A Leg Up

By Jason Bruce

Mighty oaks from little acorns grow, or at least that was the idea the government had when A Leg Up was conceived. The year is 2005, the project, to take thirty homeless men off the streets, train them for thirty days, and get them into work. An independent film maker and his crew employed to record the whole process, taxpayer money to fund it, direct oversight by three appointed government officials, and an all or nothing agenda where failure was not an option. But when things did go wrong, and with so many items of the government's dirty laundry on display, sweeping the whole thing under the rug became the order of the day, all footage of the event seized, never to see the light of day ever again. But the best laid plans of mice and men have a way of coming back to bite one squarely on the derriere, in this case, a transcript of all recorded footage taken down prior to its confiscation and subsequent burial amongst the vast archives which the government has deemed unsuitable for consumption by the public. As with Street Justice, this tale asks you to imagine a world where these goings on might well be closer to reality than you may well have previously thought. So in conclusion, please ask yourself which one is closer to the truth, Bigfoot, or big government making big mistakes, with big chunks of your taxes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Bruce
• Release date: Oct 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781912022588

Book preview

Paul

Episode One

We see the following scenes through the camera lens, similar in fashion to a modern video game walkthrough, whilst moving along the last fifty feet of a corridor, doors along both sides, three of which are open, and one directly ahead which is closed. We stop at the first open door on our left, turn toward it, and see an outdoor scene of a bearded homeless man sitting on a street begging, a mangy looking dog at his side.

Narrator: Helpless.

We turn, and continue down the corridor, then stop at the next open door on our right. Looking inside we see an indoor scene, as two homeless men sit next to a small fire in the corner of a dank room, the window behind them boarded up, sharing a bottle of spirits.

Narrator: Hopeless.

We turn back toward the end of the corridor, and continue until we reach an open door on our left, turn toward it, and see an outdoor scene in the early morning, where a young homeless man emerges from under a tarpaulin inside a doorway with a sign above it reading ‘Job Centre’, and yawns.

Narrator: And jobless.

We turn, and continue until we reach the door at the end of the corridor, and pause for a few moments.

Narrator: "Thirty strays , for thirty days ."

The door starts to open slowly.

Narrator: "Or as it is better known by its sponsors ..."

The door opens all the way, and we see a wooden desk on the far side, a red leather upholstered chair to its rear, a wooden plaque sitting on its front.

Narrator: A program named...

We zoom in at speed until the plaque on the desk comes into full focus. The plaque reads, ‘A Leg Up’.

Narrator: A Leg up.

Darkness.

A title reads, ‘Day One—Getting To Know You’.

We look out from a platform at the back of a white marquee, where the thirty homeless participants on the program, all looking disheveled to varying degrees, all males of various ages and ethnicities, sitting five to a table, eating buffet style food, sandwiches, pork pie, sausage rolls, etc, like it’s going out of fashion. The cameraman slowly pans around.

Narrator: "So, it’s half past nine , and time to..."

The cameraman stops at one of the tables, and zooms in on a shifty looking participant in his mid to late fifties, as he takes a quick swig from a bottle in a brown paper bag.

Narrator: Dine?

We cut to a scene in an ally, where a middle aged man, wearing a green waxed jacket and stained beige trousers, rummages through one of two dustbins.

Narrator: "Say hello to someone else who enjoys a little hair of the dog to compliment the most important meal of the day. He didn’t wish to give us his name, but said that he was a close friend of our good friend..."

We cut to an arrest photo of the man with the bottle in a brown paper bag from the previous scene in the marquee, his eyes glazed over, his expression vacant. A subtitle reads, ‘Jack’.

Narrator: "A man, who by this man’s account, has a certain way with the ladies. A bit of a dark horse perhaps?"

We return to the ally, where the middle aged man sits next to one of the dustbins eating one half of a limp looking sandwich, a large plastic bottle of cider nearby.

Jack’s friend: (Continues chewing throughout) "You wanna know about Jack ?"

Narrator: "Err, I think that’s why we’re here."

Jack’s friend: (Swallows food, then belches) "I can tell ya all about Jack."

Narrator: " Yes , now we’re getting somewhere."

Jack’s friend: (Opens the bottle of cider, has a swig, belches in the general direction of the camera lens, then laughs inanely) Jack...Jack the stripper, yeah?

Narrator: A skilled profession. Maybe we can get him back into the workplace sooner than we thought.

Jack’s friend: I’ll tell ya how he got the name, shall I?

Narrator: We’re all ears.

