Return of the Sun - 5. Chapter 5

The next two weeks seemed to drag by, those first days back home where Scott was still trying to find his footing. His grandmother had been overjoyed that he was making friends; she seemed especially pleased to meet Serena who had picked him up the next night to drive him into Eastbourne to join them at Bar Copa on the end of the pier.

Scott was starting to relax; he enjoyed spending time with Serena, who had developed rather quickly into a stereotypical fag-hag. Or more aptly he had become her fag-bangle, that gay fashion accessory all the popular girls wanted to have with them. A status symbol signifying that she was cool.

Scott grinned and bore it well; he usually just stuck his hands in his pockets and hung back a little bit as she bounced through introducing him as her "Obligatory gay friend" feeling painfully self conscious and wishing he were anywhere else at the time. It was after one such morning of being dragged unwillingly around the Arndale mall in Eastbourne, that he had blessedly been saved by his appointment with English bureaucracy.

Serena had made him promise to meet her at the train station café when he was done, before she had swept off to check out the latest fashions at Debbenham's department store; apparently Fleur worked there during the day down on the home accessories floor.

Scott had ambled across the road, heading headlong into the most tangled example of government red tape he had ever been exposed to. He was armed though; he had a shiny new British passport in his pocket as well as all his other papers, he was ready to actually start getting up on his own two feet again. Though the blow to his ego would have to be tended after he had received his first welfare check.

Only in England it wasn't called that, they had found a politically-correct term called 'Job Seekers Allowance' which supposedly was to make it a proactive social contract. Welfare was seen by many as subsisting off of the backs of others, while 'Job Seekers' conjured an image of sharp young men in business suits moving from job interview to job interview ready to rejoin society in a productive role.

It was essentially exactly that; an allotment of money that he would use to feed himself and ensure he could travel to and from interviews. There was even a budget for him to buy a new suit. Rent, however, was something else entirely; apparently he would have to go and wait in another line to get that.

As was typical of bureaucracy the world over, Scott's first exposure to the job centre was of a long line-up as desperate people of varying ages waited in order to plead their case to overworked, underpaid, apathetic caseworkers who were coldly uncaring to the plights of the people who came before them with outstretched hands. It reminded Scott of summary justice, where in medieval times a King would sit on a throne as people came before him to beg for leniency on crimes, or to beg for a scrap of food, and depending on the King's mood, a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down would decide their fate, before they were swept off and another would step forward.

Scott had been lucky enough to grab a chair as he waited for his number to be called, and he sat fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket and staring listlessly at the floor as he did so. He didn't want to be there, his pride was taking the kind of world-class beating that came from going five rounds with Ali. He was reduced to begging for a handout; it was stupid but he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't exactly go on staying at his gran's house in Hailsham. Scott needed to feel like he was moving forward with his life, doing anything rather than just wasting away doing nothing at all.

"Seat taken?" the heavyset young man asked as he flopped down beside Scott. Scott looked up past the leather pants, the thick black trenchcoat and the pale white face...and make up?

Scott started in shock, "Travis?"

He looked at Scott in puzzlement, wondering who the young guy with the accent was who knew his name and actually used it. "Yeah?" he responded setting a leather-bound book across his lap.

Scott was surprised; again the world was proving it was really a small place. He looked at Travis for a moment; the Goth get-up, the faint hint of his original hair colouring poking out from under the bad black dye job. There was no mistaking Travis Woodard; he simply hadn't changed, only grown taller.

"Hi!" Scott said enthusiastically as he stuck out his hand.

Travis took the hand, a faint glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he did so, "Scotty?" he inquired cautiously, "Wow, that is you!"

And just like that Scott was reacquainted with his best friend from school. A guy who Scott had shared his lunch with in the lunchroom. The same guy who Scott had goofed off with in class when they were both supposed to be paying attention. It was amazing, and despite the fact that they were in a place shrouded in a stigma of gloomy depression, they talked about the good old days. Scott filled Travis in on his life, and what had happened to the scrawny little striker who had one day simply not shown up for class again.

Travis in turn told Scott about the slightly podgy kid who had grown up into a full-fledged Goth.

Once Scott had completed his begging, and he had completed the endless mountain of paperwork that would allow him to start claiming Job Seekers and actually move out of his Gran's house and into his own place, he walked with Travis back to the train station.

Serena had been overjoyed to meet Travis again; true, 'overjoyed' may have been an optimistic overstatement on Scott's part. She seemed mildly intrigued to meet the longhaired gothic man. She was sitting at her own table with what vaguely resembled a cup of coffee in her hands. In fact when Scott looked at it closely it was a real cup.

He gave her one of his patented stupid grins before he darted over to the counter to order one... returning to the table holding the liquid gold that he had been craving for over two solid weeks. Real coffee, not instant, real... fresh, with cream, a little sugar... but it was definitely real coffee.

"Did you get it?" Serena asked as Scott sat down again. She was surrounded by shopping bags suspiciously filled with clothes. No doubt making use of Fleur's store discount at Debenhams.

