Liep stuffed the rest of the travelcards into his shirt and ran down the steps into the subway. He walked beneath the road, then ran up the steps onto the other side of the street. He looked around. No policemen.

The tenement was in the basement of an old terraced house in a road about three minutes from the station. It must have been owned by someone rich once upon a time, Liep always thought; all the houses in that road must have been. They were too big for one person or family to own now, so were divided up into little flats.

Liep took out his key and opened the front door. The Argentinian - Liep didn’t know his name; he rarely spoke - was standing in the hallway, smoking a cigarette. He leaned against the wall as Liep went past.

The steps that led down to the basement were under the stairs. Liep stuck his key in the padlock and opened the latch. He ducked his head to go through the door and pocketed the padlock. He pulled the cord to turn on the bulb, then bolted the door shut and went down the steps.

It was a single-roomed flat, which they shared with the boiler. At least it never got cold, Marzia said. She had been back since they’d left together that morning. The china pudding bowl they used as a sort of chamber pot when they couldn’t be bothered to go to the toilet on the third floor was upturned in the little sink in the corner. Liep took it out. It was dry. He slid it under the bed.

He thought it looked like Marzia had started to make the bed, but the mustard-coloured woolen blanket was heaped at the end. Liep picked it up. A small yellow note-let fluttered to the ground. He opened it up and smiled. It said ‘Happy birthday’, in Polish.

Just then he heard someone walk overhead. The floorboards in the hallway creaked. The footsteps stopped in front of the door he’d bolted. He knew it was Marzia; she had light-footed steps and a narrow gait. He was running up the steps when she knocked on the door.

He slid the bolt back and pushed gently on the door. When it was open a crack, Marzia slipped her fingers through the gap and pulled the door the rest of the way.

“But it’s not my birthday,” Liep said.

Marzia smiled, but not with her eyes.

They went down into the room. Liep unplugged the lamp and plugged in the little kettle instead.

“Maybe it will be,” Marzia said distantly.

As the kettle boiled, he looked her up and down. She was sitting on the end of the mattress, clasping her hands between her knees. Some of her hair was stuck to her face.

“How was it today?” he asked.

“I did quite well,” she said.

That’s what he meant, not what he ever meant.

She slipped the little bag off her shoulder and took out several screwed up notes. She separated the little bundles in the palm of her fingerless glove.

“Twenty pounds,” she said.

The kettle started to whistle, so Liep switched it off. He found the two mugs they’d used earlier and started pouring hot water into then, mashing the teabags for a second time.

He handed Marzia her drink.

“How about you?” she asked.

“Not too bad.” He shrugged.

She drank noisily, both hands wrapped around the mug, and watched him over the rim.

He sipped his drink, then reached into his trouser pockets. He took out the coins and put them on the pillow.

“Is that all?” she said quietly.

Liep felt around in the deepest part of his pockets then nodded uncomfortably. “Yuh.”

Marzia fingered the coins. “Eleven pounds fifty.”

Liep buried his nose in the mug.

“How many tickets did you sell?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Five or six.”

She stared at him, finally brushing the hair away from her face. “I don’t understand how you can sell five or six tickets but only have eleven pounds here.”

“Eleven pound and fifty pee,” he corrected her.

“Did you spend any, Liep?”

“No!”

“What happened to the rest, then?” She paused, went back to her drink, then looked up again. “Wait. How much were you selling them for?”

Liep turned his back on her and began mashing the teabag in his mug again.

“Liep.”

“They were buying two tickets.”

“Who were?”

“And one of them had bought off me before, when I was selling them for two pounds.”

“How much did you sell them for, Liep?”

“It was only those two.”

“How much?”

“The rest I sold for two pound and fifty pee each. It was just those two.” He turned round.

She looked annoyed. “Oh, Liep.”

“It’s only fifty pee difference.”

“Two times over. That’s a pound difference.”

