Ben
By J.A. Hallam
The only trouble with having no responsibility, nothing that you have to force yourself to do, and nothing that actually has to be done, and done by you specifically, is that you have no purpose. There is nothing that is keeping you in the same place, but there is also nothing that’s pushing you forwards.
Oliver was beginning to realise this, slumped against the entrance to Waterloo Station, with nothing left to do. It’s not as if he had done everything there was to do with his unlimited wealth; he had no options left. No money to speak of, or any place to call home. He was lost and alone. Almost.
He still had Ben.
*
In the ground floor apartment of a Hackney estate, Oliver slouched down at the kitchen counter, absent-mindedly guiding the spoon through the pale lagoon of his milky cereal. He’d already been up for a few hours, being woken by the wet nose of his beagle, begging for a walk. By the time they had walked a few miles, Ben was so worn out that all he could do was lie, grinning giddily, at Oliver’s feet, but not quite asleep. The dog’s blithe eyes shone open, watching the bedroom door.
It opened.
“Morning,” said Oliver, looking up from his lukewarm attempt at breakfast.
“Good Morning! Lovely day isn't it?” said John, striding across to the fridge in his polka-dot boxers and David Bowie fan-shirt, in search of sustenance. He clicked on the portable camping radio that sat atop the fridge, it tuning into the presenter introducing Honne's Warm On A Cold Night.
“You could say that...” said Oliver.
“What was that?”
“...Don't worry-”
“So what you up to today?”
“Um... take Ben for a walk... Probably try and-”
“-Try and get a job? Great idea! I'm glad you brought it up!” John exclaimed, throwing his hands to the air in exaggerated enthusiasm. Oliver new that he was now a whole four weeks late with his end of the rent, and that this wasn’t the first time his roommate had let him off for so long. John strode across the apartment and unhooked Oliver's jacket from the coat rack. Turning round, his cheery smile disappeared, his voice now gruff and serious, “And if you don't find a way to pay your share of the rent – today - don't make your way back. No rent equals no place here.”
“Oh come on, John, you know I'm trying-”
“Then try harder, Oli!” He launched the coat at Oliver. It missed him, floating down upon Ben's furry body. “Go! Get a bloody job!”
*
“No.”
A single bead of sweat dropped from his brow to the laminated surface of the desk. “What do you mean 'No'?”
“I mean 'No, you can't have a job,'” she said, sitting behind the desk, avoiding his gaze by staring into the computer screen. “There are no jobs that require your... skill set.”
“There must be something-”
“You're not qualified to do anything. No company would even accept you for manual labour on account of your body being such a wreck. You'd cost more than every other worker, just for the workplace injury insurance – do you even realise how much that costs? For everyone around you? You have no computer skills. No communication skills worth noting -” She looked up, now looking him directly in the eye. “-There is simply no place left for you in the workplace.”
“...So what do I do?” his voice croaked, taken aback by her sudden bluntness.
“Do what you have done up to now. Keep claiming as much benefit as you can, and just hope for the best.” An attempt at a comforting smile crossed her lips for a moment, then snapped back into position. “Now, you'd better go home. Get on the ol' laptop and get working to call in some favours from the very top. I wish you the best of luck but you can't do that here.”
With tears blurring his vision, Oliver thanked her for trying, then slowly stood and limped his way out of the Job Centre’s automatic doors. Ben was soon bouncing along at his heels, no longer tied to a bollard by the doors.
*
“No.”
“Oh, come on Reggie… You know I wouldn’t come to you if-”
“If you weren’t desperate? You’re always desperate!” Reggie barked from under the hood of his black taxi, “You come here every time you hit a bump in the road, any little thing that doesn’t quite go to plan.”
“You know that if I had anyone else… You’re my only friend left…They’re all gone now-”
“Skip the sob story, Oli. I know how it ends. I was there. I put you up, remember? I doubt you do, that’s why you’re still asking me for favours now.”
“Reggie… Please… I only need a couple scores for rent… You’ll get it back… I pr-”
“Don’t.” A chill of ice ran down Oliver’s back. This voice, that cut through his words like a knife through water, didn’t come from the hood. But he didn’t need to turn around to know whose cold, vicious voice it was. It sent the gentle curve in his spine rigid. “Don’t you dare. You have no right to even set foot in here, let alone come back with your false promises. Don’t. Just don’t.”
“I’m sor-”
“I don’t give a f*** about your Sorry’s. Just get out.”
*
“So what you’re telling me is… You don’t have the money?” A vein was pulsing across John’s rouged temple.
“Yet. I will get you the money, I just need-”
“I’m done caring about what you need!” he bellowed, “this is the last bloody straw!”
“John, please-”
“Get your s***, and that bliming dog, and get out!”
*
I don’t know why he’s still here, thought Oliver, I have no food to offer him. No safety. No home. But he stays anyway.
They strolled down Oxford Street. The last time Oliver had seen someone, he asked the time:
“2:30 mate, you should head home.”
But he didn’t know how long it had been since then. He just kept walking, Ben at his heel. Ben, with his scruffy, blonde fur. Ben, with his steadily greying muzzle. Ben, with his little tail that never stops wagging. His dark eyes look up at Oliver, the happy glint of a streetlight shining from them.
“Why do you stay, when all others leave me behind or push me out? I’m only dragging you down with me. You could be happy. You could be free.”
