Field Notes: The Girl In The Rain

Portraits in contemporary ethnography

Anthropology starts with description. In this series of vignettes, portraits and snapshots we will be building up a picture of the present, field notes - some as fiction, some as truth, all based in experience. Contemporary life is rich with the absurd and with parallel lives, I hope you find this project enjoyable and interesting. All names have been changed.

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Monday: Grey. Light rain. Second week of walking the pavement but no success. Had an unusual encounter today with a homeless girl. The underpass into the city is normally occupied three times a week by a man who hangs up bedsheets with handwritten messages, invectives against the Pope, God, priests, something about children. He sits mutely all day and then packs it all down and goes home. I’ve never seen anyone stop to talk to him. Today I walked past and out towards the road and there was a young homeless girl, a teenager, sat on the floor cross-legged with a coffee cup in front of her, scrolling a smartphone.

I approached her and struck up a conversation. She had lank blonde hair, shortish, wearing jeans, old converse trainers and a half-zip shell jacket, although she seemed oblivious to the wind. As I’ve noted before in other cases, the posture, movements, direction of gaze and other small features on homeless or begging people immediately tell you whether they are new to this, and feel vulnerable, or if they seem relaxed and unbothered. She didn’t even look up when I approached.

“Hi, do you want me to get you a coffee or something?”. My opening line, a simple invitation.

“Nah, I’ve had one” she nodded to her cup, kept in place by some loose change, “but I’d take a sausage roll thanks?”

I obliged at the nearest Greggs and got her a bottle of coke to go with it. She didn’t eat, but stuffed both into her jacket pockets. Was that going to be her dinner? The wind turned to light spitting of rain.

“not often you see a woman out on the street” I tried to make some conversation. Awkward, an adult male talking to a young girl.

“I’m never going back to that shelter”, she ran a hand through her hair

“which one is that?”

“the big one in town. It’s just an open room space with beds, everyone comes in off their face, fighting and shit”

“that’s awful” I tried to sound sympathetic, inwardly wandering what that experience would be like, a young woman in a dark school hall with drunk strangers, “won’t the council give you a room?”

“they don’t know I’m here, I come down from up north, get away from my stepdad yknow?”. As she spoke she rattled the cup and then slid the coins into her hand and pocketed them. She stood up, letting the wind take the cup into the road. “the council would just make me go back anyway”

What she said started ringing alarm bells in my head, a teenage runaway maybe? She shouldn’t be sleeping outside. Was she lying? Was she looking for money?

“you shouldn’t be sleeping outside though, its dangerous”. She had started walking back through the underpass away from town, I put my hands in my pockets and made to walk alongside her.

“its fine” her voice got louder, “I’ve slept out for years like, it dunt matter, I’ve been jumped before an that. One time some fucking kids set me on fire”

I stopped in my tracks, “wait, what? Set you on fire? Why?”

She shrugged and continued walking, “thought it was funny? I was in my sleeping bag like and then woke up fire like this”, she made a big gesture with her arms, nearly catching a passer-by in the face. She was animated, loud, walking very fast. “they couldve at least pissed on it put it out like. Shit happens tho yknow?”

I needed to go a different route, but I stopped and turned, “I don’t want your number, but please, take mine. If you need anything or want some help, just message me”. She had a wry smile, rain on her face, but she did put my number in her phone. “it’s Beth by the way”, the words were half obscured by the cigarette in her mouth, while her hands searched for a lighter. I produced one and she lit up, the flint and steel popping in the rain. She held it between her fingers, “can I have it?”.

“its all yours”. I walked back to my lodgings. The weather got worse, more heavy rain and some thunder.

Wednesday: breezy morning, cloud then storms in the afternoon. Beth didn't message yesterday, I didn't really expect her to, but part of me thought that not insisting on her number might make her feel comfortable. What is this conceit? That she would recognise my purity of intention and yield to my offer of help with gratitude?

4pm: She has messaged, she wants to meet around the corner. It's pouring with rain but maybe she needs help?

