her arm and around her neck were mottled splotches of bruising.
Ollie and Jake winced audibly.
"They don't hurt. At least not any more."
"How can people do that?" Ollie asked in horror.
"Without them I wouldn't be here, so in some strange way - " Rion lightly circled the burns with her finger. "I'm quite proud of them. They're what got me out of there." Rion pulled her sleeves down and her collar up. "As with anything else you get used to it." The girl seemed unfazed by the burns and the bruising. "I knew I'd get out sometime and look - " She smiled at them both. " - here I am."
Jake whistled between his teeth. "How did you survive?"
"By dreaming, by spending every second I could in Tanya's salon. She's my friend," Rion explained. "my only friend. I used to clean up, help with the shampooing, coffees and the like. Tanya used to give me all the magazines 'Vogue, Tatler, Ultra, ' - you know, all of those - in which I used to escape."
"So that's how you know about John Galliano?" Jake asked.
"And 'Ghost', 'Pellicano' , 'Pearse Fionda' , 'Browns', 'Koh Samui' 'Hussein Chalayan .' Rion continued to reel off the names of designers and exclusive boutiques until Ollie held up his hand to stop her.
"But what are you going to do here in London?"
Rion knew she hadn't come to London to camp out in a cemetery, no matter how many worthy, inspirational people were buried there and no matter how kind and attractive Jake was, but if she told them - would they laugh?
"Well," Rion began before looking closely at the two young men sitting opposite her around the fire. "This is going to sound stupid but," She looked at the picture of Blondin before saying quickly. "I want to do something in fashion, hopefully work in a great shop, learn about cut and fabrics and people - how it all works." The words came out in a jumble. Rion quickly put some kindling on the fire. She watched intensely as the flames took hold, waiting to hear Ollie and Jake's derisive laughter that never came.
"And you'll be ok till then? You have money?" The evening had turned cold. Ollie shivered and moved closer to the fire, silently cursing himself for not wearing his tracksuit bottoms.
"Yes, I mean no, I mean yes I'll be ok, living here is nothing if not cheap and Jake's a huge help." She smiled shyly at Jake who grinned back. "Tanya's been looking after my savings, she's going to send them down."
Ollie interrupted. "To where? She can't exactly send them here can she?"
"No, but - "
"Have you family in London?"
Rion shook her head.
"Friends?"
Rion looked at the ground. "Apart from you two, no." She said softly.
"Well if you trust me you can tell Tanya to send them to: 3 Meanwhile Gardens Mews, W10." In case Rion hadn't understood Ollie added helpfully. "That's where I live."
Rion looked over to Jake who nodded his agreement. "One second." Rion again drew the pink blanket back. She descended into the candlelit space, returning with a pad of notepaper, a pencil and the down sleeping bag which she put around Ollie's legs.
Rion quickly wrote down his address while she still remembered. "Ollie Michaelson, 3 Meanwhile Gardens Mews W10?"
Ollie nodded and wrapped the sleeping bag around him. "Thanks. You know," He began to smile. "my friend Nicky takes pictures for Ultra."
"Does she?" Rion flinched. This was all too much. "Would you...? could I?.will..." She stammered, feeling her chest freeze up. Luckily Ollie knew what she wanted to say.
"I can't promise anything but she meets alot of people, maybe one of them is looking for someone."
Rion began to tremble slightly. She offered up a quick prayer. "So the streets of London are paved with gold?"
Ollie again held up his hand. "No promises."
With the pick from his Swiss Army knife Jake pierced the potatoes and smiled in satisfaction. He removed two packets of the supermarket's beef bourguignonne from the carrier, turned the contents into a battered saucepan which he expertly placed over the fire. With Ollie's hunger already heightened by the marijuana the sizzling smell of stew set his tastebuds racing.
"Hungry?" Jake asked.
Ollie nodded perhaps a touch too eagerly. "Starving." He confirmed.
"Well, house rules are that you sing for your supper. I told my story last night. You've just heard Rion's, when we finish we expect to hear yours."

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