Scott nodded, "Yeah, rather painless once I showed them I was really English. Though one girl wanted me to sit a HRT."

"HRT?" Travis asked. He had just returned to the table with a cup of tea, the teabag sitting in tepid water which for some strange reason he found appetizing.

"Habitual Residency Test," Scott replied. "I answer a bunch of questions about England in an effort to prove I live here." He grinned, "Piece'o'cake."

"Alright, Einstein," Serena said, "Name three English political parties."

Scott looked at her blankly, "Did I forget to mention how lovely your eyes are today?"

Travis chuckled, and Serena blushed before shaking her head to refocus, "That was a bloody good try Scott, but charming me isn't going to work."

"Worked on the girl in the Job Center," Scott replied candidly, stirring his coffee and savouring the first mouthful. "Impressed her so much she just filled all the answers in for me."

Serena gave him a scandalized look, "You chatted up the woman at the Job Centre?"

Scott turned his head, not meeting her gaze;"Look, a bird," he pointed out of the window.

"Nice one!" Travis grinned slapping him on the shoulder. "That never works for me."

"Great, I'm helping you to take advantage of vulnerable women," Serena finally grinned at him, "so maybe you're not as gay as you thought..." she caught herself a moment too late as she flushed red at the fact she had just let slip.

Travis choked on his tea, "No, not you..." he said looking at Scott suspiciously.

"Well I was hoping to avoid taking the full page ad out in the Daily Telegraph." Scott murmured darkly, "but I see the town crier got to it first... thanks for that."

"I'm so sorry..." Serena said covering her mouth, still in shock over how careless she had been.

"Meh," Scott replied shrugging his shoulders, "it's not like I'm trying to hide anything... just watch yourself around my family." He gave her a meaningful look, "I'd rather my gran not find out from someone else."

Serena dropped them off close to Travis's flat in the Town Farm area of Hailsham. The housing estate was considered one of the unsavoury neighbourhoods of the small town. It was a place where the lowest classes lived in homes, or apartments, and to Scott's middle-class English family, a place that was beneath contempt. In fact he had been warned several times to stay out of Town Farm. Scott had spent the last eight years in Brooklyn; Town Farm was an idyllic suburb compared to that, so he resolutely ignored those warnings. Plus he never could wrap his mind around social discrimination; to him it was just as bad as discrimination against someone who was black, Jewish, or gay...

The apartment building, or block of flats as Travis kept referring to it, was sitting in the middle of various different track housing, a squat three-story building with a decided nineteen-eighties feel to the architecture. The local diocese of the Anglican Church, as a way to provide housing to the younger generation, ran St. Georges. It was watched over by a retired nun. Apparently she considered it more like a dormitory rather than an apartment building.

It reminded Scott of a university dorm. The flats were small bachelors with a kitchen and a bathroom and little else. More like shoeboxes than dwellings. And Travis's was remarkably spartan having only a large double bed and a pile of clothes in his. Scott could tell it wasn't really lived in. Travis was one of those people who perpetually spent his time at other people's houses. But for the moment, as Scott sipped a cup of cheap tea that tasted more like hot water than anything else, he really didn't care.

Scott had cleared a space for himself from the crumpled magazines and books, and had his back to the gaudy canary-yellow wall as he looked over at his old friend. It was the realization that he wasn't the only one who had fallen down on his luck that made him feel better about his journey home. He wasn't crazy; he was just searching for something he simply hadn't found yet.

"So what do you do with yourself now?" Scott asked as he gingerly set the cup down on a well-read copy of Maxim magazine.

"Nothing really," Travis admitted, "I spend most of my time with Mia."

"Mia?" Scott asked, tasting the unfamiliar name as he said it, "She your girlfriend?"

"Her real name is Kerry," Travis replied, as he shifted on the end of his unmade bed. "We've been seeing each other for a while now."

Scott smiled at this, "Great, what's she like?"

Bad question; Scott was one of those people who asked questions that invariably forced him to learn too much information. So, in asking Travis what his girlfriend was like, well, he wasn't fully prepared to learn that Kerry was in her early forties, married with two children. And that she and Travis had been having an affair ever since they had met at a pub two years before. Scott was stunned into silence, sitting there, wondering what on earth possessed Travis to date a woman that old; he was the same age as Scott, nineteen, literally half her age. Not to mention the fact that she was a married woman.

Scott decided not to say anything, who was he to judge Travis? Scott hadn't really been in a relationship before. No real time for it, and Brian was nothing more than a few clumsy casual encounters that resulted in a prolonged one-night stand. Not that he minded, it was all he had been looking for at the time. But to actually be in an affair, and an affair with a woman that old, she had to be a unique woman that was for sure.

And as afternoon wore on to become evening and darkness began to set in, Scott realized he would have to head home soon. Meadow Road was a good hike away from Town Farm, and he knew that Gran would be waiting with his dinner in the oven. He said a warm goodbye to Travis, and made arrangements to get together and spend a good evening down the pub.

