Even after all this time, Terry still couldn’t shake it, and like a hopeless addict stumbling through the streets looking for one more score, he found himself, inexorably, drawn back towards her door again. In fact it had been the worst aspect of his return to London, and despite Hector’s intercession on his behalf, having his year-long ban reduced to 3 months, staring across now from a roof at midnight, for probably the sixth or seventh time in ten days, it actually made him wish that he’d stayed in the woods with the Ascetics, rather than endure any more of this awful pain. Why was lost love such a hellish force? Shredding your mind, destroying your reason, imprisoning your soul? No sane creator could have devised such despair, thought the Vampire, as he scrolled through her unanswered texts for probably the thousandth time and prayed for some kind of release.
“Why aren’t you answering me?!”
“What have I done wrong? Are you ghosting me?!”
“I love you and now you have broken my heart. You won’t answer me. So everything you said was a lie. Goodbye you fucking prick.”
She never cursed, well at least not on text. Something to do with her strict Jamaican upbringing she’d always said, so when she called him a “fucking prick” he knew it was over. He had ceased all contact to save her life and as a reward, he would now be hated and forgotten forever. Erased from the record. Yesterday’s man or Vampire if he was to be completely accurate. Of course, women were masters at this, as only men mingled with the ghosts of their past looking for redemption and some trace of hope, while to compound his misery even more, Terry now also discovered that she had found a replacement. Handsome, tall, he looked like fun, plus he was black. Maybe she’d had enough of whiteness. A plague on the world, thought the Vampire, smiling sourly to himself, as he watched the couple kiss under a lamp-post and felt like a miserable stalker again, as the jealousy poured through his veins like a polluted stream. The agony was exquisite, and as he slunk down from the roof and heard the door of his ex-lover’s house slam shut with all of it’s erotic promise, he vowed to himself once more, that this would be the very last time. However, deep in his splintered heart, he knew he’d be back, and so accepting his fate for the moment, at least, he climbed reluctantly onto his bike and headed north. Thankfully, there was little traffic on the roads and so Terry made good time, driving towards his new home, a studio flat in Warren Street that a friend of Hector had lent him, and he was just about to take a left off the river towards the Strand, when out of his peripheral vision, he noticed a figure standing alone on the ledge of Blackfriars Bridge.
“Err, you okay mate?” asked Terry, now pulling his bike beside the kerb of the pavement, and looking up at a young man in his mid twenties with a well trimmed beard.
“Oh yeah, err hi.”
“Think the stop for the night bus might be across the road” said the Vampire with a grin, as the young man gripped tighter onto the lamp-post standing by the side of the bridge and returned a polite smile.
“Erm, yeah, I’m okay actually.”
“You look it. Smoke?”
“Err no.”
“Bad for your health innit?”
“Err, yeah,” said the young man, returning a nervous laugh.
“Mind if I do?”
“Err, no.”
“Cool.”
“Look, seriously, I’m okay, you don’t need to worry about me. You probably need to be somewhere, yeah?” said the young man, with nervous concern.
“S’okay, I’ve got some time” said Terry now looking anxiously at the night sky, and sensing the onset of the dreaded dawn in his nostrils, also added “So what you doing up there then?”
“Well…”
“Things not going too well?” persisted Terry.
“Erm…”
“It’s okay,” said Terry, turning to glance over the side of the bridge at the river sliding past in the darkness below, before the young man punctured the brief silence and started to talk again.
“Well, it’s all just shit isn’t it?”
“Fucking too right. Makes me wanna top myself sometimes. Err, sorry. Stupid joke,” said Terry raising his hand in contrition.
“It’s okay. Even brushed my teeth before I came out.”
“Did you? That’s funny. So what’s your name, then?”
“Joshua.”
“Cool, I’m Terry. So what’s occurring then Joshua? Why the high wire nocturnal stroll by the river? You a poet or something, plumbing the depths of your soul?”
“Ha, no.”
“So what’s going on then?”
“Err I dunno, it’s just, err, well it’s mental isn’t it? Like they tell us all the time, to be kind and open and all that, but then when we are, they… Oh, fuck, I can’t really explain it. Look please, please leave me alone, please go.”
