…To explain…
I had met her the previous night. I was heading into the station to catch the 20:51 train and came upon her surrounded by a small circle of people. She was distressed. Her dog had been attacked by another bigger dog and was bleeding. One of the people that had stopped was helping her clean the wound on the dog’s head – he had a bottle of water with him - a second was trying to find out if the dog was bleeding anywhere else, and the third was stood there not doing anything practical but murmuring sympathetic words of support.
I had had a very long day, and was exhausted, not to mention feeling flat and defeated because in spite of my best efforts my college assignment was only three quarters completed.
There were 15 or so minutes yet before my train arrived, however, and somebody was in distress, so of course; I stopped.
The woman was panicked and indignant at the same time.
This was the third time, she said, that her pet had been attacked by the same animal: off his lead and uncontrolled by his owner – whereas Missy, as her dog was named, was on a lead, “like any responsible person would do”, she said, angrily, holding the tissue in place – who hadn’t cared that his dog had attacked someone, and when confronted with Missy’s injuries had shrugged, called her a ‘stupid old bag’ (the woman, not the dog), and walked off.
Feeling I needed to DO SOMETHING but not knowing what, I leant my sympathy as well and offered some more tissue. Bending down to Missy to take a look at her head, I was immediately inundated by affectionate doggy kisses and a wriggling body that begged to be cuddled. I could see in her face what she was feeling: her head was sore – as was her ear, which I discovered to be torn – but more importantly, she knew her Mum was upset. To her, the latter was the most important thing in the world, and her eyes pleaded with me to make it better.
The man with the water bottle had to run to catch his train. Apologising he couldn’t do more, he patted Missy’s back before he left and left the water behind in case it was needed later.
The second man left with him, and the third prepared to go too, but not before saying he didn’t like the look of the dog’s ear.
“Needs a vet, I reckon,” he said, seriously.
‘Oh God, do you think so!” The woman was more panicked than ever by this. Franticly patting Missy’s ear to try and dry it, she peered at the wound as she said: “maybe your right, oh Missy: they’re all closed, and anyway, I can’t afford it; I’m homeless! How can I pay for a vet when I can’t even afford…”
Trailing off, her face crumpled and she dissolved into hopeless tears.
Putting her arms around the dog, she buried her face in her fur to hide them – while the man and I exchanged helpless glances – then when Missy gave a gentle whine at her distress, she pulled herself together and recommenced her effort to stop the bleeding, working vigorously with her face turned carefully away from us; eyes cast down.
“Well, maybe it’ll clear up on its own,” the man said at last, after an uncomfortable silence. “There’re a lot of blood vessels in the ear; it can make things look worse than they are. It’s probably not all that bad.”
“Maybe,” she echoed, still staring downwards. “Yes. Probably. Hopefully.”
“Tell you what,” he said, an idea hitting him: “I’ll go get some plasters from the supermarket up the road. I’m not sure how well we’d attach the stuff to the fur, but if I get a bandage as well, maybe, we might be able to fashion something to protect it a bit.”
She thanked him in a quiet voice and he left, relieved that he was going to be DOING something.
As I petted the dog and held a tissue to her head – that seemed to have stopped bleeding at least, thankfully – the announcement sounded. My train was coming in.
When I told her I had to leave, she nodded. Awkwardly I asked if she was going to be alright, then felt stupid because what on earth would I do if she wasn’t?
“Oh, we’ll be fine,” she added brightly, smiling bravely, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Really. The bleeding’s slowing down now, look. Go on. Missy’s alright, aren’t you baby?”
Missy replied by bouncing up for a lick of her Mum’s nose, shaking her ears, sending another fine spray of red droplets up the nearby wall, then bouncing up for a second lick.
So, I smiled at her, patted Missy one more time, and walked away.
I only just made it in time before the train drove off.
Sinking into a seat, I thought about the woman, and her dog.
I thought about the tiny circles of blood splattered up the wall, and the anxious look in Missy’s eyes when she sensed her mistress becoming upset.
I thought about how tired and dirty the woman looked, and how her face had crumpled when she realised that Missy might need treatment she couldn’t afford.
I thought about us, the four people that had stopped; awkward and embarrassed, looking at one another helplessly and trying to think of something useful we could do before we left her alone to spend a night on the streets.
I thought about how cold it was, and how it kept raining, and how I was going home to my nice, comfortable house and would lie down to sleep in my nice warm bed.
I thought about Missy’s ear, and how sore it had looked, and how the man had been right: that she needed a vet, treatment, antibiotics…
Then, as the train pulled into Kidderminster, I thought about the £30 I had in my purse – which I had taken out that day ready for an outing with my cousin that had then been cancelled – and how I should have given it to her, so that she could take Missy to the vet in the morning.
As soon as the thought was there, it wouldn’t go away.
Why hadn’t I thought of it, I agonised? I was furious with myself. Guilty. Worried.
Even if I went back now, the station would be closed already and she would be gone.
Even if I kept it in my purse ready, there was no guarantee that I’d see her again tomorrow. I might not find her again even if I forgot about college and searched all day.
It was highly possible that that had been my only chance. And I had missed it…
I felt very miserable about it as I crawled into my nice warm bed later. Sleeping badly, I kept waking with a jolt, and every time I did I saw the blood on the wall and the woman’s face in front of me; smiling bravely.
