It was Christmas once again, the wind howled outside the window bringing the chill from Canada with it. Inside, a trio gathered, one as large as a house, the other, the picture of perfection, glossy black hair reflecting the light of the electric fire and finally, a young looking man who seemed slightly off balance. It was of course Joe, Julia and Darius, gathered for a family Christmas. Julia had spent Christmas Eve with her mothers and now had come to cook Christmas lunch with Darius for Joe. They chatted about their experiences at uni, Darius had got himself a girlfriend, a transfer student from the states and was clearly very pleased with Carla. His chest was puffed out with pride as he spoke of his “gorgeous bird” and Joe smiled when he heard of his brother’s antics in pursuing this fine fowle. Julia, who had returned rarely to Woolwich spoke of her difficulties and challenges pursuing her masters whilst simultaneously taking on more responsibility at Tizers. Still she seemed happy. Joe didn’t talk much, he simply didn’t have much to say. His recovery program was almost complete and the physio would shortly be ending, being his responsibility to continue.
They ate their turkey with lingonberry, drank sherry and opened presents. All in all a joyous Christmas day, and soon Darius and Julia bid goodbye to Joe as they both had their respective plans.
Joe walked them out, and then returned to the now empty dining room, spotless thanks to Julia. The sherry lay half empty on the counter and he poured himself a glass, sinking down into the sofa, switching the telly on but leaving it on mute. By 9 he had finished the sherry and had moved onto a fresh bottle of whiskey, passing out eventually in front of the telly. This was not the first time and was by no means the last. Joe was actually quite proud it had taken him so long before he began to rely on the drink.
—--
Months turned into years as Darius finally completed his degree with a well earned first. He went to visit his brother upon his return to London as he usually did to find the flat closed with strangers now living there. He inquired after the previous occupant whilst fishing out his own phone to ring Joe. “Hmm, we’ve been living here two months now, place was a right state before we moved in apparently, not sure who it was though, bottles of wine and beer shoved in the strangest places. We’re still finding some you know!” Darius looked at the man oddly, with the phone to his ear. No response. This time he rang Julia, but likewise she didn’t respond. Feeling a little worried he decided to call his brother’s former landlord yet the story was the same. The flat was a shithole and the neighbours had started to complain about the smell. Soon after he had asked to clean up to move out, and lo and behold he paid up in full and moved out the same month. “He even left us extra so we could clean so I ain''t too mad, poor fella has been through it to be fair”. After finishing the call, Darius tried Joe again, this time not even getting a ring, only the answerphone. He saw however he got a text.
“Hello Dar, I have decided to move abroad, don’t worry about me. My phone’s gonna be a bit iffy but i’ll keep you updated. I’ll let you know when I''ve settled down mate. Take care.”
Darius forwarded the message onto Julia asking whether she knew about this. A while later she replied that she had received some cryptic text from Joe about moving abroad but wasn’t too sure on the details. She’d ring Darius later when she had finished work.
—-
Of course, Joe hadn’t actually gone abroad, at least not physically. His drinking had got to such a point, that after losing his bankcard in a hotel, he found himself homeless. Without much care for reality and its trappings, he took to relying on charity and his disability benefits that he could collect from the Post office. For him, in his mind a failed intellectual, a broken future, he felt like the messiah reborn with the homeless apostles. Many also had broken pasts from broken homes and were subject to broken peoples abuse. Joe would discuss philosophy with his apostles over a shared 3 pound bottle of wine, profess physical theorems of great magnitude after quaffing a 4 litre bottle of strongbow or teach his willing followers the peculiarities of the square root of -1, his disciples of which would of course followed avidly. That, and the free flowing booze that Joe was never short of. Even when his dedicated apostles robbed his person whenever he passed out from a particularly roaring lecture, he would feign ignorance and traipse back to the post office. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
His mobile phone, along with all other material possessions were long gone, in tandem with his grip on reality. In his rare moments of sobriety, as the film of inebriation withdrew from his eyes, he could laugh to himself bitterly or even cry. Groping for the empty bottle like a child gropes for its toy.
