“Remi,” I say, forcing a smile, even though she’s not giving off friendly vibes. “Ragnor sent me. He said you might have some cleaning jobs?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Have you fucked him?”
I gasp at her bluntness. “God, no. I’m just looking for work.”
She sighs. “I don’t need any more girls. And, honestly, I’m tired of hiring the women he fancies, only to have them leave once he’s shagged them.”
I feel all hope leave me. “Right,” I mutter. “Well, thanks.”
I manage not to cry until I’m back on the pavement.
Ragnor’s card digs into my palm. I consider marching back in, telling her I don’t need favours, that I can mop floors and scrub toilets with the best of them, and that I show up. But my throat’s thick and my stomach’s louder than my mouth, so I fold the card in two and keep walking.
I don’t have time to fall apart. Falling apart is a luxury. So, I do what I always do—I keep going and try to figure out how I’m gonna survive.
The community hub is two streets over from the church, a dull-looking brick building with a chalkboard outside listing the soup of the day like it’s fancy. My legs carry me there before I’ve really decided, and after the entire day walking, in shoes two sizes too big that I found in one of those clothes bins, my feet are crying out for rest. I asked at every shop, café, and bar for work, and I was met by the same answer— “We’re not hiring.” And then, as if a lightbulb turned on suddenly, I remembered the chaplain and how kind he was earlier. Maybe he’ll be able to offer me something.
Inside smells like onions, cheap coffee, and dampness.
Kade spots me from halfway across the hall. He’s got a ladle in one hand, sleeves shoved up, and a tea towel slung over his shoulder like a cliché. “You came,” he says, and there’s no triumph in it, just warmth.
“I’m not staying,” I lie, eyeing the exit. “I just . . . need five minutes somewhere I won’t get moved on.”
“You can have twenty,” he says, already nodding towards the counter. “And a bacon roll.”
“I didn’t ask for––”
“Good thing I didn’t say you did.” He jerks his chin to a back room. “Take your break, eat something, then go wash yourhands. Put your bag under the table where you can see it, then you’re on rolls with me. If anyone gives you lip, send them my way. Or better yet, Lily.”
“Who’s Lily?”
“You’ll know her when she tells you off.”
I don’t mean to smile. It just happens. “I can’t stay,” I say again, weaker this time.
“Stay long enough to eat,” he says simply. “And if you wanna help after . . .”
The first bite is a mistake. Grease and heat hit my empty stomach like a punch, and I have to grip the counter to stay upright. Kade sees it but pretends he doesn’t, chatting to the man at the front of the queue about football like it’s the most important thing in the world. I chew and swallow and breathe. The second bite is easier.
I’m just about finished, and as I stand a voice snaps, “Hair net.” A blue one appears in my eyeline, and I glance up to see a woman in a long green dress and a headband, her face bare of makeup, her eyes very sharp.
“Lily?” I guess.
“Don’t flirt with the builders, and don’t give Derek a third roll,” she says, like we’re in the middle of a conversation. “He tells every new girl he’s diabetic to get extra.”
I blink. “Right.”
“Also,” she looks me up and down, “you’re very beautiful, which is unfortunate for your life choices. If a man in a leather kutte tries to ‘help’ you, say no and come to me.”
I open my mouth and close it, wondering why bikers would even come here, but then decide I like her on principle, so I just nod. “Noted.”
It’s busy. Busier than I expected. There’s a constant stream of faces and stories. Piercing eyes that silently assess me, and Iam very careful not to look in any of them for longer than I can stand.
Kade moves like he’s done this every day of his life. He’s a big bloke taking up big space, yet he moves with grace. He doesn’t ask questions, but he doesn’t need to. People soften the second they hear his caring tone, and then they open up like they’re compelled to spill their darkest secrets.
But I don’t belong here. Not in a bad way, just in that itchy way where kindness makes your skin too tight, uncomfortable. I’m used to earning my keep with laughter and lies. Here, the currency is something I don’t have a lot of—trust.
Lily explains that this place started for the homeless, and as time went on, they opened it to the community. Since lockdown, and then the recession, more and more people have needed a helping hand. They even have nurses drop in for food in exchange for free medical assessments for the homeless. It’s like one big family where no one is judging anyone else. Where everyone is fighting their own silent battle.
