The Life of Lee (34 page)

It wouldn’t be long now until I would be out on the streets, banging on doors and selling my financial services. Just thinking about it was getting me so hyped up I could have sold an ice-maker to Eskimo Eric right there and then.

Every team had been given a couple of streets of a certain area by Dan. For Joe and me, it was a huge housing estate in Brixton, or ‘A large pot of gold’, as Joe called it. He was being sadly optimistic.

If anyone answered their front door, it offered us the chance to give them our sales patter: ‘Our team are in your area, and we just wondered if we could offer you a life-changing opportunity. It would benefit you and your family, earning you substantial amounts of easy money at no risk to yourself. Would you be interested?’ How could anyone refuse that?

Those were the opening lines Joe had coached me into saying. By the time we got there, it was evening, and I worried a little about disturbing people at that hour. But as Joe explained, this was the time when everyone was in – anyway, it would only be a matter of seconds before I had them in the palm of my hand.

I certainly looked the part now, I thought. I’d paid Dynamic Dan five pounds – which was all I had – for a briefcase that had been abandoned at the sales office by some idiot who had made an early exit. He probably couldn’t take the pressure, I sneered. Still, his loss, I
concluded, as it gave me somewhere to put my plastic sales kit. Plus, Dan said I had to have it, as he reckoned I looked a prize twat and a half, and the briefcase might go some way towards making me at least appear competent and something resembling professional.

As we began our door-stepping, it started to rain, which made me thank my lucky stars even more that I had bought that briefcase – it could double up as an umbrella. I chuckled at my own cleverness as we entered a block of flats and made our way upstairs to the first-floor landing. I approached my first door. Everything just keeps going right for me at the moment, I thought. As soon as the door opens, I will knock this one out and –

Suddenly the door swung open and before I could even say ‘Unit trust’, the biggest Rastafarian gentleman I had ever seen had me by my huge lapels and was demanding to know why I had disturbed him. He also informed me of another use for my new briefcase, which I considered ridiculous as the size and shape of it would make sticking it up there utterly impossible.

Joe quickly jumped in between us, trying to calm the man down. ‘It’s cool, guy. It’s all right, bruv, he’s with me.’

The man began getting very animated, complaining loudly to Joe out on the landing about people in suits who kept knocking on his door. This started to draw attention from other flats in the block. Doors began opening and people were coming out to see what all the noise was about. Then I started to notice a crowd of youths who seemed to spill out from the flats and gather downstairs at the exit. There was an uneasy atmosphere; all of a sudden, out of nothing, I could feel tension in the air.

Joe seemed to calm the situation down, and we were on our way back down the landing that led to the staircase. Joe had hold of my arm as we passed various people along the landing who stared at us as we slid by. There was a definite atmosphere of menace but, as always, I tried making light of it, desperate not to let it show that in fact my pants were well and truly full.

But as Joe and I reached the bottom of the stairs, the tension rose a few notches more on the bowel scaredy-o-meter when our exit was blocked by a gang of lads, one of whom wanted to know what I had in my case. Heaven knows why – it was obvious it wasn’t going to be much. I didn’t exactly resemble Donald Trump; a Poncho the Clown-style chump more like. But after a little look from Joe, I handed the case over and said goodbye to my five pounds’ worth of makeshift umbrella and the plastic sales folder within. I did mention to the bloke as I gave it to him, ‘Be careful with what’s in this case, as it has the potential to change your life forever.’

Then I turned to Joe for confirmation. ‘Right, Joe?’ But Joe only looked at me in confusion, as if I’d lost my tiny mind. Well, I thought, some people handle fear in different ways.

If Joe hadn’t been there, I would have been stripped down to my bare monkey-like frame and sold at a local market. But with some smooth talking from him, we managed to slip away from the gang. They seemed satisfied with the offering of the briefcase. I suppose they thought that five-pound case was the most expensive object we had between us. They thought right.

On the advice of Joe, we tried another, less lively,
section of the estate. I followed him as we made our way, sprinting as fast as we could through the cold and by now torrential downpour, across to another block of flats.

