[Tottenham, London - January 2010]
“Sorry, mate. I don’t mean t’offend you, but I’m homeless, tryin’ to get fifteen pounds together by--oh, ‘ey, I almost din’t recognise you, there. In’t half dark, is it?” Ifran shifted in discomfort and showed his teeth, his eyes joyless. “S’been a while, han’t it?”
“I thought the same,” Derren stood quickly, metal chair legs scraping the concrete. “I thought, you must have--”
Ifran shook his head, flapping a hand to dismiss the notion. “Aye, nah. Our Henry, though. Still han’t seen him.”
“Since November?”
“No sign. An’ he’s not the only one. I tell you,” Ifran grimaced toward the white paper cup in his hands, the dirt beneath his nails black against it. “I’ve been sayin’ it, han’t I. You’re lucky t’see any’ve ‘em.”
“Christ.” There wasn’t much money in the cup; a couple of fifty pence coins, some pennies. Derren knew there wasn’t much in his wallet either, but took it out anyway. He had thought the man dead, after all. “Are they even bothering to hide it anymore?”
“Hardly,” Ifran wheezed, his lips pulling back to reveal a missing canine tooth. “Tell you what I thought, is it makes you wonder, dun’t it, why the news han’t been on about it. Everyone else has been, eh?” He tipped his head back, pushing his tongue into his cheek.
Derren paused, his fingertips brushing against a five pound note. “That’s right,” he said, asking himself why he hadn’t thought about that sooner. “You’re right.”
“They go on about the same thing in the wars, don’t they? All those terrible things happenin’, what apparently everyone knew about, but it were never in the papers. ‘Cause they never let ‘em write about it.”
Screwing up the note in his palm, Derren put his wallet back inside his jacket, nodding slowly. “...I never noticed.”
A moment passed in which he was still and neither one of them spoke, Ifran eyeing the paper sticking out from between Derren’s fingers. “I want to say don’t worry yourself, but...” his voice scraped and trailed off. “I might be a bit selfish for that.”
“No,” Derren snapped out of the trance and shook his head, unfolded the note, dropped it into Ifran’s cup. Deliberately made eye contact with him. It made him uneasy to see such human emotion in the face of someone he’d rather disregard. There was no need to involve himself, it was a problem that he could easily remain unaffected by -- more easily than not. “No, no one would call it selfish... that’s ridiculous.”
Suddenly, Ifran looked uncomfortable too. Seemingly lost for something to say, he smiled and thanked Derren, tipping the cup towards him. “How’re you, anyway? Gettin’ on alright?”
It was surprisingly hard to stomach. Looking so deeply into him was a foolish mistake. “If I could, I’d offer you somewhere to stay,” he lied, knowing it wouldn’t kill him to have Ifran sleep on his couch for a while. “Just look out for yourself, alright?”
“Don’t be stupid, I cun’t let you,” Ifran held up a hand like he was physically turning an offer away. “I’ll be alright, don’t you worry. Got this far, din’t I? Watch out for yourself, I’ll see y’again.”