Liep finished his tea. It was still weak and watery. “I thought they wouldn’t pay. I thought a little bit less was better than not getting anything at all.”

“You could have asked for more and they would have paid. You could always ask for more. Why don’t you ever ask for more? As long as it’s cheaper than buying one from the machine people will always pay it.”

“I don’t like ripping people off.”

She snorted. “So you let them rip us off.”

“Marzia - ”

“That was our money. We need it more than they do.”

Neither of them spoke. Marzia stared at the wall and finished her drink slowly.

“There are other ways,” Liep said finally.

“I don’t want you to get involved with those people.”

“I don’t want you to do what you do either.”

She stood up and slammed her empty mug on the little desk. “Well, one of us has to make proper money.”

He folded his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Not this, this pocket change.” She gestured the pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“You always are, Liep.” She went over to the chest of drawers and began pushing them in or pulling them out so that they were all perfectly aligned.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again. He went and stood behind her, looking at the back of her head.

She sniffed. It sounded wet.

“Did they hurt you?” he said.

She turned and wiped her nose. “No.”

“Poldek says it’s easy money.”

She sighed, flung up her hands and shouldered past him. She picked up the mugs and began rinsing them.

“He can get me started.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “What does Poldek do now? He wanted the money to pay for the papers, but he’s still doing it now. He got used to the easy money. I don’t want to get used to easy money. We’re not doing this, any of this, for the easy money.”

“I know. I know.”

She rubbed the inside of one mug abrasively with a crumpled tea towel. “I don’t care about the money. All I want is our own toilet and our own front door and our own letterbox and our own doorbell. And I want to know when someone presses it, it’s someone come to see us, and I don’t mean to take the rent. I want to go out in the morning and know precisely what I’m going to do today. And I want to come back in the afternoon and know you’re going to come back too. That’s what we’re doing this for, aren’t we? Aren’t we, Liep?”

“Yes.”

She finished drying the mugs.

“Have you counted how much is in the box?” he asked.

“Not since last week.”

He nodded. “Let’s count it now.”

“Okay.” She dried her hands on her thighs.

Liep opened the cupboard door, careful not to let it swing on the one remaining hinge. Sitting in the bottom was an old show box with a rubber band pulled taut around the body. Liep took it out of the cupboard.

Marzia patted the bed next to where she was now sitting. “Empty it here.”

Liep took it to her and pulled off the rubber band. He took off the lid and slowly poured the money onto the blanket between them. The notes were exclusively hers; the coins exclusively his. There were more coins than notes.

“I’ll count these,” Marzia said, picking up the notes, mainly fives, and fingering through them.

Liep set about putting the pound coins and fifty pence pieces into batches of ten pounds. He grabbed today’s earnings from the pillow and added them to the pile.

It took them about ten minutes in all.

“How much?” he said. Liep was still batching up the coins when he noticed she was done.

“£320.”

Liep nodded. That was more than he expected.

Marzia pointed at the little piles of coins, counting under her breath. “Plus forty.”

“Forty-eight,” Liep said, cupping his hands around the final pile, which included some twenty pence pieces.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They both stared at the money. When Liep looked at Marzia, she was smiling; even her eyes were creasing in the corners.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

She shook her head. “We are there.” Then she stood and picked up the little box of teabags on the desk. She opened the lid and took out four more notes.

Liep was shaking his head before she added them to the other notes. “Marzia, we can’t.”

“Now we’ve got £410. That’s ten ponds more than the guy’s asking for.”

“That money’s due on Tuesday.”

“But you said Poldek said the guy does the papers while you’re there. You can go this afternoon. No, you can go right now. We’ll be able to get jobs straight away. I’ve been looking around. We might also be able to get some money. They might even give us a house.”

Liep stared at the money. “And what if we don’t?”

“We will.”

“But what if we don’t?”