‘Never give up, guy, never give in.’ Joe’s voice echoed as it bounced off the towering blocks of ominous-looking flats. While we raced across the huge square in the middle, I cursed the uneven pavement that had created unpredictable, large puddles. I desperately tried to avoid them, as every time I inadvertently stepped in one, the water shot up through the hole in my sole and filled my shoe.

We made it across the square and quickly into the entrance hall of another block. But as we made our way up the steps, my shoes began to make a loud squelching, farting noise, so not only did my shoes flap, now they squelched and farted as well. STEP. FLAP. SQUELCH. FART. STEP. FLAP. SQUELCH. FART.

It reverberated right up through the stairwell, much to Joe’s irritation. It was freezing now, and Joe and I were drenched right through. Even my bones felt spongy.

The door-knocking was scarcely more fun. Joe would thump loudly on the door then stand to one side, pinned against the wall, leaving me to get on with it. If he saw I was doing anything wrong, he would immediately point it out to me. Despite my obvious nervousness at the door, a lot of people would ask me in. I would then disappear for half an hour, getting the benefit of warming up a little. Then I’d re-emerge, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head to the rigid-with-cold Joe, who eagerly waited outside for the smallest indication of a sale. But there was never anything.

At one flat, it was not difficult to come up with an excuse for Joe. There was no way I could have even begun to talk about unit trusts as the young woman in question had a pet python. When I sat down and began my big pitch, she sat quietly in a canvas chair on the other side of the room and glared at me with fascination. She wanted to gauge my reactions as the snake slowly wrapped itself first around my legs then up to the top half of my body. I was aware that with every tightening of the snake around me, my voice went an octave higher.

It was getting late now, and I could see Joe was getting more and more frustrated by my failure to sell anything. So he informed me at the next flat that he would step inside with me as he wanted to know what was going wrong.

In the next flat we entered, there was an elderly but very cheerful Jamaican woman who introduced herself as Marie. You could tell by the look of the place that she lived alone. I felt the only reason she’d let two strangers in was that she probably hadn’t seen anyone for days and just needed someone to talk to. But that was of no interest to Joe, who was keen to get going with the sales pitch.

We entered her kitchen and sat at the small Formica table. Marie fussed around and was kind enough to offer Joe and me a cup of tea. He nudged me in the side – he wanted to get on with things. I kept thinking there was no way an elderly woman like Marie would buy unit trusts from two very wet-looking strange men who had just strolled into her house. And, anyway, she was at an age where she would be unable to see any benefit from it – even with my tiny brain, I realized that.

After she had made the tea, Marie sat and got
comfortable with us at the kitchen table. ‘Right, what is it you two lovely boys want to talk to Marie about then?’ she asked, with a huge beaming smile.

Apprehensively, I went through the sales banter that Joe had taught me as he looked on. Then, at the end, I got to the bit where I had to hold the pen out and make full eye contact, pausing, as Joe had instructed me to. And as he had also so brilliantly demonstrated back at the office, I did not say a word. I just stared at my punter.

But, truth be told, the idea of making the sale never even crossed my mind. All I kept thinking as I held the pen out and stared at Marie’s jolly, friendly-looking face was, ‘Would I sign that form? What is it anyway? This is not me. I don’t want this, this is bullshit. I don’t want to screw anyone into the ground, especially someone as lovely as poor old Marie. It just feels wrong.’

I peered out of the corner of my eye and saw Joe, his gaze fixed on poor Marie like a laser beam. All night, I’d been dreading this point. I’d never wanted to make a sale in the first place. I just needed a job. I was trying to earn some money, but not like this. In a way, I was in the same predicament as Marie. I looked at her on the other side of the table, sitting like a rabbit trapped in headlights. I could see she was all confused, desperately trying to fathom out what the form I was asking her to sign was all about. I believe the only reason she was considering signing it was because she thought Joe and I were nice boys, and to her that would have been enough.

‘Anyway, thank you for listening, Marie,’ I concluded. ‘If you ever change your mind, don’t hesitate to call us. We’re in the phone directory under “Pest Control”.’