His hair grew wild, his right arm grew even more mangled, feeling mostly gone and now used more as a pillow than anything else. His once imposing height rounded as he began to slump, his back becoming more like that of an old mans.
Night after night he spent on the street, and slowly he was forgotten. His brother of course inquired after Joe, but which country was he in, who could he ask? Likewise with Julia, they finally resigned themselves to the fact he couldn’t do anything that dramatic surely. In reality, it is even possible they had unknowingly walked past Joe slumped in a doorway, maybe even having placed money in the ever present cup by his side.
Joe not only faced the elements whilst on the street, he had to deal with the petty theft of his fellow homeless. He had to deal with the injustice of the Police, shoving him from one doorway to another. On numerous occasions he ended up behind bars for being drunk and disorderly, but under a name that was not his own. Still, what could society do but eventually kick the man back out onto the street, black bin bag of meagre possessions in hand.
One time some social worker took pity on Joe and attempted to bring him back to a semblance of normality. Joe was not interested in these distractions and soon returned to the streets, a sucker for punishment.
It had been 4 years that Joe had been on the streets and one could tell. There was no longer any healthy colour to his face, his hair and beard was matted and greasy, and a yellowish colour had taken to his eyes.
It was January and one of the coldest months England had seen on record. Snow coated the ground like icing on a cake. The homeless population had no choice but to retreat to the old abandoned tunnels beneath London, usually avoided due to the darkness and the rats. Joe was amongst the crowd as they had retreated beneath the streets deep into the bowels of old London. With him was his usual acquaintance, Todd. Todd and Joe drank often together beneath the bridges of London, and Todd, having found Joe a ready source of cash, became a parasite disguised as a friend. Joe may or may not have realised this fact, yet he cared little.
Within their stained clothes both Todd and Joe had a few bottles of cheap whiskey which had been stolen from the back of a lorry at the local market. With their goods hidden, and ready for their retreat underground, they went further down the tunnels to escape the eyes of their fellow down and outs. What was held under their clothes was essentially gold to their fellows and so they were sure to be robbed if found out, especially deep under London away from the law. Todd and Joe found an abandoned narrow tunnel to settle down in. A few days went by and finally Todd left to seek entertainment elsewhere, since he had finished his own rations. Joe, unaware that his companion had left, continued to mumble into the darkness, his thoughts blurry and elsewhere.
A day later Todd returned, but not alone. Besides him stood two other acquaintances he had spent time with him within her majesty''s prison Wormwood Scrubs. “There he is lads, I’m certain he has a few bottles hidden on his person, some cash too” Todd oozed rubbing his hands like Fagin. Joe was a little more aware on this day, and considering it would be difficult to find more booze deep underground he wasn’t happy to let his own rations go without at least a semblance of resistance. Alas, reality is cruel, and he stood no chance against the three men, especially after taking a shiv to his gut. “What the hell guy, you don’t kill the golden goose you fool!” Todd roared noticing his fellows actions.
He stood back and thought about the situation for a moment. “Looks like he’s had it lads, it would be best if we hid his body, don’t fancy spending more time behind the door do ya?” he looked at his henchman meaningfully. Lance, the smaller of the henchmen, was more familiar with this underground area and mentioned he knew a place, ‘proper hidden away like’.
After relieving Joe, who had passed out on the floor, of his few possessions; a half bottle of whiskey and 40 pounds in notes stuffed in his shoe, the trio pulled his body down a series of tunnels under Lance''s direction. Deeper and deeper they seemed to go. “Bloody hell Lance, we ain’t taking him to Narnia to know!” Todd complained.
“It’s just down this tunnel here, there’s a wide pit in that open during that quake a few years back. Throw him down there and it is guaranteed they ain’t finding him until he’s rat shit” he said, smiling a toothless grin. And like that, Joe, once on a scholarship at Oxford, a rising star, was unceremoniously cast into the bottomless pit, the only witnesses already arguing over his final material possessions, forgotten.