I thought about her as soon as I got up. Then on and off throughout my shift at work. I wondered in amongst my worry who she was, and what had driven her to that point: homeless and seemingly alone with no-one but a – now injured – dog for company.
I thought about her even more on the train journey to Worcester.
There would be no harm in looking for a while once I got there, I decided. Even if it wasn’t likely, at least by doing that I would have a chance of finding her.
…And I did.
I was nearly at the end of Foregate Street, but looking down a road leading off to the right, I saw her walking towards me, her dog trotting obediently by her side.
Seeing me once she had drawn closer, her thin face lit up with a friendly smile.
“Good morning!” She trilled cheerfully. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I threw away quickly before asking: “How are you? How is Missy?”
“Oh, she’s alright, I think,” she smiled down at the dog, who was busy sniffing me and enjoying a good stroke: “it stopped bleeding in the end. Took ages, ‘cause she kept shaking her ears, the silly girl. I guess it was sore. Anyway, she didn’t eat anything this morning, but otherwise she seems okay. She’ll probably eat later, won’t she?”
She looked up at me as she said that part, a hint of anxiety in her eyes.
“Oh yes,” I reassured her quickly. “I’m sure she will. It was probably just because of the shock. She’ll be good and hungry by the end of the day, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah,” the woman smiled down at her pet again, then smiled at me. “Sorry, what with being so upset last night, I didn’t get your name.”
“Alice,” I replied with a smile.
“Oh, that’s a pretty name, hi Alice, I’m Lisa,” she said, holding out her hand. I took it. Shaking my hand warmly, she added, “listen, thanks so much for stopping Alice. You and those other people were so nice last night; I don’t know what I’d have done… Anyway, I’m glad I’ve had chance to thank you. Off to work, are you?”
“No, college. Listen…” I swallowed. “I hope you’re not offended or anything, but I thought a lot about you and Missy last night, and I wanted you to have this…”
Taking out my purse and finding the money, I held it out.
Lisa stared at it, then at me, then at it again.
“It’s not much,” …I flushed… “Just £30. I thought you could use it to take Missy to see a vet. It should be enough for that.”
“I…”
Her voice failed. Staring into my face, her own was a mixture of damp eyed joy and doubt.
Shaking my head, I said:
“It’s fine, really. I don’t need it, it’s spare. I would probably have ended up buying DVDs with it or something else I don’t need. Really, I’d like you to take it, please; no matter what you spend it on.”
“Oh, oh…” The doubt faded away and tears rolled down her cheeks as she grabbed me and gave me a hug. “Oh Alice, thank you! Thank you! I can’t tell you what this means!”
“It’s not much,” I said again, unable to keep from crying myself. “I just wanted… I just felt like I should do something…”
“Oh, you have, you have!” She held on tight for a moment, then pushed me away to nod vigorously. “Now I can take her and get her looked at, and then I won’t need to worry anymore. She’ll be great, won’t you baby? The vet will fix you right up! Oh, thank you!”
She hugged me again, then set off.
“Ask for a Nurse rather than a Vet,” I called, suddenly thinking of if, adding as she turned back towards me; “it’ll be cheaper. In case she needs antibiotics.”
Lisa nodded. Then she waved. Then, walking away, she turned a corner and was gone.
“Idiot,” said a voice behind me, loudly.
It was scornful. Incredulous. Annoyed.
I knew without turning round that he was talking about me.
“Frank…” A woman said, her tone hushed and indicative that his should be too. “…Come on…”
“Well she is! You know she’s just gonna spend that on drugs! That dog won’t see a penny!”
“Maybe so,” she whispered, urgently: “but it’s her choice. Now, come on, or we’ll be late…”
At last they walked away, him still complaining loudly, her still placating.
I didn’t turn round to look at them.
I didn’t need to.
Because I knew I was right and he was wrong.
Not because I knew with 100% certainty that Lisa was going to take her dog to the vet. Hell, I didn’t even know that her name really was ‘Lisa’. In truth, I had no clue what she planned on spending the money on. What I did know was I didn’t care. I knew that she was homeless. I knew that she had suffered a traumatic event – the dog’s ear had been ripped by another dog: that was certain. I had seen enough examples to know it was true. She hadn’t done that – and that I was sorry about that. So I gave her a little bit of money – just a little; I didn’t empty my bank account. I just gave her what was in my purse: money I had had earmarked for something that hadn’t ended up happening – to make a gesture: to show her that to some people it didn’t matter who a person was that was in trouble and needed help, just that they did need it. And, being truly honest, I also did it to make myself feel better: because I had felt bad because I had a nice home and she didn’t.
So that was why I did it.
And I didn’t care if she used to money to take the dog to the vet (the ear would probably heal up just fine on it’s own anyway), or for some food staples, or lobster & caviar, or vodka, or crack cocaine, because it wasn’t my money anymore: it was hers.
So. That was how I ended up giving a homeless woman called Lisa £30 on a sunny Thursday morning and got called an idiot by a stranger.
And you know what? As far as I’m concerned, it was money well spent.
B.C.B.F.L.B. x
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