Josh Gorws Up

"Grow up!" Those were the last words she'd said to Josh. And before that she'd said. "Again? Do you never learn? Well I'm not helping you out this time. I've had enough. You can't keep making the same mistakes over and over."

He didn't know what had got into her. Normally his Aunt Judy was extremely generous. She'd always supported him even when his parents hadn't. They'd never understood his art. She'd always understood his rather unconventional life style. She was rather eccentric herself. At 75 she still dyed her hair shocking pink, wore skinny jeans and leather jackets and smoked pot at least once a week. "It's good for the arthritis," she always said. 

He'd gone to her for yet another loan. He'd been given notice on his latest flat and wouldn't be getting his deposit back. He'd caused a small fire by overheating some oil he was using for one of the sets he was designing for the show at the Belsey Hall. The show was to celebrate otherness in all of its forms and he reckoned he was a pretty good example of other himself.

So, here he was, with nowhere to go. He'd sofa-surfed for a few weeks and his friends had been generous in storing his art materials and finished works. But he couldn't stretch that generosity a moment longer. There was nothing for it; he would have to sleep rough.

At first it was quite a novelty, living on the street. He became particularly friendly with two other people.

"We make ourselves quite cosy here, you know," said Joel, a man old enough to be his father but who could still run a marathon and who looked quite fit and healthy despite having lived on the streets for years.

"We all help one another here and look out for each other," said Sylvia who couldn't have been more that sixteen but who seemed wiser than his own mother.

He soon established a routine. During the day he would wander around the town centre, occasionally ducking into a shop. Or if he had some cash he'd sit in a cafe for a while or even the cinema. He tried to go for a swim once a week just to keep clean. If he had any money he'd go to the local swimming pool. If not he'd take a dip in the river.

One day he met up with Rob, one of the friends who had been looking after his art work. He'd managed to sell a couple of pieces for Josh. "Wouldn't this do for a deposit on a new place?" said Rob.

"Nah. I'd then have to find the rent as well. I'm better off as I am."

"What about your work, though?"

"Not enough people appreciated it. At least I'm happy now. I've got some new mates."

Some days were better than others. He tried to ignore the worse days, when the wind blew and icy rain made its way into the shop doorway where he, Joe and Sylvia slept, and when people were cruel to them. He decided to make the most of the good days when it was warmer at night and when even strangers, smiled in the sunshine.  

Josh decided to use his windfall to treat his friends. They got a trip to the swimming pool, new clothes and a slap-up meal at Bernadetti's, the posh Italian on the High Street. He treated himself as well to a goose down winter sleeping bag. This would make life a little more pleasant. 

They didn't look out of place at Bernadetti's. Joel had insisted on a bow tie. Sylvia was wearing a soft silky top with some brand new skinny jeans. Her arms were exposed and you could see her tattoos; a mouse curled up asleep and a motorbike with the name "Jed" written over the top.

"Who's Jed?" asked Josh.

"A scum-bag," said Sylvia. "If I ever go back to a proper way of life, not that that's likely, I'm going to get that removed." Her cheeks were red. It looked as if the wine was going to her head.

Josh had given up drinking years ago. He didn't like what it did to him anymore. Though it seemed that tonight the food had done almost as much; tender lumps of lamb in a tomato sauce served with Bernadetti's handmade pasta had been very pleasant indeed and had left him feeling mellow.     

"A toast," said Joel, holding up his glass of Chianti, "to better times."

Josh didn't like being sober and watching his friends getting tipsy.  

The magic of the evening was soon forgotten as they went back to their normal routine. The days got shorter and colder. It stopped being quite so much fun. Even with a goose down winter sleeping bag.

He began to notice some other disturbing things as well. His fellow street-dwellers would sometimes refuse food that passers-by offered. They wanted cash that they could turn into booze or drugs.   

And then the mayor got a bee in his bonnet. It was all over the local paper.

"Mayor aims to get all street-sleepers into accommodation by the end of the month."

Apparently they'd done some sort of calculations and found that there were actually more beds in hostels than there were rough sleepers. A whole bunch of volunteers had been drafted in to talk them off the streets. The one who tried it on with him, Joel and Sylvia, called herself Jessica. She was so charming that Josh was quickly persuaded.