7.30pm: I've returned from our meeting. The rain was relentless, the kind that forms puddles up to your ankles and you stop worrying about how wet you are because you're soaked through. We met at the intersection, she was wearing the same clothes as Mon, she wanted £20 for some food. I didn't trust her not to buy alcohol so I said I'd go with her to pick up some supplies. We walked to the nearest Tesco Express, and she was quite lucid and candid about sleeping out in the rain, creepy guys trying to approach her. £20 was not going to stretch far to cover a few bags of crisps, dairylea dunkers and other simple snack things. I tried to steer her to fresh foods but she laughed and asked me where I'd keep them, same with multibags of things. I ended up paying over £40 to fill her rucksack. She seemed happy but agitated, always moving.

As she stood drenched in the shop doorway about to head outside I couldn't help but offer to find her somewhere to stay.

“Oh yeah? With you is it?” she was sniggering at me.

“No no, no I meant I'd pay for you to get a room?” I said hurriedly

“So you'll know where I am tonight eh, keeping me all for yourself?” she was enjoying teasing me, putting me in my place by instantly highlighting what my intentions could be. I was caught off guard.

“I just meant, can I find you somewhere out of the rain, that's all?”.

Her eyes were still amused, “ok then mister, what's the plan?”

I had no idea where I could take her - “erm, what about a hotel, or a hostel? Somewhere with a room for you without sharing?”

We settled on the YMCA. I suggested that I go to visit the place and ask about the rooms, their condition, but she went straight in and asked to go to sleep somewhere. They agreed to one night. I paid up for her and left, the two receptionists staring daggers as I exited.

11.45pm: Got a text from Beth saying she had left the hostel and was sleeping out tonight. I phoned several times before I got through. She half explained a scenario whereby another resident had asked her for drugs, to which she said she didn't have any. The other woman didn't believe her and tried to barge into her room, then tried to tell the staff that Beth had been dealing in the corridor, at which point she just picked up her bags and walked out. (Note - fear of sleeping rough animates most people to find a way to stay indoors, once you get over that fear, I guess it doesn't matter anymore?) She said she felt safer outside, less trapped, less rules. I tried one last time to reason with her, but she stayed silent and finally said “yeah, but it smelt really fuckin weird in there, like bleach and toast”.

Saturday: Brighter weather, wind but no rain. Worked for the last few days, typed up previous notes. Went out for coffee, to read some papers. Beth messaged me at lunchtime, I hadn't heard from her since wednesday night - she wanted to meet in town. I walked back past the coffee shop from home, she was sat cross-legged on the floor, another small cup by her feet. She was on the phone, same jeans and trainers, a thin faded pink hoodie pulled up half covering her hair. Again her demeanor was almost comically dismissive of everyone around her, when she saw me she stood up, even as someone tried to drop some coins for her.

“Come on I want you to meet someone”. She grabbed my forearm and pulled.

“Oh, that's cool, are you ok though, you've been out for the last few nights?”

“Yeah but my mate Nobby is back now, I'll crash on his sofa tonight. I want you to meet him”

Her impossibly fast walk, a pace that made no sense given her diminutive stature. I was almost running. We walked for about 45 minutes through town, then into some housing areas, then finally past some warehouse units and towards a group of older council flat tower blocks.

“It's a shithole but whatever” said Beth almost to no one as we pushed past some old bike frames and wheelie bins to access the mouldering stairwell. The place hadn’t seen any help for decades - rubbish, greenish puddles, bare concrete with fading paint daubs, the ubiquitous safety glass and emergency exit signs framing the doors between floors.

“Nobby is proper sound, I think you'll like him”. Beth had turned onto a pebble-dashed balcony walkway, exposed to the elements, crossing towards yet more decaying doorways. At the end of a long row of flat doors stood a tall figure leaning over the railings, smoking a roll-up. This was Nobby. As he casually straightened up and turned towards us, he seemed to expand and fill the entire space. He was indeed a very tall, wiry man - wearing oversized combat trousers and boots with a thick padded hooded jacket over a military green t shirt. His face was almost impossible to age - his eyes and white-blonde hair were youthful but his skin looked leathery, and when he smiled he showed only a handful of teeth. In fact his smile was like a frog, wide and gaping, and his eyes crinkled up until they practically disappeared. The almost-geriatric puckering lines around his mouth clashed with his easy relaxed gait. As we stopped still Beth squealed and threw her arms around his neck, forcing him to stoop.