Jack’s friend: Well, I’ll tell you a joke, yeah?

Narrator: (Sarcastic) "It must be nice having so much time on your hands."

Jack’s friend: Three old women sittin’ at a bus stop...(burps) Flasher walks past, opens his coat...Two had a stroke, one couldn’t reach.

Narrator: So, in essence, you’re saying?

Jack’s friend: He popped his c**k out in front of some pregnancy clinic, or whatever.

Narrator: So he exposed himself in front of an anti-natal clinic, correct?

Jack’s friend: "Oh, and a private girls school...But you need to understand, he was s**t faced when it happened."

Narrator: "Which makes all the difference."

We return to the marquee, where all footage is recorded via remotely controlled hidden cameras, one to each of the six tables, unless otherwise specified, and all audio at the tables is recorded using microphones concealed inside centre pieces on each.

Narrator: "Righty ho then—one street performer down, pardon the pun, and twenty nine more to go. So let’s meet the rest of the gang at Jack’s table, shall we?"

We see all of the participants on table five, as they finish the last of the food on their plates. A hidden camera zooms in on a participant in his early to mid sixties, with no teeth, as he tries to swallow some food, his face contorting throughout. A subtitle reads, ‘Gummer’.

Narrator: "Say hello to Gummer. Proud of his Scottish heritage, and prouder still of his time in the Parachute Regiment, which is where he..."

We cut to a scene outside, where around the side of the marquee another participant, an unshaven man in his mid twenties, twitchy and nervous throughout, stands, a joint in hand. A subtitle reads, ‘Stash’.

Stash: (Laughs) "He smacked his jaw on the edge of some hole in the bottom a plane he parachuted out of is what he reckons...(Puffs on his joint, then laughs as he exhales the smoke) Broke all his teeth. Stupid old f**ker."

We return to the previous scene inside the marquee, where Gummer, the hidden camera still focused on him, dips half a sandwich into a mug of tea, then puts the soggy portion into his mouth.

Unseen participant: F**kin’ hell Gummer ya dirty b**tard, put ya f**kin’ teeth in for f**k’s sake.

Gummer: (Tries to chew as he speaks) "F**k you , ya wee c**t—for ah rip ya head off!"

Unseen participant: You and who’s army?

Second unseen participant: (Laughs) "More than likely the Salivation Army in his case."

Gummer: And you can f**k ya self as well, ya f**kin’ wee b**tard.

The hidden camera zooms out, and follows the second unseen participant as he gets up from the table. A subtitle reads, ‘Phillips’.

Phillips: Say hello to your granddaughter...Oh, sorry you can’t...

Gummer lunges at Phillips, but only succeeds in falling off his chair.

Phillips: (Walks away, calls back) Heroine overdose, right?

Gummer: I’ll f**kin’ kill ya, ya...

We cut to an earlier scene at the side of the marquee, where Stash continues smoking his joint. A subtitle reads, ‘Stash’.

Stash: That’s why I got up and left when I did...When that f**ker started in on Gummer about puttin’ his false teeth in.

Narrator: And the reason behind that would be?

Stash: There was this fella what used to go around the area givin’ stuff away—clothes and shoes and stuff.

Narrator: Stuff?

Stash: (Hides his joint behind his back, appears nervous as he looks around) "Not drugs if that’s what ya thinkin’, no way—just stuff ."

Narrator: A hint would be nice.

Stash: Well, just, err, bits and pieces.

Narrator: (Sighs) " God , this is like pulling teeth."

We cut to a previous scene where Gummer is putting the soggy end of his sandwich into his mouth.

Narrator: Sorry—takes foot out of mouth, so to speak.

We return to the previous scene with Stash, as he turns away for a moment for a quick puff on his joint.

Stash: (Slowly exhales smoke) So this fella gives this pair of kegs, ya know, trousers—to this other lad we was sharin’ the squat with. Then, after he left, Gummer saw some brown stain on the back, yeah?

Narrator: "Is this story going anywhere, or is it like a broken pencil, pointless ?"

Stash: So the lad tells Gummer that sometimes, when people die in accidents and that, sometimes they s**t themselves, yeah? So Gummer gets confused.

Narrator: (Sighs) He’s not the only one.

Stash: So this lad tells him how the fella bringin’ the stuff round works at some funeral home—and it’s what they get off the dead bodies when they’re brought in. So old Gummer turns white, and says, f**kin’ hell, I had a set of false teeth of him last week!