She licked her lips. “Then on Monday we’ll still be doing what we’ve been doing.” She paused. “But we’ll definitely still be doing it if you don’t get the papers, anyway.”

Liep scowled at her. “Marzia.”

She sighed. “Maybe I should go out again this afternoon.” She got up and bowed down before the hand mirror on the desk, checking her face. “I can make the extra thirty by tonight.”

Liep stood up abruptly. “Marzia.”

“How do I look?” she asked, turning to face him.

Liep sighed. “Have you got the guy’s address?”

Marzia smiled. She went back to the chest of drawers and eased the stiff top drawer open. She took out a yellow note-let.

“Do you know where that is?” she asked.

The address was in Brixton. “It’s near the station.”

She nodded. “I won’t come.”

“Why not?” He let his head drop.

She shook her head. “Brixton.”

“What if they give us a house there?”

She laughed. “I’d rather stay here.”

Liep looked at the money on the bed. He wasn’t about to carry that to Brixton in a shoebox.

“Take the backpack,” Marzia said, as if reading his mind. She gestured the black and red rucksack lying limp and empty on the floor by the door.

“I’ll put it in a carrier bag too,” Liep decided, feeling under the bed for one. “Wouldn’t want the rucksack to split under the weight.” He laughed.

When he found a bag he lined the rucksack with it, then began shovelling the coins in by the handful.

Marzia stood over him, watching. She was smiling, but again, not with her eyes.

When all the money was in the bag, Liep put the scrap of paper with the address on it into his pocket. He took the padlock from the door to the basement out of his other pocket and gave it to Marzia. Marzia gave him a kiss.

“In a few hours, we’re going to be English,” she said. “It’s what we always wanted.”

Liep smiled. “And it’s about time.”

He pecked her on the cheek.

She saw him to the top of the steps. The Argentinian was no longer in the hallway.

As he was pushing the door under the stairs shut, Marzia said, “And don’t stop for anyone or anything.”

Liep put both arms through the straps of the rucksack. He called through the door, “I won’t.”

Then he headed to the station. The rucksack was heavy on his back and if he walked too fast the coins in the bottom clinked together. He watched over his shoulder, seeing if any opportunist walking behind him might have heard and guessed what was making his bag bulge in such a way.

He reached King’s Cross and found one of the travelcards he had been trying to sell less than an hour before.

It was busy on the underground. Liep saw white boards but could only understand the odd word, like ‘fire’. Waiting on the platform, he overheard someone telling someone else that there had been a fire alert at King’s Cross that morning. Whilst it had turned out to be a false alarm, the Northern Line was diverted via Charing Cross for three quarters of an hour, and the hold-up was only now clearing. There had once been a big fire at King’s Cross St Pancras; Liep remembered Marzia telling him all about it.

The journey from King’s Cross to Stockwell took about twenty minutes. Liep didn’t get a seat until they reached Bank.

At Stockwell, Liep switched to the Victoria Line, though he knew it only as the blue one on the map. It was only one stop from there to Brixton, which was at the end of the line. The train was almost empty.

Liep sat down and hugged the rucksack in his lap. Only after the doors had closed did he see the woman making her way through the other half dozen people sitting further along the carriage. She was carrying a polystyrene cup.

When she sat down next to Liep, he stared straight ahead.

“Excuse me,” she said. She had a pitiful tone.

Liep glanced at her, then away.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” she went on. “I don’t like doing this. I don’t like bothering people. I know what you’re thinking. Give me a minute. We’ll be getting off the train in a bit. If I haven’t appealed to your good nature by then, you can just walk away, can’t you, sir? I know what you must be thinking of me, but I’m not asking for myself.”

Liep shook his head. “I’m very sorry, I don’t speak English,” he said in Polish.

“What?” She held out her cup.

After a moment, he said, “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. Do you understand a thing I’m saying? Do you speak Polish? I don’t speak English.”

If she didn’t get the idea after that she was more drunk than she looked, Liep thought.

