Small town girl leaves home - Brighton
We both sat bolt upright in bed, staring at each other across the dark room. A rainbow of colourful words exploded from the strangers’ mouth as he tried to lift himself up off the dustbin on which he was perched, his silhouette clearly visible as it bobbed up and down with each heave. It would have been quite comical under different circumstances.
‘Oi! What are you doing? Get out of our house!’ My roommates’ voice cut through the dark, immediately stopping the leg that was attempting to hook onto the sill.
‘I’m shorry Jill… jush lemme in,’ slurred words spat back from a drunken mouth. His arms dropped dejectedly to his sides and the silhouetted head drooped to his chest. A few seconds of silence passed when a voice began shouting from across the road.
‘Get off that bloody bin and come home you idiot. You’re at the wrong house!’ The silhouette swung around in slow motion at the sound of the voice. A loud thunk followed by a deep inhale tumbled in through the window. With his sudden shift in weight he must have unbalanced the bin and went headfirst into the concrete path which led up to our front door. He lay groaning for a few moments before pulling himself up and staggering out onto the road where Jill waited at the open door to their house. Snorts of relieved laughter cascaded out of us.
It was quite understandable that a drunken night could end up like this when the row of identical houses sandwiched together along the road would meld into one mass. Thank goodness for Jill!
A few weeks later we awoke to a loud banging on the front door. “Oh not again?’ came a muffled voice from somewhere under the crumpled heap of blankets on the next bed. The room was lit by the gentle light from the unrisen sun, the shapes of the furniture only barely visible. When the banging continued, this time with much more force, I staggered across the lounge and wrenched open the curtain, my mouth rounded just as an annoyed ‘WHAT?’ was about to escape from it. A mass of black and white met my eyes, taking a few moments while my sleepy brain transformed the shapes into seven or eight police officers. A stunned tongue flicked the word back into my throat as I gulped, letting the curtain fall closed again and immediately going out into the small corridor to open the front door.
A stern looking Officer introduced herself quickly before shoving a blurry mug shot in my face. The hair was unkempt and erupted wildly around the young face whose beady eyes stared at me from the white page. ‘Is this man on your premises?’ Our landlady was away again and had mentioned the previous evening that a man would be coming to stay for a while. We had not met him but knew that he was asleep just metres down the corridor from where we stood. My brain tried frantically to process all this information.
‘There is a young guy here. Our landlady is away at the moment and she mentioned someone would be staying but we didn’t meet him.’ I babbled, suddenly panicked. Questions began to fly through my head at a ridiculous rate.
‘Ok go back into your room and no matter what you hear don’t come back out again until one of us come to get you.’ Barely finishing to speak she turned around to address her fellow officers. I was not hanging around to see what was about to happen. Our room was right next door to where the guy was sleeping – we would hear everything!
By now my roommate was wide awake. She had heard the conversation and sat up in bed, a bewildered look etched across her face. Within seconds we heard heavy footsteps running down the small passageway and the wooden door splinter open. Muffled shouts echoed out followed by a scuffle and then silence. It felt like an hour had passed before there was a firm knock at our bedroom door.
‘Everything is OK now ladies. It was not the man that we were looking for but please be advised that this house will be under 24 hour surveillance. Make sure you keep all your doors and windows locked.’ The same Officer who had shown me the mug shot was now handing me a small card with her name and phone number printed neatly on it in black, the Police logo emblazoned in the corner.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked, taking the card between shaky fingers.
‘The son of the lady who owns this house escaped from jail last night. We have reason to believe that he will try to come back here – he did the last time. There is no need to worry, we will have a plain clothed Officer stationed outside at all times. If you have any information or notice anything unusual please phone .’ With that she turned away, the other Officers following behind her.
Escaped convict? Last time? What was the prison system like here that there was a last time? Later that day we spoke to one of the other girls who lived in the house about it and she confirmed that he had escaped from prison before and had climbed through the small window in our room to gain access. There was no way we were hanging around waiting for an escaped convict to pay us a visit, contract or no contract. Within a couple of days we had found some young Spanish students to take over the room from us, collected our deposit from them and we were headed to Folkestone, where my cousin had recently arrived from South Africa. We had spoken to the landlady over the phone to arrange the change. She was sorry to see us go and apologised for the experience. Things had to look up from here didn’t they? How does the saying go – don’t count your chickens before they hatch?
‘Oi! What are you doing? Get out of our house!’ My roommates’ voice cut through the dark, immediately stopping the leg that was attempting to hook onto the sill.
‘I’m shorry Jill… jush lemme in,’ slurred words spat back from a drunken mouth. His arms dropped dejectedly to his sides and the silhouetted head drooped to his chest. A few seconds of silence passed when a voice began shouting from across the road.
It was quite understandable that a drunken night could end up like this when the row of identical houses sandwiched together along the road would meld into one mass. Thank goodness for Jill!