Narrator: Well, the last time I heard, beggars can’t be choosers, correct?

Stash: "A mate of mine reckons it gave him some psychic scar , or whatever."

Narrator: (Mildly sarcastic) Your friend sounds like a learned man. A student of Freud by any chance?

Stash: He’s more sort of what you’d call...(Puffs on his joint, blows out a smoke ring, then thrusts his face toward the camera lens and adopts a low, gravely voice) A street guru!

Narrator: Mmm, sounds like someone worth catching up with. But before that, maybe we should have a little look back inside the OK Corral, and see if tempers have cooled since...

We cut to a photo of a very pale Phillips, one eye blackened, lain in a hospital bed, an intravenous drip in his left forearm.

Narrator: Since the self appointed pourer of the fuel onto the flames, took a leaf out of Elvis’s book, and left the building.

We cut to an earlier scene inside the marquee, as Gummer lunges at Phillips, but only succeeds in falling off his chair.

Phillips: (Walks away, calls back) Heroine overdose, right?

Gummer: I’ll f**kin’ kill ya, ya...

We cut to a scene where Gummer, enraged, half a broken mug in hand, is restrained by two as yet unidentified participants.

Gummer: Ya come back here again ya f**kin’ wee s**te, an’ I’ll shove this right up your f**kin’ a**ehole!

We cut to a scene at a nearby table, a hidden camera focused on a tall, middle aged man wearing what, by its appearance, blonde with long flowing curls, can only be a wig, as well as a non too subtle layer of makeup, who smiles as he leans back in his chair. A subtitle reads, ‘Aunty M’.

Aunty M: (Effeminate tone) " Ooohh , promises, promises."

Laughter ensues, as Aunty M rolls a cigarette, seemingly relishing the act of licking the adhesive edge of the paper whilst finishing the process.

Narrator: Hello Aunty M...Sounds like something out of the Wizard of Oz...Hmm...

We see a radio disc jockey, possibly in his forties, sitting at his desk, headphones on, talking into a microphone.

Narrator: Say hello to Mike. No, not the one he’s speaking into, but a DJ who spends a great deal of his time each week on the air with our very own agony, err, Aunt?

The radio disc jockey removes his headphones and turns to the camera. A subtitle reads, ‘DJ Mike Co-Host—The Bitching Hour’.

DJ Mike: (Sings) It started with a kiss...(laughs) No, Martin’s not a left footer—in fact, he’s still married—got three daughters, so I know he’s not a brown hatter. It doesn’t matter what other people think—free society, and all that.

Narrator: Okay, so he’s straight, got kids, and to my reckoning, has a home to go to.

DJ Mike: "His wife was the problem. She had her mother living with them in a council house...It was her that found him out, and that’s why he left...The shame."

Narrator: The shame of putting on a little makeup? Oh, clowns of the world be damned for all eternity!

DJ Mike: Everybody else was out at the time, apart from Martin. Anyway, his mother in-law came back because she’d forgotten something, (laughs) most likely her broomstick, (laughs) and found him in the kitchen, dangling, with a rope around his neck, face all purple—but he was still alive, obviously.

Narrator: Err, yes, obviously. But on another note, it must have been a shock for her finding him like that, surely?

DJ Mike: Well yes, to a degree. But the shocking thing was...

Narrator: More shocking than a suicide attempt?

DJ Mike: He was wearing his wife’s wedding dress.

Narrator: (Sings) Here comes the bride, forty inches wide...

DJ Mike: So she managed to cut him down...Saved his life...Miracle she was there.

We cut to a scene in a bingo hall, where a very heavily built woman in her late sixties, wearing a low cut top, an array of brightly coloured tattoos on the uppermost areas of her arms, sits puffing on a cigarette from time to time whilst glaring into the camera lens. A subtitle reads, ‘Aunty M’s Mother in-law’.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: "In truth , I shoulda left that f**ker up there..."

Narrator: But you chose to do the right thing, followed that part of our nature which separates us from the animals, defines us as what we are—human beings.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: If I’d had any sense, I woulda cut his f**kin’ b**ls off after what he did to my Janice...Evil little b**tard!

Narrator: Domestic violence? A darker side which no one else ever saw?

We see an elderly man feeding pigeons in a park. He never shows his face to the camera, and his voice is disguised using electronic means. A subtitle reads, ‘Neighbour’.

Neighbour: He never bothered other folks. Never had a bad word to say about anyone. I speak as I find—and all round, he was a nice bloke.

Narrator: "Sounds like the type of person we’d all like to live next door to."