“I will in minute, but just let me finish my fag. So who’s “they” then?” asked Terry, looking up at the young man again.
“Oh you know. Parents, friends, Social Media, my girlfriend. Its really difficult, you know.”
“Always wanting more?” interrupted the Vampire.
“Well, yeah.”
“Lot of pressure?”
“Definitely.”
“Like a big fucking tick list.”
“Completely. Like I know I’m privileged and all that, and I should be grateful. Had good parents, nice home, great school and I didn’t have the start that some people have, you know like you see online, with abuse, drugs, and being in care.”
“But you’re still human, yeah?”
“Exactly. I mean I even did what I was told. Got the GCSE’s, A Levels, went to a Russell Uni, you know got the 2:1. But then when I graduated, there was nothing. Applying for job after job, and then I ended up working in a clothes shop, which don’t get me wrong is great, and obviously I don’t look down on anyone doing that kind of work, I mean, it’s really important, look at the supermarket staff during the Pandemic.”
“But you don’t wanna just work in a clothes shop, for the rest of your life, do you?” interrupted the Vampire.
“That’s right!”
“And that’s not even the half of it Pal.”
“What do you mean?” said Joshua, letting go of the lamp-post for a minute.
“Your generation is basically fucked. Can’t buy a house, gonna earn way less than your parents, can’t get in a fight without getting stabbed, dating is terrible, and nothing is gratis anymore. You know in my day Tapas was free, now it costs a tenner a pop. Even your drugs are kiboshed, because some dick puts Fentanyl in your Charlie without you knowing, making you OD’, when you just want a good night out. Plus to top it all, the Boomers and Gen Xers, who spent all day giving you Participation Trophies and not letting you play out on the streets now turn around and call you useless bastards, cos you can’t deal with the shit world that they fucking invented and didn’t prepare you for in the first place.”
“Yes! Yes! That’s it. You’re so right. We are fucked. The Pandemic, the climate, no decent jobs, everything costs a bomb. It’s awful. God, I wish I was born in the Nineties. It was so much better then. Tarantino, P J Harvey, Massive Attack? I mean what do we have now? Marvel movies and Billie Eilish? My generation is so shit.”
“Oi, not so fast, Josh. Okay your generation might be a bit off when it comes to Culture, but you don’t get the Renaissance every day, do you? That was a really creative time, mate. Probably only happens once every 200 years, if that. Remember. Comparison is the thief of Joy.”
“Oh, that’s really good. Who said that?”
“Theodore Roosevelt.”
“Who’s he?”
“The bassist in Nirvana. Anyway mate, I’m not buying this bullshit. You’re not gonna jump into the river over the Nineties are ya? What’s really up?” asked Terry with a knowing smile.
“Err, well, yeah, you’re right. It’s not really that” said the young man lowering his head.
“Thought so. Go on,” encouraged the Vampire folding his arms,
“Well, thinking about it now, it’s kind of silly. But, well, I really like JK Rowling yeah? You know the Harry Potter author. I mean I read all of her books when I was young, seen all the films, but then a lot of my friends I do stuff with, you know people who are into Social Justice and all that, think she is really Transphobic, and, of course, I can see what they are saying and all that but I also think that she’s entitled to her opinion, yeah? And as far as I can see, all she is really saying is that sex is a biological and women are not “People who bleed”, or “Cervix havers”, which I think is a bit insulting, if I’m being honest. I mean I seriously looked through all of her tweets and I couldn’t find anything that was hateful and even when I asked some of my Trans friends, they just said she was and if I wanted to be an ally, I should accept their lived experience and leave it at that; which didn’t make much sense to me. I mean ideas should be based on facts, yeah? and we should be able to listen to opposing views, right? So anyway one night, I got drunk and shared a tweet that JK Rowling posted about biological men in women’s sport and how it can be unfair, as they’ve gone through puberty and all that, which I thought was fair comment, but then I got piled on by everyone else, who called me Transphobic and evil and started to super-impose pictures of Boris Johnson and Donald Trump on my head and even Hitler, and then when I started to argue back, it just got worse and they sent my posts to the company I worked for who a few days later sacked me, which I didn’t really mind because I hated the job anyway, but now my girlfriend has left me too, and it’s a joke. I mean, you read about things like this online don’t you? Ganging up on someone and ruining their life and, if I’m being truthful, I even did it, once or twice myself, but then when it happens to you, it’s really bad.”
