The World According to Bob by James Bowen Read Free Book Online Page A

something came up,’ he said, apologetically. I didn’t bother asking what it was. I’d had nights like that myself, far too many of them.
    I made another cup of tea and stuck some bread in the toaster. He looked like he could do with something warm inside him.
    Bob was lying next to the radiator, with Princess curled up a couple of feet away, his eyes once more fixed on his new friend. The expression on Titch’s face was priceless. He was dumbstruck.
    ‘Look at those two, they get on like a house on fire now,’ I smiled.
    ‘I can see it, but I can’t quite believe it,’ he said, grinning widely.
    Titch wasn’t a man to miss an opportunity.
    ‘So would you mind looking after her again if I’m in the lurch?’ he asked, munching on his toast.
    ‘Why not?’ I said.
     

Chapter 5
    The Ghost on the Stairs
     
     
     
     
     
    The rain had been relentless for days, transforming the streets of London into miniature paddling pools. Bob and I were regularly returning home soaked to the skin, so today I’d given up and headed home early.
    I arrived back at the flats around mid-afternoon desperate to get out of my wet clothes and let Bob warm himself by the radiator.
    The lift in my building was erratic at the best of times. After a few minutes repeatedly pressing the button for it to come down from the fifth floor, I realised it was out of order once more.
    ‘Brilliant,’ I muttered to myself. ‘It’s the long walk up again I’m afraid Bob.’
    He looked at me forlornly.
    ‘Come on then,’ I said, dipping my shoulder down so that he could climb on board.
    We were just beginning the final couple of flights of stairs, from the fourth to the fifth floor, when I noticed a figure in the shadows on the landing above us.
    ‘Hold on here for a second, Bob,’ I said, placing him down on the steps and heading up on my own.
    Moving in closer I could see that it was a man and he was leaning against the wall. He was hunched over with his trousers partially dropped down and there was something metallic in his hand. I knew instantly what he was doing.
    In the past, the flats had been notorious as a haunt for drug users and dealers. Addicts would find their way in and use the staircase and hallways to smoke crack and marijuana or inject themselves with heroin like this guy was doing. In the years since I’d moved in, the police had improved the situation dramatically, but we’d still occasionally see young kids dealing in the stairwell on the ground floor. It was nowhere near as bad as a previous sheltered housing project I’d lived in, over in Dalston, which was over-run with crack addicts. But it was still distressing, especially for the families who lived in the flats. No one wants their children arriving home from school to find a junkie shooting up on the staircase outside their home.
    For me, of course, it was a reminder of the past I was desperate to put behind me. I continued to struggle with my addiction; I always would. That, unfortunately, was the nature of the beast. But, since teaming up with Bob, I’d made the breakthrough and was on the way to complete recovery. After weaning myself off heroin and then methadone, I’d been prescribed a drug called subutex, a milder medication that was slowly but surely reducing my drug dependency. The counsellor at my drug dependency unit had likened this final part of my recovery to landing an aeroplane: I would slowly drop back down to earth. I’d been on subutex for several months now. The landing gear was down and I could see the lights of the runway in front of me. The descent was going according to plan, I was almost back on solid ground.
    I could do without seeing this , I said to myself.
    I saw that the guy was in his mid-forties with a short, crew-cut hairstyle. He was wearing a black coat, t-shirt and jeans and a pair of scruffy trainers. Fortunately he wasn’t aggressive. In fact he was quite the opposite. He was really apologetic, which was pretty unusual.