Without much fanfare, Scott set out into Town Farm heading for home. It wouldn't take him that long, a short walk till he found George Street and from there out onto South Road. He gave himself about twenty minutes and he would be home.

It was getting dark, the blue sky deepening towards twilight, a warm breeze in the air, and the various houses around him were lit up with the flickering televisions watching their prime time, or what should have passed for prime time, programs. It wasn't particularly late, in fact it was still relatively early to Scott, but then he was still slightly jet-lagged and adjusting to English time would take him awhile.

It was quiet though, the orange streetlights that were the same the world over, lit everything around him in a surreal orange glow, and he shivered involuntarily as he thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and began to hurry. He was just letting all those worried comments about Town Farm get to him, he'd just make it up past the market and he'd be fine.

The footsteps behind him made him tense up a bit as he glanced behind him at the pair of young men walking behind him. If there was a typical type he had been warned about, it was the ones that dressed like soccer hooligans. Shaven heads, one was even wearing a Liverpool jersey. And the way they nudged each other and nodded to him, Scott knew this wasn't going to be a friendly encounter.

"Oi Mate," one called out, obviously directed to him, "got a fag?"

He tensed, feeling for sure he was in trouble. He turned, "What?"

"Got a fag...you know," the guy put two fingers to his lips and tapped them a couple of times... A cigarette, that's what they wanted. He almost collapsed in relief.

"No, I don't smoke," he said apologetically, turning to keep walking, they were almost up with him.

"Hey, slow down," the other one called out, the tone of his voice, and Scott knew immediately he was in trouble again, "You a fucking Yank?"

Scott braced his shoulders; he was easily dwarfed by these two broad-shouldered guys and if he ran where would he run to? He didn't know the area, one wrong turn and he would be in a dead end street. Short of booking it up the middle of the road screaming like a little girl, he was fresh out of ideas.

He wasn't a little girl... He turned and took off like a jackrabbit, bounding off of the curb and sprinting up the street for all he was worth, the two larger louts in hot pursuit.

He dodged and weaved around a car and propelled himself up onto a wall and used it to jump a hedgerow before he kept going, the two louts crashing and cursing through the bushes behind him.

He kept long strides, years of running on a pitch kept him in reasonably good shape, unlike two guys who spent the majority of their time on a couch with a six-pack. But he couldn't keep the pace up for long, he didn't know where he was running to, and he rounded a corner to pull up short.

The three apartment buildings closed the street off neatly, a dead end, and as he turned the two hooligans jogged around the corner to block his only way out. He was screwed, and from the looks on their faces, he was not going to escape this one by talking. He backed up slowly into the middle of the street, looking about vainly for anyone to see him. It was still early, there had to be someone about in the housing estate.

"Guys," he said holding up his hands and continuing to back up, "I'm not an American, I'm from Hailsham, I live here... I went to Grove..."

"You sound like a Yank, you look like a Yank." The one in the jersey stated balling his hands into fists, "This isn't your country..."

"Look, I don't have any money on me, I was just trying to go home," he knew he was trying to reason with two people who weren't about to listen to him. It was a futile gesture, but he had to try, it was either that or let them kick his head in.

The shrill whistle stopped them short in the dim light at the opening of the street; a uniformed man blew his whistle again, "Alright then, what's going on here?"

The two louts glared at him and turned to face the police officer, only the gleaming emblem on his bobby's helmet shone in the orange light, the rest of him was dark. He had his hands on his hips and looked dangerously threatening.

"Nothing, constable," the one in the jersey reassured. "Just out for a walk, that's all."

"A walk home I take it, Sam, how about you, Robert?" His head turned to the other lout, who appeared to shrink away from the police officer.

"Just going home, constable..."

The officer stood aside to let them past, still looking menacingly towards them until the rounded the corner out of sight. As he turned back to Scott, he removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm, "What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?" Luke asked, stepping forward so that the light lit up his face.

Scott breathed his second sigh of relief for the evening, "I was just heading home..."

"Are you dense?" Luke accused. "You can't walk around Town Farm alone at night, you're asking for trouble like that."

Scott shrugged, "It's no big deal, I..."

"Could have been beaten within an inch of your life," Luke replied, obviously angry. He rubbed his brow as if to relieve some of the tension there and he picked up his mic, "Dispatch this is PC Allston, I have a bloody prat here who thought it was a good idea to take his evening constitutional through Town Farm. I'm going to see that he gets home with his head still attached. Over."

"Roger, Luke," the radio crackled back at him, "tell the idiot he owes you a drink when you get off duty, over."

Luke half-smiled, it was the closest Scott had seen him smile yet, "Roger that." And he clicked the mic off, setting his helmet back onto his head he looked at Scott, "You just going to stand there like a melon or are you coming?"

Scott raised an eyebrow amused by Luke's cracks about his mental capacity, "Yeah I'm coming, lead the way, Constable."