A few weeks later we awoke to a loud banging on the front door. “Oh not again?’ came a muffled voice from somewhere under the crumpled heap of blankets on the next bed. The room was lit by the gentle light from the unrisen sun, the shapes of the furniture only barely visible. When the banging continued, this time with much more force, I staggered across the lounge and wrenched open the curtain, my mouth rounded just as an annoyed ‘WHAT?’ was about to escape from it. A mass of black and white met my eyes, taking a few moments while my sleepy brain transformed the shapes into seven or eight police officers. A stunned tongue flicked the word back into my throat as I gulped, letting the curtain fall closed again and immediately going out into the small corridor to open the front door.
A stern looking Officer introduced herself quickly before shoving a blurry mug shot in my face. The hair was unkempt and erupted wildly around the young face whose beady eyes stared at me from the white page. ‘Is this man on your premises?’ Our landlady was away again and had mentioned the previous evening that a man would be coming to stay for a while. We had not met him but knew that he was asleep just metres down the corridor from where we stood. My brain tried frantically to process all this information.
‘There is a young guy here. Our landlady is away at the moment and she mentioned someone would be staying but we didn’t meet him.’ I babbled, suddenly panicked. Questions began to fly through my head at a ridiculous rate.
‘Ok go back into your room and no matter what you hear don’t come back out again until one of us come to get you.’ Barely finishing to speak she turned around to address her fellow officers. I was not hanging around to see what was about to happen. Our room was right next door to where the guy was sleeping – we would hear everything!
By now my roommate was wide awake. She had heard the conversation and sat up in bed, a bewildered look etched across her face. Within seconds we heard heavy footsteps running down the small passageway and the wooden door splinter open. Muffled shouts echoed out followed by a scuffle and then silence. It felt like an hour had passed before there was a firm knock at our bedroom door.
‘Everything is OK now ladies. It was not the man that we were looking for but please be advised that this house will be under 24 hour surveillance. Make sure you keep all your doors and windows locked.’ The same Officer who had shown me the mug shot was now handing me a small card with her name and phone number printed neatly on it in black, the Police logo emblazoned in the corner.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked, taking the card between shaky fingers.
‘The son of the lady who owns this house escaped from jail last night. We have reason to believe that he will try to come back here – he did the last time. There is no need to worry, we will have a plain clothed Officer stationed outside at all times. If you have any information or notice anything unusual please phone .’ With that she turned away, the other Officers following behind her.
Escaped convict? Last time? What was the prison system like here that there was a last time? Later that day we spoke to one of the other girls who lived in the house about it and she confirmed that he had escaped from prison before and had climbed through the small window in our room to gain access. There was no way we were hanging around waiting for an escaped convict to pay us a visit, contract or no contract. Within a couple of days we had found some young Spanish students to take over the room from us, collected our deposit from them and we were headed to Folkestone, where my cousin had recently arrived from South Africa. We had spoken to the landlady over the phone to arrange the change. She was sorry to see us go and apologised for the experience. Things had to look up from here didn’t they? How does the saying go – don’t count your chickens before they hatch?
Love Speaks
Food Slate
feelings
I feel so scared.
Crystal
Photography Tips
MS Paint Art
katyzzz
Rugby World Cup 2007
..but maybe he was just in jail for escapism...!
Ash....you too have this incredible knack of The Pause.
It's so darn frustrating...but oh so good.
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
So great to live through your experiences! I am with Dusk... the pregnant pauses are frustrating for sho!
Mis
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Thanks. It`s been good to go through everything to get it all in order and jog the memory. Perhaps one day I can sit down and write it all properly! Only a few more adventures to go before I was on the plane heading back home for some decent meals and an unchanging roof over my head
Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Indeed! It seems like a l ifetime ago though - hard to believe it was only about 6 years.
Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
We would have left however we had signed a contract and did not have the money to rent two places at the same time so we had to make sure that we could get out of this one before we moved on. I didn`t want to get chucked out of the country after only having been there for three months
Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Sometimes there are things that a parent doesn`t need to know!
Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
HAHAHA!! I just wish they could have kept him there!
Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
It`s been a wild ride - and I look at it as the warm up for LOADS more! yeeeehhhaaaa baby bring it on!
Ash
Kalikapsychosis
Sorry, but I think so! You and Lilla have had some really exciting moments!
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
It was exciting at least I can look back and see it that way now! At the time I was a little scared in some places! I can`t wait for Lilla`s next installments of her adventures to such exotic lands.
Ash
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
*laughs*
Ash,
Did you ever find out what this guy had done?
eerie...
>>>readin' on>>>
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
I have learnt NOT to aks what next... ever again! I wrote of my travels to Paris and Venice somewhere much earlier on 'Flashes' which were adventures in themselves... and life in Africa afforded a few too!
Apparently the first time he was in prison was for drug use - he broke into our very room and stole a bunch of stuff from the room as well as saring the pants off the occupants.
I have had enough dealings in this sort of area to last a lifetime thank you very much!
Ash