“Fuckin g’off Beth”. He sounded playful, and she laughed in delight, trying to slap his face as he pulled his hood up and wriggled around, “g’off before I fuckin chuck you over the rail y’crazy cow!”.

Eventually he stood up straight again, a broad serene grin over his entire face.

“Yes mate alright yes, alright mate, how's it going? I’m Nobby. Beff said you’re like helping her out and that, fair mate”

I barely had time to open my mouth for a response when he turned and toe-punted the door open, sweeping aside old beer cans before striding inside, ducking slightly. Beth tried to jump on his back and failed. I crossed into the house, which smelt damp and of stale cigarette smoke. I followed them across a floor with no carpet, turning right into the open plan living room and kitchen area. A well worn sofa and coffee table were pointed at a flatscreen TV on the wall, but aside from them there was no furniture. In one corner of the room near a closed room stood a washing machine in pieces, partially taken apart, the curving glass door balanced against the wall. A few tins of cat food had been dropped near the sofa, and some black rubbish bags were heaped around the other side of the arm.

Nobby seated himself like the king of his castle, in the middle of the sofa, legs wide and pulled the coffee table closer. Beth was on her knees, arms crossed over the table, leaning in. Nobby produced a small clear bag of weed, and proceeded to unwrap it in front of her. She bent her head over it and inhaled deeply, twice. Then she got up and busied herself with the kettle and coffee cups. Nobby turned to me, pulling out some large size rolling papers from the pack without looking.

“Beff don’t even smoke it like, she just likes the smell, don’t you Beff!?”. He shouted the last few words, and Beth shouted back over her shoulder “I love it!”. The kettle was beginning to boil. Nobby was pulling out chunks of tobacco and lining them up in the papers on the table. I looked around a bit, then sat down on a camping stool next to the proceedings.

“So, how do you guys know each other?”

Nobby didn’t answer, concentrating on crumbling up the dried mixture, before raising the whole thing to his mouth and licking down the glue strip. He then lit the end and took an enormous inhale. The end of the joint glowed a dull red and crackled. Finally he let out a huge cloud of smoke through his nose and turned to me again, as if suddenly realising I was still there.

“thanks for helping her out brother, she’s had it rough y’know, we all have, but she dont deserve everything thats happened, I appreciate it”

He stretched out his huge hand again and I went to shake it. He put his joint in his mouth then placed the other hand over the top of mine. His hands felt rough.

“really though, its amazing, what you did”

“I don’t feel like I really did anything to be honest, just a few bags of crisps and such”

He was still smiling when he released my hands and turned back to his joint, just as Beth placed a mug of instant coffee down on the surface.

“D’you want one?” she offered, “its not all fancy nice stuff like, just tesco”

“No no, that would be great, milk and sugar if you have it?”

“Got sugar, no milk. You need to get some food in its shocking in here” she half-shouted at Nobby, who seemed to be falling asleep. He took a sip of the black coffee and his eyes flickered back to life.

“Yeah yeah, there’s some stuff there for sandwiches though, I’m proper starvin, you hungry mate?”

“I could eat”

Beth put down a packet of sliced white, a bottle of mayonnaise and some cheap ham. Nobby reached out like a giant playing with kid’s toys, and squeezed half the bottle out onto the bread, tipped some meat on top and pressed another slice down over it all with his palm. He seemed to inhale the whole thing, and then another. Beth motioned for me to make my own, which I did. Nobby seemed to conjure up a can of Carling out of somewhere within or underneath the sofa and cracked it open, a look of satisfaction seeped over him as he sipped first from the can, then the coffee, then the can again, and finally rolled up another joint.

“Top scran, magic”. He spread his arms over the back of the sofa and leant back on the cushion, closing his eyes as he breathed out another huge cloud of smoke.

“So you don’t smoke Beth?”. I broke the silence.

“Not weed, obviously fags n’that but I don’t do drugs, I don’t drink…”

Nobby let out a huge guffaw of a laugh, his frog-like mouth taking over most of his head as he pitched sideways. Beth reached over a smacked him on the thigh.

“Fuck off Nobby, I don’t drink, just like on birthdays and that”

He carried on wheezing and laughing to himself, then leant up and found his coffee.

