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.
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Waking up with Strangers
Daniel Gloag
It is the spring of 1999. Four young adults – two male, two female – find themselves sharing a dilapidated but beautiful terrace in the inner-Sydney suburb of Newtown. With the millennium approaching, each in their own way wants to create a new world – though it is hard enough to stay sane and sober in this one.
Waking up with Strangers is the first novel by Sydney-born author Daniel Gloag. This impressive debut led Cameron Woodhead to speculate in The Age that 'the author has a huge gift', while Australia's greatest writer of urban bohemia, Helen Garner, describes this book as 'a bracing read. Warmly alive to the world, it rackets along with fresh, endearing energy.'
Read an extract
Read the reviews
£5.00
ISBN: 0-9757380-0-3
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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.
