Charity Work

Daniel Gloag

It was possible for it to be clear and sunny even, but it was still cold enough on the street that he had his coat wrapped around him, and his hood over his head like he was Darth Vader. He was marching down Vauxhall Road, with what seemed like half of London – all of them keeping to themselves in their grey coats, but smiling a little bit in the corners of their mouths, because it was a nice day, and they were on their lunch breaks.

Then he saw her – or rather, she saw him. It was difficult to decide. It was hard not to look at her, decked out in a red wind-jacket like a killer tomato on the pavement. There must have been something about Cameron too. She singled him out as her target and refused to break eye contact. He looked sheepishly away, but she began calling to him, and he drifted like a slow ball up to her.

She immediately went into her spiel, introducing herself as Jessie, and asking his name in return. It was Cameron. She waved her clipboard eagerly, explaining how she needed money for sufferers of multiple sclerosis. She worked for a company – she pointed to her card – called Hands-Up, that recruited donations for different charities. She had short blonde hair that hung around her small face, wind-kissed skin, angular features, and blue eyes. The accent suggested Canadian. Cameron was a head taller and looked down at her. He stared blankly, as if her words were not registering.

‘… and the thing is, you haven’t even considered how lucky you are to be walking around,’ she was saying. ‘Imagine that you can’t send signals to or from your hands and feet, or if you do it causes immense pain. There are people who are suffering daily from MS, and have not yet even been diagnosed. Imagine slowly losing the power of speech. Muscle spasms…’

Cameron suddenly entered the conversation. ‘Yeah but the thing is,’ he said, ‘that’s their problem, not mine. I wouldn’t give up if was born without a nervous system. Each of us is struggling to push our way up the hill. You know, survival of the fittest and all that. Best not to give people too much of a hand out, because they just get used to it.’

‘That’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard on this job,’ she said, blinking up at him with blue eyes. ‘If no-one looked out for you when you were a child, how would you have grown up? How would society function if people didn’t show a little compassion, a little sympathy to their fellow man?’

‘Well that’s the thing isn’t it? They don’t show compassion, society doesn’t function. People are assholes. That’s what it’s all about.’

He was smirking, still standing there, so she pushed on: ‘Think of it this way. How much money do you make an hour?’

‘At the moment I make about eight pounds an hour. Maybe 14,000 pounds a year before tax. Take out the cost of living round here and that’s peanuts.’

‘Well how much do you think we’re asking from you. Let me hear you guess.’

‘Ten pounds a week.’

‘You can donate as little as five pounds a month. Put it this way, how many pints do you drink a week?’

‘Well think of it this way. You’re getting paid to recruit me. I would love to help someone who needs it, but I consider that you’re getting a commission out of this. Therefore I would be better to approach someone directly.’

‘Well, that’s partly true, I am getting paid, but, I would do this even if I wasn’t getting paid. I do this for love, not money. Listen, what is it you do for a job?’

‘Well I do graphic design for a soul-less corporation.’ He pointed up and behind himself, apparently to a cluster of plane trees. ‘They’re kind of in that direction.’

‘How do you live with yourself?’ she asked.

‘It’s very difficult let me tell you.’

‘Well there’s a way of making up for it. I just need you to submit a few details on the form here,’ she showed the clipboard, ‘and I guarantee you’ll feel a whole lot better.’

‘Well, that may be true. But if I gave money to everyone who asked me for it, you know, I would be bleeding broke. There are so many of you guys on the streets these days, and you always seem to pick on me. There are other people out there, making more money than I am.’

‘Sure there are. Just as there are people giving more than you’re giving. You should try it Cameron. Giving actually gives you something back. A good feeling. It helps you remember how lucky you actually are.’

‘Well why don’t you give to the MS victims?’

‘I do. I give to all the charities I work for. And not just because it makes me look good. I actually believe in this work.’

‘Yes, yes I know. Listen, I am loving having this conversation, but I really must be going. You should devote your time to someone less charitable. I already give money to Oxfam, ten pounds a month, and I also buy a lot of my clothes there, and you know they’re not really as cheap as all that. The next place I am going to make a donation to is the Amazon rainforest fund, I forget what they’re called. But as soon as I sort that out, I promise to start donating to the MS society.’

‘But why not now, why put it off? Did you know that the company I work for made a study on donating? The number of people who actually donate out of their own volition is one percent of those who donate when asked to. One percent. Can you believe that?’

‘Yes, that is plausible.’

‘So are you going to donate?’

‘Ah, no.’

They had by now travelled half a revolution from their original positions, and stood facing each other from the opposite side.

‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Because I have a pretty face?’

He smiled at this.