BARK! Was all he had to say, his shiny tongue lolling out of his almost grinning mouth. Oliver crouched down, wrapping his arms about the little mutt. Loyal to the very end.
Oliver was beginning to realise this, slumped against the entrance to Waterloo Station, with nothing left to do. It’s not as if he had done everything there was to do with his unlimited wealth; he had no options left. No money to speak of, or any place to call home. He was lost and alone. Almost.
He still had Ben.
*
In the ground floor apartment of a Hackney estate, Oliver slouched down at the kitchen counter, absent-mindedly guiding the spoon through the pale lagoon of his milky cereal. He’d already been up for a few hours, being woken by the wet nose of his beagle, begging for a walk. By the time they had walked a few miles, Ben was so worn out that all he could do was lie, grinning giddily, at Oliver’s feet, but not quite asleep. The dog’s blithe eyes shone open, watching the bedroom door.
It opened.
“Morning,” said Oliver, looking up from his lukewarm attempt at breakfast.
“Good Morning! Lovely day isn't it?” said John, striding across to the fridge in his polka-dot boxers and David Bowie fan-shirt, in search of sustenance. He clicked on the portable camping radio that sat atop the fridge, it tuning into the presenter introducing Honne's Warm On A Cold Night.
“You could say that...” said Oliver.
“What was that?”
“...Don't worry-”
“So what you up to today?”
“Um... take Ben for a walk... Probably try and-”
“-Try and get a job? Great idea! I'm glad you brought it up!” John exclaimed, throwing his hands to the air in exaggerated enthusiasm. Oliver new that he was now a whole four weeks late with his end of the rent, and that this wasn’t the first time his roommate had let him off for so long. John strode across the apartment and unhooked Oliver's jacket from the coat rack. Turning round, his cheery smile disappeared, his voice now gruff and serious, “And if you don't find a way to pay your share of the rent – today - don't make your way back. No rent equals no place here.”
“Oh come on, John, you know I'm trying-”
“Then try harder, Oli!” He launched the coat at Oliver. It missed him, floating down upon Ben's furry body. “Go! Get a bloody job!”
*
“No.”
A single bead of sweat dropped from his brow to the laminated surface of the desk. “What do you mean 'No'?”
“I mean 'No, you can't have a job,'” she said, sitting behind the desk, avoiding his gaze by staring into the computer screen. “There are no jobs that require your... skill set.”
“There must be something-”
“You're not qualified to do anything. No company would even accept you for manual labour on account of your body being such a wreck. You'd cost more than every other worker, just for the workplace injury insurance – do you even realise how much that costs? For everyone around you? You have no computer skills. No communication skills worth noting -” She looked up, now looking him directly in the eye. “-There is simply no place left for you in the workplace.”
“...So what do I do?” his voice croaked, taken aback by her sudden bluntness.
“Do what you have done up to now. Keep claiming as much benefit as you can, and just hope for the best.” An attempt at a comforting smile crossed her lips for a moment, then snapped back into position. “Now, you'd better go home. Get on the ol' laptop and get working to call in some favours from the very top. I wish you the best of luck but you can't do that here.”
With tears blurring his vision, Oliver thanked her for trying, then slowly stood and limped his way out of the Job Centre’s automatic doors. Ben was soon bouncing along at his heels, no longer tied to a bollard by the doors.
*
“No.”
“Oh, come on Reggie… You know I wouldn’t come to you if-”
“If you weren’t desperate? You’re always desperate!” Reggie barked from under the hood of his black taxi, “You come here every time you hit a bump in the road, any little thing that doesn’t quite go to plan.”
“You know that if I had anyone else… You’re my only friend left…They’re all gone now-”
“Skip the sob story, Oli. I know how it ends. I was there. I put you up, remember? I doubt you do, that’s why you’re still asking me for favours now.”
“Reggie… Please… I only need a couple scores for rent… You’ll get it back… I pr-”
“Don’t.” A chill of ice ran down Oliver’s back. This voice, that cut through his words like a knife through water, didn’t come from the hood. But he didn’t need to turn around to know whose cold, vicious voice it was. It sent the gentle curve in his spine rigid. “Don’t you dare. You have no right to even set foot in here, let alone come back with your false promises. Don’t. Just don’t.”
“I’m sor-”
“I don’t give a f*** about your Sorry’s. Just get out.”
*
“So what you’re telling me is… You don’t have the money?” A vein was pulsing across John’s rouged temple.
“Yet. I will get you the money, I just need-”
“I’m done caring about what you need!” he bellowed, “this is the last bloody straw!”
“John, please-”
“Get your s***, and that bliming dog, and get out!”
*
I don’t know why he’s still here, thought Oliver, I have no food to offer him. No safety. No home. But he stays anyway.
They strolled down Oxford Street. The last time Oliver had seen someone, he asked the time:
“2:30 mate, you should head home.”
But he didn’t know how long it had been since then. He just kept walking, Ben at his heel. Ben, with his scruffy, blonde fur. Ben, with his steadily greying muzzle. Ben, with his little tail that never stops wagging. His dark eyes look up at Oliver, the happy glint of a streetlight shining from them.
“Why do you stay, when all others leave me behind or push me out? I’m only dragging you down with me. You could be happy. You could be free.”
BARK! Was all he had to say, his shiny tongue lolling out of his almost grinning mouth. Oliver crouched down, wrapping his arms about the little mutt. Loyal to the very end.