I quickly stood up from the table, leaving Joe staring at me, gob-smacked, as if I’d just slapped him in the face with a plastic sales folder. I knew what he was thinking: there it was, an open opportunity to make some money, and I had pulled out. I casually said my goodbyes to Marie, who also looked a bit confused by it all, but plainly relieved. I walked out of the flat, followed by the still-bemused Joe.

We got outside and in complete silence walked down the stairs. After reaching the entrance hall to the flats, it seemed suddenly to dawn on Joe what I had just done.

‘What the fuck are you up to, guy?’

I tried explaining, even though I knew he would never understand. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. Listen, I ain’t got no money, but I just don’t think I’m a salesman, mate. All that stuff about “Screw ’em into the ground” – it’s not me, mate. I’m sorry.’

I turned round and standing there was Dan. He looked at Joe, who gently shook his head. Dan stepped forward, gave me a hard smile and sneered: ‘You fucking loser! Go on, piss off! You’re sacked.’

I walked off into the rain. ‘Shit,’ I thought, ‘Heather’s going to be really mad with me now.’ I was also going to get really wet – plus, my other shoe was starting to leak. I had no idea what the time was, but I knew it was late. I wondered how I was going to get home at that time of night.

I had failed again. I’m such a fool, I thought. But then I stopped myself. I believe it’s best to do what you think is right, and what Dan and Joe were doing didn’t feel right to me.

I thought about the baby who was on the way.

I lifted my face up so I could feel the cold raindrops tickle my face as they hit my skin. I smiled. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, put my head down and headed for home.

Never mind, Lee, I thought, something will turn up.

31. Life in the Arctic

I awoke the next day to the sound of Heather flying around the bedroom getting ready to go off to work. No sooner had I opened my eyes than she wanted to tell me that she had fixed up for us to go and see the flat in Southend over the weekend. I couldn’t see her face – it was hidden as she stood bent over energetically brushing her hair. I could only hear her muffled voice from beneath as she chatted away into her knees. ‘We can’t really afford it, I know, but now you’ve got that job, maybe –’

I interrupted her. ‘I’m sorry, Heather.’ It was difficult, as she was so excited, but I felt I had to tell her. ‘I got the sack again, mate.’

She stopped brushing her hair and hung there doubled over, still and silent. I waited to see what she might say, then – whoosh! – suddenly she flung her head back, her fine hair swooped up on top of her head revealing her face. She sniffed, placed the brush on the side, grabbed her bag and left the room without saying a word. I buried my head in my hands – there had to be something I could do! I was listening to Norman Tebbit’s advice to get on my bike, but I kept falling off it.

Soon after, we left the back room at my parents’ house and moved into the flat, and things simply went from bad
to worse. It was only a matter of time before we ran out of money and found ourselves completely broke.

Matters were rapidly becoming quite desperate, and it was difficult to see any light at the end of a very long tunnel. I suppose we had held on to the naive idea that perhaps things might somehow work out even though I was just about to lose Heather her job – more of which anon.

We also may have been a bit hasty when the bloke in the suit at the housing office told us that if we wanted the flat, we would have to put a fifty-pound deposit down on it straight away. Heather duly did that, even though, as she was writing the cheque looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, we both knew that we didn’t even have ten pounds, let alone fifty in any bank. We were well aware that the cheque would bounce higher than Gary Glitter’s blood pressure in a computer repair shop. But we were determined to make it work together. Most importantly, we were going to have a baby.

We had decided to take the flat, and if we went overdrawn at the bank, then we’d have to think about what to do then. Heather didn’t seem to care, but I was worried that our relationship would turn into a life of crime. I mean, this is how Bonnie and Clyde had started, doing banks and all.

The flat wasn’t even worth the paper the fifty-quid deposit was written on. It was in a terrible state. The day Heather dragged me along to see it, I took her aside in one of the shabby rooms and whispered in her ear so the crumbling old man who was showing us around wouldn’t hear us. ‘You don’t need to fix this place up. You need to frigging start all over again.’ Not that he could have heard us; he was
as deaf as a post wearing ear-muffs. How come when people get old, their ears get bigger, but they hear less?