‘I know you have a pretty face, and to be honest that is contributing to my desire to donate money to you. But now that you’ve pointed it out, I’m thinking to myself that it’s not really a good reason to donate money.’

‘Well, here’s the card,’ she gave him a little card from her company with her name printed on it. ‘When you decide to donate some money give them a call and they’ll help you out.’

‘Listen, I am really on your side, don’t think that everything I said here is really how I feel, I was just liking talking with you. You understand don’t you?’

‘Does that mean you’re going to donate now?’ Her eyes blinked up at him.

‘No. But I hope I see you again. You work here often?’

‘The company I work for shifts us all over the country. But when I’m in London I’m quite often here.’

‘Okay, well then, great, I’ll see you.’

Cameron walked off into the dense crowds, and within seconds she was lost behind him. He looked at the ground, not really sure about how he was feeling. As was his routine he walked into the local Tesco and joined a queue for a pre-packaged sandwich. Out on the street he ate as he walked, throwing the packaging into the gutter. There weren’t bins around here – Scotland yard was too nearby. Police sometimes walked past with machine guns. He stopped a while in a small triangular park, contemplated an abstract bronze sculpture of someone he had never heard of, and then began his route back to the office.

On the way back to work he noticed that he was really starting to feel unusual. He took down his hood and felt the sun shine on his face, saw the blue sky, clouds reflected on glass buildings and leaves shimmering in the breeze. Holding his head up he could really smile at the other people walking past him. If he didn’t know better he would say that he actually felt great.

* * *

Six weeks went by, maybe seven. Mostly bad things happened. Labour was re-elected. Cameron was shuffling through a queue at Boots, keeping his head down, trying not to look suspicious as he slipped a ten-pack of AA Energizers into his jeans. He reached the counter and paid for a packet of smoker’s toothpaste.

He came out of the store and went across Brixton Road. It was a Saturday. The weather had been bad for weeks but now the sun was threatening to appear. He passed chained-up bicycles and vandalised phone boxes, heading into the gaggle of people outside the tube station.

‘Hi there! Hi! Over here!’

She was calling out to him, like an old friend, arms outstretched, clipboard in one hand, bright red jacket unzipped to the waist. Smiling, he sauntered towards her.

‘So who are you recruiting for today? Still the MS society?’

‘Not today my friend,’ she swaggered, buoyantly. ‘Barnados. Did you know that there are still children, in this country even, who are working in child labour conditions? I’ve met some of them.’

‘No,’ he said, smiling. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Well. It’s people like us that have the opportunity to lend a hand. For only a small amount a month you can help eradicate this shame.’

She spoke passionately, with her whole body.

‘Yes yes. That’s great. But I already told you. First I have to do something for the Amazon rain forest people. And then after that I have to do something for the MS sufferers. And then I’ll get to the children. But I wanted to thank you for the stuff you said to me the other week. I was really touched.’

‘Wait. You mean I’ve spoken to you before?’

‘Of course. You’re Jessie. Look, I don’t even need to check the name tag.’ He did anyway. ‘It was near Westminster. I was wearing a coat.’

‘Oh sure, yes,’ she said, visibly crestfallen. ‘Now I remember you. I was attracted to you just now for some reason, and that was sure it.’

‘That’s okay. I bet you see, what, a few dozen people a day, and you work what, every day or something? I don’t mind really. The name was Cameron.’

‘Cameron, of course. How are you going?’

‘Great. I’m actually on my way to play football in Brockwell Park. You know where that is? It’s one of the best. You want to come?’

‘I’d like to. Maybe I’ll come later. I need to meet a few more good souls first.’ She looked across the pavement at her co-worker, twenty feet away. The co-worker was a brunette. She winked back at her. People pushed past as they came in and out of the underground.

‘Well if you can’t make it to the park maybe you could come round to our place tonight. We’re having a party.’

‘You live in Brixton?’

‘Yeah, sure. I live really close.’ He pointed up and sort of behind him to the west.

The atmosphere between them had changed with this invitation. She was actually too good to be invited anywhere. Cameron winced.

‘Well it is Saturday night,’ she said. ‘And I don’t have to work tomorrow. I feel like a good drink.’

‘Well, here’s my number anyway,’ Cameron said, scribbling it out on her clipboard. Promise me you’ll call, even if you don’t come.’

‘Sure.’

‘You serious?’

‘Sure.’

He walked off, feeling very strange. He swivelled on his heels however and called back: ‘And children should be turned into sausages.’

After he’d walked a little bit further towards the park he began to feel really good. The sky was clear, in time for the soccer match.