“Y’ever been in the forces mate?”. I shook my head. “Didn’t think so, I drank so fucking much when I was in Afghan mate, unreal. Rat pack food was so shit we’d just get munted every day”. He stopped to re-light his joint.

“I’m being a cunt to her, she’s never been that bad with drinking like, I’m supposed to be on these pills and that but I can’t not drink and smoke. The doctor always going on at me, gotta eat right, gotta stop smoking. I said to him, mate I have post traumatic disorder, I wake up screaming and shitting the bed every night mate, like, leave me in peace”. Beth was sat cross-legged nursing her coffee, her eyes fixed on him with pity.

“There were two darkies in our section when I was deployed, big lads like, whenever one of em would take a piss they’d be shouting at anyone near em stop trying to look at my dick”, he started laughing again, showing his few teeth, before taking another inhale, “then they’d both run around steaming the PBs bollock naked, fighting about who had the most massive. One time our section went to watch, what’s that fuckin film where the black gets stomped on his teeth on the pavement?”

He clicked his fingers, trying to remember.

“American History X?” I said hesitantly

“That’s the fuckin one!”, his grin seemed to swallow up his eyes, “aw mate, we all packed in the screen, fucking hollering, stomp on that nigger! The two black guys were right at the front proper screaming and cheering, stamp on that fuckin nigger man!”, he rolled back in his seat, clapping and whooping himself. Beth was laughing. They both carried on when they saw my expression, “ahh don’t be like that, its not like that”. He lit up again, almost spitting the cloud out as he chuckled.

“It was good like, good times, everything else was so shit gotta have some laughs together, get fucking mortal. I miss the piss taking y’know. Civvy life is awful mate. I dunno how you do it”

Beth made more coffee and they talked between themselves for a while. Jobcentre, forms to fill in, medication he should be taking, the homeless shelter. His eyes turned dark when she mentioned the shelter, like an angry dad. He drank more cans, smoked more, then went into the room behind the sofa and closed the door.

“Is he ok?”

“Yeah, he’ll sleep until tomorrow night probably. He takes so much stuff, smokes too much”

“What about you? What are you going to do now?”

“Head back into town, see some people about a few things”

“Can I use the bathroom?”

“Mmmhmm”, she had a mouthful of coffee but pointed towards the only other door in the flat. She swallowed, “its in a state though”

I got up and walked across the room, turned the handle and stepped into a tiny bathroom with a corner shower and a sink that almost blocked the door from opening. The toilet bowl was smashed and broken around the rim, someone had attempted to wedge the seat back into the chipped broken remains. Underfoot was crunchy with shards of ceramic. The shower door was also resting on the floor, the hinges unscrewed.

We left the flat together shortly afterwards, walking at a normal pace back into the city centre. Beth seemed quiet, more thoughtful and less agitated. She scuffed her feet on the pavement.

“Y’know, its not normal for a guy from the university to come down here and hang out with the likes of us”

“How do you know I work at a university?”

She laughed and pointed at my neck, “seriously? who else would have these and that bag? C’mon?”

Every time I’d seen her I had been wearing my large headphones, which still straddled my neck like a pair of ear muffs. I also had my leather satchel bag over my shoulder with some books and papers.

“Fair” I muttered, “makes sense”. She laughed again and poked me in the ribs, “don’t be a twat, it’s funny, you hanging out with me and Nobby, and you’re a nice guy”. We walked some more, she kept trying to stand on the top of my foot with each step, a game she found very funny.

“So you’re staying with your friend then, for a while?”

“Hope so”, she swept her hair behind her ear, “he’s got issues and that but he’s never hurt me or anything, he’s a good guy, lets me sleep in his bed while he watches TV all night. Should be sorted there for a bit anyway”

“What about after that? What’s your plan?”

She shrugged and put her hands in her pockets, “just carry on, maybe my stepdad’ll get banged up this time and I’ll go home, I dunno. Have to see”

We parted ways in town, I offered her more money for food but she refused this time.

Wednesday: light sunshine and cloud. Just a few messages from Beth over the last few days. Simple one-liners: “sleeping in flat”, “yes”, “no”. Around 2am today she texted “on the bus meet me there?”. I responded but there was no reply.