Broadway Angels

By Lou J. Nemet

Claude is a man lost. He is not interested in what the next moment brings, does not hope nor wish nor fear. In this state he encounters RM, an angel. They become connected to each other against their will and set off on a journey through South London which provides the setting for a funny, personal and moving exploration of grief.

Unwittingly guided by the angel, Claude begins to explore feelings he thought he’d left behind such as hope and fear until he finally speaks openly about love and despair.

In passing the reader is offered well researched details about the South London suburb of Tooting and a host of references to literature, film and music which the two protagonists share in exchanges full of humour and compassion.

However, the story, like love and life, is ephemeral.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483416700

Book preview

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

The places I will tell you about are real. You can find them all near the South London underground station where this tale begins, Tooting Broadway. The feelings I will tell you about are also real. I have come to endure them all, over time.

Alas, my story is ephemeral.

CHAPTER ONE

Morden 1 minute

Morden 4 minutes

I wasn’t bored. Just didn’t give a monkey’s uncle, arse or otherwise, about what the next moment would bring. Not interested.

Morden

Morden 2 minutes

The display on the southbound Northern Line platform continued pretending to count down. I liked it because it never counted down in the way the inexperienced expected. Two minutes could become anything from 30 seconds to 10 minutes. The Self Winding Clock from New York regally hanging from the ceiling and the count down rarely matched. It should not be called a count down, but rather a ‘let’s have a guess altogether now down’. Suited me fine.

Just a few stops. I wanted to climb my favourite place, again. It’s got all sorts of names and according to the internet is now called Colliers Wood Tower. Thank you ‘Smart Phone’, thank you ‘Google’, thank you internet on the underground. I’ve seen it called the ‘Brown and Root Tower’ or ‘The Vortex’ but there is an even better name for it. Why they voted this tower London’s most hated building in 2006, I will never understand. How can you have ‘Barad-dûr’, Sauron’s Fortress described so eloquently in ‘The Lord of the Rings’, next to ‘Mordor’, well Morden actually and not be delighted? I like that sort of stuff, trivia.

The tower has stood derelict for years now, but I found a way in before they pulled down the car park and since then I sneak in every now and again. 19 floors without a lift is a pain and it’s dark of course but boy what a view! It is best seen in the fading light of an autumn evening and you just had to be up there for the moonrise in September 2013, classic! I accept, if you look straight down towards ‘Mordor’, okay Morden, they messed that one up, big time. On a grey day you cannot help but think that even Frodo would have given in if he had to carry his burden past the monstrous shopping outlets at the bottom of my lovely brown monolith. Yet, if you look up a little the other way, you feel surrounded by a sea of Victorian terraces gently floating on the undulating hills that in the past wore lavender purple. In the far distance the towers of a lighter London sparkle, in Crystal Palace Park and at London Bridge. After a glass or two anyway.

In the corner of my eye, expecting to see the train arrive, he suddenly appeared. I probably looked a bit surprised myself, but he stared at me dumbfounded. He looked as though he had just been hit in the face by a six pound pigsnout grunt, a fine fish from the Eastern Atlantic, I had once caught in better times. Well, not dumbfounded really, because he started to shout loudly a stream of obscenities without hesitation, deviation or repetition. I might be listening to Radio 4 a bit too much, true. Also BBC London, I always wanted to become a listed Londoner. Not anymore.

While screaming expletives his face changed from pigsnout grunt slap to real get out of my face angry.

Scheisse, Kacke, Dreck. German?

It is bad manners to acknowledge anyone on the tube, whatever they say or do, so I got up and walked towards the edge of the platform. You should always get away from anyone who is ill-mannered enough to draw attention to themselves. That’s good manners.

Riesenmist und Hundekot.

Now, I do know German and I understood that he was swearing his way through a list of terms for excrement, the last one being dogpoo. Then he screamed Fick die Amsel. I hadn’t heard this one before. It means ‘Fuck the blackbird’, trust the Germans to be weird. Would that count as zoophelia? I like rare words. You don’t read the term zoophelia in the newspapers much.

Following this, in my opinion, rather intriguing line of thought, I was momentarily distracted and made a mistake, a greatly irritating one at that. Only tube beginners are usually so stupid. I had turned around.

He shut up straight away and stared, hard, the way you don’t like to be stared at.

You’ve seen me, haven’t you? You’ve seen me?

I had, and it was clear that he also knew this was a mistake. You should know that once you acknowledge someone on the tube you cannot just turn away, especially if they have started talking to you. Hmm, I kept my acknowledgement minimal and turned back to face the edge of the platform. I wondered when the train would come.

We’re stuck with each other now!

Not good. Here was someone with issues beyond simply shouting out German terms for excrement. If you happen to encounter such a person on the tube it is quite ok to ignore them even if you have previously acknowledged them. I did. But this chap stepped up right next to me. I continued to ignore him. He coughed. I ignored him even more. Train?

No point waiting for the train!

I ignored him with all my power of ignoring and distracted myself in contemplating what the noun for ignoring would be? I could use that now. AND WHERE WAS THAT TRAIN?

He returned to the bench. Good. I stayed at the platform edge.

Sitting down noisily he sighed. My name is RM. I am an angel.

I didn’t react at all, and indeed I really didn’t have any interest in whether he thought of himself as an angel or in whatever problems he might have. Much better to ignore him and wait for the train. I remained firmly, stone faced and silent at the edge of the platform. In the end though, I gave in to foolhardy curiosity and looked for the train. This, of course, is also something normally only tube beginners do.