* * *

It was almost ten pm and the alcohol was starting to take effect. Cameron was in his room, by the window looking over the street. The globes in the house had been replaced with coloured ones to give the place a different vibe. There weren’t a lot of people there. A Jamaican with long dreads was laughing in the doorway, and his flatmate was standing at the turntables. The insatiable slow beat of a Richie Hawtin track permeated the party.

The ring of his phone was amplified through a loud speaker. He hurried to answer it.

‘Jessie!’ he said loudly. ‘I didn’t think you’d call… Yeah I can’t hear you very well either. Do you think you’ll come? Great. Let me meet you there. No, okay. Here’s the address.’ He gave her the address. ‘I’ll be out the front.’

He waited by the front door for five minutes until he saw the pair coming up the road. Jessie was with the brunette she’d been working with. They were a little bit drunk, having spent most of the evening in a pub. They had stayed in Brixton after work. They had changed out of the red jackets but something of the job still remained in their eyes.

‘I hope you aren’t expecting a riotous party,’ said Cameron. ‘It’s quite low key.’

‘That’s okay. We want to get the last tube, so we won’t be able to stay too long.’ Jessie gave Cameron a friendly punch to the shoulder. ‘And this is Sandra by the way,’ she said, introducing her friend. ‘Sandra this is Cameron.’

They started up a set of white stairs, towards the party. On the way Cameron introduced them to different people whom he knew.

‘We were drinking in the Dogstar, but it smelt of vomit so we left,’ Jessie said. As she looked around she complimented the hosts on having such a nice apartment. The girls were young, and they brought fresh spirit to the gathering. Quickly they were offered a beer each from the fridge. The girls let themselves be separated, talking in turn to the different guests. Sandra talked to someone else. Eventually Jessie wandered into the front room, which belonged to Cameron. He followed her in, and they were alone.

‘Oh is this your room?’ she said, looking at the technology. He had a large tech-drawing board on a stand, and a big clean desk with an iMac. She drifted toward the windows.

‘There’s something I have to say to you,’ said Cameron, slurring his words slightly. ‘About meeting you on the street.’

‘Yeah, what about it?’

‘Well, I’m trying to be less cynical now.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘The first time I met you, afterwards, I went back to work, and I did the best work I’ve done in weeks. Unfortunately it was all mindless corporate advertising, but there you go. Anyway, my plans are to go freelance. I’m going to do ethical design work, for only the people I want to work for. I can show you if you don’t believe me.’

‘No, that’s alright.’

‘It’s all because of you. I could still see your face for days afterwards, the first time. If I close my eyes I can see it now.’

‘Well I’m here so you don’t have to close them.’

There was a brief period of silence. Jessie wandered across the room and sat down on his bed. ‘Have you got any marijuana?’ she asked.

‘No no, you better ask someone else,’ he said. ‘Listen. I want you to do something for me.’

‘Well, what is it,’ said Jessie. She took a slug of her beer. ‘I think you have the wrong impression of me. Lots of men love me, but…’

Cameron was crawling onto the bed with her. ‘Sign me up.’

‘What, now?’

‘Yeah, now. For MS and Barnados, if you can.’

‘I can’t. I only have the Barnados forms.’

‘Okay. Whatever. I’m down with it.’

She looked at him coyly under the blue light. ‘Well, okay, but this is kind of perverted.’ She crawled off the bed and went into the corridor for the bag. She returned and sat on the bed with him. Carefully he filled in each box. Ten pounds a week. When he had finished he rolled onto his back and just lay there.

‘Listen, I really have to go,’ she said after a while.

‘Okay. But wait…’ Hurriedly he went through his wallet for all the money that was in there. It was about sixty-five pounds. He gave it to her. ‘I know you’ll do what’s best with it,’ he said. ‘I don’t need it.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her as she moved to the door.

‘And another thing. I’m getting the hell out of London. Where are you from?’

‘Nova Scotia.’

‘I’m going there. Or maybe just Bristol. Hard to say. Anyway, I’ll see you on the street.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Okay, got to run.’

* * *

Sandra and Jessie ran down the street towards the underground. Their feet skidded on the metal steps. They ran down the escalators and took a seat on the train.

‘It happened again!’ said Jessie.

‘Again?’ asked Sandra. ‘But he seemed to really like you.’

‘Well, who can tell.’

‘Anyway it happens to me sometimes too.’

The train started moving slowly along the track.

‘Here,’ said Jackie, pressing thirty pounds into her friend’s hand. ‘Take it.’

Sandra looked down at the money.

‘Fucking bastard,’ she said.

This story is taken from Total Cardboard issue 7, and remains under copyright. For more information see www.totalcardboard.com