“Bit of payback?” said Terry, smiling as he remembered that Maxwell had very recently, after the case of Professor Kathleen Stock being forced to leave Sussex University because of her Gender Critical views, completely changed her mind about the whole Trans debate and as a result, on a very popular You Tube channel, whilst wearing a T-Shirt emblazoned with “Adult Human Female” on the front, which is the dictionary definition of a woman, offered a Rothko painting, valued at £70 million, to anyone who could prove that JK Rowling was transphobic, and as yet there had been no takers.
“Yeah I suppose,” replied the young man lowering his head again.
“Actually, I think you should jump,” said the Vampire with a deadpan face, as the young man now looked back a little betrayed, before Terry assured him that he was only joking and then reached out his hand to guide him down to the pavement.
“You ever notice, the biggest bullies, have their pronouns under their names,” said Terry leaning his back against the side of the bridge before gazing up at the night sky.
“And taglines like be kind,” said Joshua.
“Classic. You just need to forget them son.”
“But you don’t understand Terry. These days you can’t. It’s like it’s everywhere you go, like a mark on your face that says you’re unclean, a bad person.”
“What? Because some wankers canceled you from their whats app group?”
“It’s way more than that. You don’t understand. My life is literally over.”
“It is fuck. How old are you?”
“25.”
“Jesus that’s nothing. I’m a lot older than you.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Well, trust me I am and when I grew up, me and my brothers and sisters couldn’t care less, because we weren’t the most important thing in the house, know what I mean. Food was, paying the rent was, making sure the range didn’t go out”
“The range? What’s that?”
“Like a cooker. Look, the point is Joshua, from what I can see, guys your age were always the most important thing in the house and it turned you into little Princes and Princesses. Problem is, life is hard, mate.”
“Oh God, not that again. We’re all snowflakes?! Yeah right. We don’t spend all of our days eating avocado on toast you know?” said the young man, suddenly losing his temper and stepping away from the bridge.
“You sure about that sunshine? You were just about to top yourself, because some scumbags said something that made you feel bad. Mate, you can’t go through life without being insulted, or feeling uncomfortable or unsafe, whatever the hell that means. Point is, there’s always been bullies. It’s what humans do, they fucking love it. You just gotta fight back. I mean these are the same pricks who say babies are racist”
“Yeah, I saw that in the Metro the other day. It’s a bit fucked up, isn’t it?” said Joshua, walking back to the side of the bridge again.
“And the rest. They call themselves Progressives, but they’re the opposite. They’re Regressives. You know the easiest dogs to train are the clever ones, yeah? It’s group think. On a major scale your generation is dying from bullshit Joshua. Bullshit, risk averse parenting and politeness is literally killing you mate.”
“So what do I do?”
“Leave home for a kick off. You still live with your parents, yeah?”
“With my mum,” said the young man, nodding his head.
“Then leave.”
“But I cant afford to. It’s not that easy, you know. I don’t have any money and you need loads to get a deposit, and there’s nowhere to rent and…” continued Joshua, as he tried to explain his circumstances to Terry, but the Vampire had already zoned out from the predictable excuses and suddenly realizing it was getting very late and not wanting to end up as a pile of ashes, he quickly threw his cigarette into the river and turned his head to stare directly into the young man’s eyes.