The woman stared at him for a moment, then got up and headed down the train. “Excuse me.”

Liep watched her sit down to a black man in a smart shirt reading a paper.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” she began again.

She looked about forty, but Liep reckoned she was probably younger. She wore a long, dark, crumpled coat over baggy tracksuit bottoms. She wore dirty white trainers; the long laces trailed unknotted behind her heels.

The black man seemed determined to completely ignore her and continue reading his paper. It wouldn’t be long before they reached Brixton.

The train stopped in the tunnel.

“Please, I know you’re listening to me,” the woman was saying. “I know what you think of me and if I was you, I’d probably think the same thing. But I’d like to think I’d find it in my nature to give someone the benefit of the doubt and listen to what they’ve got to say.”

The black man looked increasingly uncomfortable, like a cornered animal. Finally he lowered his paper and turned to the woman. He sighed and took out his wallet. “I want to know this isn’t just going to buy drugs.”

“Oh, it isn’t!” The woman shook her head. “It isn’t. It’s not even for me. I’m not doing this for myself. It’s for my sister. She needs my help. I’m trying to help her.”

“Okay. Okay.” The black man popped some coins into the woman’s polystyrene cup.

“Thank you. Thank you, sir. You’re so kind.”

He nodded as the train started moving again.

“I hope you believe me, sir. I wasn’t lying. It really is for my sister. I’ve got to keep her off the streets and nobody else will help her. I don’t want her doing stuff like that. This is all I can do to help her.”

Liep held his rucksack to his chest.

The train thundered into Brixton underground station and stopped. The black man was first off the train. Liep waited until the woman got off before getting up.

With the rucksack slung over one shoulder, Liep made his way to the escalators.

Liep knew why Marzia didn’t like Brixton, even though she had never been there. Poldek had lived here for a few months after he first arrived and he told Liep things that Liep told Marzia that they scarcely believed: about the things happening mere feet away from the station. But that wasn’t why Liep was nervous as he rode the escalator up to the hubbub of the street level in early afternoon today.

Liep stopped outside the station and took out the address. He looked both ways down the street.

Veering left, Liep walked for about a minute.

When he saw the woman again, he didn’t realise it was the same one that was on the train until it was too late to avoid her. Without his spectacles on the entire time, Liep could only see clearly for about fifteen feet.

“Excuse me,” she kept saying. She was sitting on the ground with her legs crossed.

Most people walked past and ignored her.

“It’s for my sister,” she said, wielding the polystyrene cup. “My little sister. I’m trying to keep her off the streets.”

Liep held his breath as he approached.

“Have a heart anyone,” the woman said.

Someone dropped coins into her cup.

“Thank you! It’s for my sister.”

Liep wondered if it was true about her sister. It was all right if it wasn’t; he could easily walk past her.

But what if it was true?

“I don’t want her to do things like that,” the woman was saying. “I don’t want her to have to.”

Liep remembered the extra ten pounds. There was £410 in his rucksack. He only needed £400.

The woman seemed to recognise him as he got near. She watched him and shook her cup.

Liep couldn’t help himself. He slipped the heavy bag off his shoulder, reached under the flap and grabbed a few coins. He popped them into her cup as he hurried past.

NOTES:
As with Sam Ellison, I plundered the name Liep from a previous story, which you can read here. Poldek is the name of a Polish character in "Schindler's List". Marzia is meant to be the whore James and Graham watched out the window and had none too favourable comments to make in the previous section. I originally wanted Liep to give more than he could afford to the begging woman, because his fatal flaw is that he's just too nice for his own good. However, I thought it stretching credulity a bit to have even the nicest of gullible saps handing over all the money he has in the world to someone he's never met before. I did want to develop the idea that, idealist though she is, Marzia is also taking advantage of Liep's good nature. As it is, this whole story is built on different levels of people taking advantage of other people, from their unscrupulous landlord, to a lying beggar.