"Nah," said Sylvia. "I'm all right here."

"The trouble is, you won't let me have my bottle of wine will, you?" said Joel.

Jessica nodded her head. "I'm afraid you're right. No alcohol and no drugs allowed in the hostels."

Josh couldn't refuse, partly because Jessica was so persuasive and partly because he had no excuse.

"And that's part of the real problem. There are enough beds to go round. But the hostels aren't exactly home and many people prefer the camaraderie on the streets."

She was right about the hostel not being exactly homely. It was comfortable enough and it was certainly clean and warm. He couldn't enjoy it though. He felt hemmed in. He was too close to other people. He had become so used to being outside.  

He was glad when he was able to step out into the bright sunlight. The air already felt, tasted and smelt fresher.         

"Not so fast, buster." Jessica had stopped him in the doorway. "Part of the deal is you allow us to help you move on."

She took him back inside to a room he'd not seen before. It was light and bright.

"Coffee?"

There was a proper coffee machine, like they have in all the well-known chains.

He nodded.

"And help yourself to pastries." She pointed to the plate of almond croissants and pains au chocolat on the table. This was a bit upmarket wasn’t it?

"I know it can be a vicious circle," she said as she started making notes. "No job, no bank account, no accommodation. And it's difficult to hold down a job while you're not getting enough sleep."

"It’s not just that." He went on to explain about how he always upset people around him and messed up his tenancies. How he felt people didn't understand his real art, and how he hadn't got the right temperament to hold down a job.

Jessica nodded. "You need to live in a community with people like yourself. There is an interesting scheme. There are some live / work spaces in the old warehouse by the docks. They designated for creative practitioners. I can help you to apply for one. Would that be of interest?"

That might work. Perhaps his mistake had been to always try to live amongst ordinary people. He'd heard about the scheme but always considered it out of his league.

"There is the snag that you need a deposit. Can you think of any means of getting that?"

He immediately thought of Aunt Judy. He was about to say something then he remembered the last conversation he'd had with her. He bit his lip and nodded.

"Well what they actually want is a combination of a deposit and proof that you will be able to fit into the community. Didn't you say that you had some of your artwork stashed away?"

"Yes? What do I need to do?"

"Let's get it all together. We can exhibit here. There are even bigger meeting rooms than this one. And I have another idea."

"What?"

"Well you know the Hamlin Foundation has money for educating rough sleepers? You could give art lessons here and earn a bit of money. Even if they let you in on your portfolio alone you'll need a little cash to get established. The application will take about a month to be processed. We'll help you get it right. And we suggest you carry on sleeping here."          

"I told you you should have let me get me kit off," said Sylvia. "They'd have sold this one as well then."

It was the opening of Josh's exhibition. Alongside his work were some of the pictures produced by his students from the class for rough sleepers.

"It's all right as it is," replied Josh. She had some talent. She ought to develop it. It was a convincing self-portrait.  

Joel was staring at his own work.

"And there are some great colours in that." Josh pointed to where Joel had captured the hideous shape of the ugliest hotel in the town but had made it interesting with a combination of pinks and purples.

Jessica was hovering at the corner of the room. She signalled with a nod of her head that she wanted to talk to him.

"I have news," she said when Josh reached her.

His stomach flipped. They'd probably rejected him.

She waved an envelope at him. "They've accepted your application. They still do want a small deposit. But it shouldn't be a problem. You've already sold six of your paintings. And someone left this note for you."

Oh. So the letter wasn't from the Housing Association?

He opened it. He recognised the handwriting straight away.

Dear Josh,

So I see you've taken my advice. You've grown up at last. You see, creative work is all very well but you also need a business head on you. I know that would be pretty well impossible in your case. So, the sensible thing then is to ask for help. And you have help now, although I gather from Jessica - what a treasure she is - that help was rather foisted upon you.

Anyway, I've bought your biggest work and I will promote you by showing everyone I can think of the beauty that will now adorn my dining room. And I shall post all about it on my social media.

Keep up the good work. And come and visit soon. I hope you will also invite me round to the new apartment. Don't bother too much tidying up first. I'm quite partial to a bit of chaos.

Aunt Judy.

"Good news?" said Jessica.

Josh nodded. "I think I've just grown up."