“Be at peace Joshua, you are a good man, and so believe this. Life is shit most of the time and what’s more it couldn’t care less if you fucking lived or died. So deal with it. Welcome the obstacles. In fact run towards them and hug them like your best friend. We need adversity. It gets us out of bed in the morning. Think of what people did years ago. Like the Irish when they first got to New York in the 1850’s, 10 to a tiny room, or those from the Caribbean, when they arrived in London in the 1950’s, called all the names under the sun. They made it through. Everything is possible. You’ll find a way, humans always do. In the end, all you really need is courage Joshua, it’s our greatest quality and it brings you the most happiness. Oh and while we’re at it, can you tell your generation to stop saying, “It’s amazing” and “I’m honored” or being fucking humble all the time. It gets really annoying. Forget all that crap. Remember you’re not a Yank, you’re British, so (a) Stop taking things so literally all the time, (b) Have a bit of swagger now and again and (c) Just take the piss. Life’s a lot more fun, that way”
“Yeah, okay, cool. I totally get it now. Fucking hell I feel brilliant now, err, no forget that, it’s too much isn’t it? Yeah I’m good, just good, that’s all I need to say, isn’t it? My God, my God, that’s it. Just believe in yourself and forget all the haters. I don’t know how to thank you Terry, you’ve really helped me. Definitely. Wow, you saved me, you don’t realize how much, you saved me,” declared Joshua, joyously jumping around for a few seconds before stepping forward to give the Vampire, an enormous hug.
“Well, okay, that’s good, glad to help, happy you’re sorted now. Oh and while we’re at it, don’t be going online looking for me, with all that “I was saved by a stranger” bollocks, that you see in the papers now and again. That’s only looking for approval from the same bastards who nearly killed you tonight. Remember Josh, every piece of generosity doesn’t have to be shown to the world, okay? Charity should always be anonymous, not for self advancement, know what I mean? So just be thankful, that I’ve helped you and then quietly pass it on to someone else, you know, if you ever get the chance. Okay?”
“Err yeah, okay?” said the young man, a little confused.
“Not okay. I mean it, Josh. Don’t tell the world about tonight. This is just for you alright? Trust me, it’s so much better that way. I’m serious mate?”
“Okay, I get it. I will definitely just keep it to myself.” confirmed the young man, a little taken aback by the sudden firmness in his savior’s voice
“Well see that you do. Right then, I’m off. Be lucky lad. Oh and do me a favor, will ya? In future, keep the fuck away from bridges at 4 in the morning. Some of us have to get home before sun comes up, know what I mean,” said Terry climbing onto his bike and then with a big smile and a wave of his hand, quickly sped off in the direction of Warren Street.
*
“You know I still remember my first block party. Yes I was in my mid-twenties and like, most of my peers, I was simply blown away by Outkast and Dr Dre and the whole Hip Hop scene. Yes scene, we did say that back then, and, of course, because I was a nice white girl from the “Burbs”, I had no knowledge at all of black people. I had only grown up amongst my own kind, i.e. white people, with maybe some Latinx, here and there, but these were usually gardeners or house cleaners, so as a result when I encountered black people for the first time at this gathering in Ohio, I was actually quite terrified and literally told every story about my racist parents that I could think of, to try and assimilate myself into my new environment. How pathetic. Trying to show I wasn’t racist and, in the process, showing just how racist I really was. Now this story may be familiar to a lot of people here, and if it is, it should tell you that whatever we do, however we act, white people are irredeemably racist. It is baked into our very DNA. It is present from the moment we wake up to the moment we fall asleep and…”
“But Beverley, that cannot be true for everyone, can it? I mean, of course, racism is awful, but not every white person is racist, surely?” interrupted a black woman from the front row.
“And here we see white fragility in it’s most reasonable form. I’m sorry and I’m sure you are a perfectly nice person, but the fact that you challenge something as obvious as systemic white supremacy shows just how bigoted you really are.”
“But, excuse me, I am actually a person of color?!” protested the woman, before looking around the audience, increasingly confused.
“Are you? Are you really? I think a true person of color would understand how the system has disabled them for centuries. A true person of color would see that white supremacy has many allies within people of color themselves, who have internalized their own racism and instead, become apologists for the very tyranny itself. A true person of color would know that the idea of the melting pot or Dr King’s idea of judging people by their personality and not the color of their skin is actually a way to control people of color. You know I used to be very conciliatory to any push back against my ideas, especially from members of minority groups or poor people, but now that time is past, I’m afraid. In fact, I’m tired of pandering to liberal arguments, tired of trying to explain my position to well- intentioned, misguided fools, who just want us all to go along to get along. My friends, like the black community searching for justice for 400 years and coming up short, every time, frankly, I’m just tired. So, for those, who are still unsure, here’s the deal. Look inside yourself and ask this question. Are you helping the oppressor or are you helping the oppressed? It’s really just as simple as that” declared Beverley Di Franco raising her hands in the air and smiling as everyone in audience, except her previous questioner, who remained in her seat shaking her head, then immediately got to their feet and started to clap wildly.