We now go back and forth between scenes and comments made by the neighbour from the previous scene and those involving Aunty M’s Mother in-law.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: The rumours were all over the town about him...All the sick f**kin’ stuff he got up to.

Neighbour: He was harmless. The two of them made up the stories about the torture thing in the basement, and the cigarette burns on her arms...Ask me, she did it to take attention away from what she’d done to him.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: The horror he put my Janice through...Unspeakable.

Neighbour: If he ever came home, even a minute late from work, she used to lock him out of the house. I remember one day when he came back on his bike, and got hit by a car right in front of his house. His head was cut open, he could hardly walk, but because he was late, she locked all the doors and closed the curtains. And it was me who ended up having to take him to hospital.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: "It was God’s will for what he did to my Janice... God’s will."

Neighbour: "He put a brave face on things, but after the accident, she still wouldn’t let it go. And in the end, it just got to him—pushed him over the edge."

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: "I’ll tell ya what f**kin’ happened, yeah? Him and my Janice went out for a walk in the mornin’. Ten minutes later he was on the doorstep with Janice in his arms, dead. Said there was nothin’ he could do. Said she just walked in front of a bus."

Neighbour: Fair enough, she loved that dog—but getting him put on some list as a sex offender was just pure spite.

We return DJ Mike’s radio station, as he places a record on the turntable with care, and presses a button. The cameraman zooms in on the turntable until the needle makes contact, and we hear the first few seconds of ‘What A Wonderful World’. He then turns to the camera, takes off his headphones, and leans back in his swivel chair.

Narrator: So what happened after he was put on the sex offender list? A royal pardon?

DJ Mike: Everyone in the area found out about it—and that’s when the idiots started in on him—and he lost it...I had to let him go.

Narrator: So let us just recap...Err, where do we start?

We cut to a still shot of Aunty M smiling, as he sits at the table in the marque from a previous scene.

Narrator: Happy as Larry—or Loraine perhaps?

DJ Mike: (Voice only) He could deal with it at first, but when the calls started to get more personal, he went back on the drink.

We cut to an earlier scene where Aunty M’s Mother in-law sits in a bingo hall puffing on a cigarette from time to time whilst glaring into the camera lens. A subtitle reads, ‘Aunty M’s mother in-law’.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: If I’d had any sense, I woulda cut his f**kin’ b**ls off after what he did to my Janice...Evil little b**tard!

We cut to the elderly man from another earlier scene, as he feeds pigeons in a park. He never shows his face to the camera, and his voice is disguised using electronic means. A subtitle reads, ‘Neighbour’.

Neighbour: He never bothered other folks. Never had a bad word to say about anyone. I speak as I find—and all round, he was a nice bloke.

Narrator: (Sings in the style similar to Fred Astaire in ‘Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off’ whilst altering the lyrics to suit the narrative) You say potato, I say pottato. I say tomaato, you say tomato...

We cut to still shot of Aunty M’s Mother in-law in a bingo hall, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth, as she looks down at her bingo card.

Aunty M’s Mother in-law: Best place for him? Six foot f**kin’ under!

We return to the marquee, and Aunty M leaning back in his chair, talking, laughing from time to time, and taking sips of water in between.

DJ Mike: (Voice only) He was really popular when he was at the station—helped no end of people with their problems. He was what you’d call an agony aunt with different plumbing I suppose. Some of his stories...Well, you never knew whether to laugh or cry most of the time. He made people laugh. A natural comedian.

We see a photo of Aunty M sitting at a desk in a radio station, wearing a red dress with sequins, smiling as he talks into a microphone. Exerpts from some of his broadcasts follow.

Aunty M: Yes, well, we do all have urges...I mean, look at my parents—there are ten of us, my brothers and sisters, and me the youngest. My mum used to say it was because we didn’t have a television back then.

Narrator: I know the feeling.

Aunty M: And our next caller on line two—he wishes to be called Charles. Right, go ahead Charles.

Caller: (Scots accent) I’ve started seeing someone who I’ve had my eye on for some time now...

Aunty M: Not called Camilla by any chance?

Caller: Sorry, what?

Aunty M: Nothing love—do go on.

Caller: So I think my wife suspects something.

Aunty M: Well, my advice to you, if you’re serious about this other lady...

Caller: Oh, yes I am, I am.

Aunty M: Well Charles, I think a certain person needs to be taken out of the equation.

Caller: Meaning what? You’re telling me to kill my wife?

Aunty M: "Heavens