“How the fuck did she go to a house party in Ohio in her mid-twenties? That would have meant it was about 1650. Don’t think Dr Dre was making records then, bro’.”
“She got that story off a white woman in a struggle session, before she bled her dry in the car-park. She’s a genius,” said Jamaal, standing in the wings and casually bringing his hands together, while Errol looked on a little unimpressed.
“You don’t think it’s a bit much, then?”
“Ain’t nearly enough, bruv. The system is creaking and like brother Gramsci said, once you take over the Institutions, get the Culture on your side, boom, you have all the power. De long walk to paradise, Rastaman. We got the Universities, the Media and since the end of Trump, we got the Government too. Look at Biden, in America, recently? You think, it’s a co-incidence, the first thing he did was overturn the ban on Critical Race Theory? Everything is captured geezer. It’s gonna be our time.”
“Yeah but it’s all about victimhood Jamaal. Can’t see how that helps a black man? Telling him he’s never gonna get ahead,” said Errol, shaking his head.
“Preach that to George Floyd.”
“Yeah I get it, but you know, I think it’s getting a bit silly now. The other day, I saw a demonstration in London on the news, and they were shouting “Hands up don’t shoot!”, you know like they do in America, but our Old Bill, have only got truncheons. What’s that about?”
“It’s just frustration, bro’. People are frustrated by all the bullshit,” said Jamaal, placing his hands behind his back.
“I know, but even what happened to George Floyd, it happens to white guys too, you know. In fact, I’ve been reading this thing online about a bloke called Tony Timpa, you ever heard of him?”
“Nah.”
“Me neither, but he was white and a couple of years ago, he died in exactly the same way as George Floyd did, but you know nothing was said.”
“So, who cares about one cracker. Black men are getting killed all the time, Errol.”
“I know that, but most of the time, it’s usually by other Black men innit?”
“Because the system, fucks them up, yeah? You know how it works?”
“Of course, I do, but sometimes, maybe we should sit back and have another think about it all, you know?”
“What is there to think about?” said Jamaal, cocking his head to one side.
“Well, for a start. Why don’t we get BLM, marching all day, when thirty black blokes get shot in Chicago over a weekend, hey? There only seem to do it, if someone white is involved. Just seems a bit wrong, that’s all and in this same article, I was reading, they talked about the deaths of black men by the Police. Do you know how many unarmed black people are killed by the Police every year in the America?” said Errol, brightly, now warming to his subject.
“Probably thousands.”
“That’s what I thought. But it’s less than 30. I couldn’t believe it. Apparently, this Black Professor called Roland Fryer wrote a paper about it and…”
“Fuck Roland Fryer, who the hell is he anyway? Probably some Oriel, who doesn’t know he’s black bro’. Look, there’s only one side in this war, yeah?” said Jamaal, finally losing his patience, to stare menacingly into the eyes of his Spirit Son.
“Well, yeah of course. I was just telling you about what I’d read, that’s all,” said Errol, shrinking back from the violence in Jamaal’s voice.
“It’s all white supremacist propaganda put about by Fox News and Tucker Carlson to weaken the Black man. You need to watch what you’re reading, Errol. You get me?” said Jamaal, holding the stare for another few seconds.
“Yeah sure,” said Errol, nodding his head before lowering his gaze in submission.
“Good. Anyway stop looking like you’re gonna burst into tears and help me get Beverley through this crowd before they try and kiss her to death,” said Jamaal with a grin, now turning to walk away, while Errol’s eyes remained stuck to the floor, unconvinced, until the sound of more applause from the auditorium, brought him around again and then rubbing the side of his face with his hand, he moved towards the stage again.