The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin Read Online Free
now there were just empty cardboard cartons and glass beer and wine bottles, with the odd flower pushing through here and there struggling to survive among all the weeds, the paper and plastic rubbish trapped, and blowing about in the wind between the low parapet walls.
As he sat there, swinging his feet and watching all the people rushing to catch their individual trains, he couldnât help but notice that they were all different. Some were tall, some short, some quite tubby and some were thin. Others were very smart and well-dressed; they obviously had good jobs in the city. He bided the time by playing a game, guessing the jobs of the individual people who passed by.
One he reckoned was big in the banking or legal profession. He had a bowler hat, striped trousers, a navy three-quarter length coat, an umbrella and highly polished black shoes. He was being followed by a man carrying a rucksack and wearing brown overalls. He looked like a building worker, probably a bricklayer or stonemason employed on the nearby construction sites.
*
It was now getting dark and as Geoff sat eating the second pear the only places where he knew he could find shelter and be safe for the night was the burnt out house at the end of his motherâs street. The same one where the old tramp sometimes stayed. Better still was the shed in the allotments, where he had been before. He also had a key to his motherâs old council house; but he felt frustrated and trapped as he didnât know which train to catch to take him to the outskirts of that part of the city. His sense of survival was telling him he needed somewhere dry and warm for the night. In the morning he would sort everything out when, hopefully, he would not be feeling so tired and weary.
He spent that first night of his escape in the station. The first three hours being in the station toilet cubicle. As the lock was broken he ended up sitting on his haversack with his back to the toilet door and his feet up against the base of the WC.
That was until, in the early hours, someone tried to get in and banged and thumped on the closed door. They continued until in the deepest voice he could muster he shouted for them to. âFuck Off!â The magic words seemed to work, the person on the other side of the door muttered something that he could not make out, and then decided to move on.
He felt quite pleased with himself. He had heard the older lads at school use this language before and one of them had been suspended for using these very same words to one of the teachers. They were obviously words that older people used, so the person on the other side of the toilet door would think he was older and bigger than he really was. He had heard the old man say occasionally,
âFortune favours the braveâ,
and now he thought he knew what he meant.
He waited until it was all quiet in the toilets again, then slowly opened the cubicle door, ready to slam it closed again if anyone was there waiting for him. Even though it was a cold night he was sweating as he slipped out of the toilet block and quickly mingled amongst the crowds in the station, whose numbers never seemed to dwindle no matter what time of night or day it was.
He sat on his rucksack in a dark corner near a stall that sold newspapers and magazines, the collar of his jacket turned up and his hands tucked deep in his trouser pockets. It was there that he dozed fitfully until the early hours of the morning. It was the cold that awakened him.
He rose stiff and sore after the most uncomfortable first night in his young life on the run from his foster home and the relevant authorities who would by now be searching for him. As much as he disliked the foster home, he now had to admit to himself that he missed the warm bed and clean sheets, and he had enjoyed the regular hot meals at the Dixonsâ family home.
Chapter Two
At the station, he noticed that people stood in front of a massive board then went to look
As he sat there, swinging his feet and watching all the people rushing to catch their individual trains, he couldnât help but notice that they were all different. Some were tall, some short, some quite tubby and some were thin. Others were very smart and well-dressed; they obviously had good jobs in the city. He bided the time by playing a game, guessing the jobs of the individual people who passed by.
One he reckoned was big in the banking or legal profession. He had a bowler hat, striped trousers, a navy three-quarter length coat, an umbrella and highly polished black shoes. He was being followed by a man carrying a rucksack and wearing brown overalls. He looked like a building worker, probably a bricklayer or stonemason employed on the nearby construction sites.
*
It was now getting dark and as Geoff sat eating the second pear the only places where he knew he could find shelter and be safe for the night was the burnt out house at the end of his motherâs street. The same one where the old tramp sometimes stayed. Better still was the shed in the allotments, where he had been before. He also had a key to his motherâs old council house; but he felt frustrated and trapped as he didnât know which train to catch to take him to the outskirts of that part of the city. His sense of survival was telling him he needed somewhere dry and warm for the night. In the morning he would sort everything out when, hopefully, he would not be feeling so tired and weary.
He spent that first night of his escape in the station. The first three hours being in the station toilet cubicle. As the lock was broken he ended up sitting on his haversack with his back to the toilet door and his feet up against the base of the WC.
That was until, in the early hours, someone tried to get in and banged and thumped on the closed door. They continued until in the deepest voice he could muster he shouted for them to. âFuck Off!â The magic words seemed to work, the person on the other side of the door muttered something that he could not make out, and then decided to move on.
He felt quite pleased with himself. He had heard the older lads at school use this language before and one of them had been suspended for using these very same words to one of the teachers. They were obviously words that older people used, so the person on the other side of the toilet door would think he was older and bigger than he really was. He had heard the old man say occasionally,
âFortune favours the braveâ,
and now he thought he knew what he meant.
He waited until it was all quiet in the toilets again, then slowly opened the cubicle door, ready to slam it closed again if anyone was there waiting for him. Even though it was a cold night he was sweating as he slipped out of the toilet block and quickly mingled amongst the crowds in the station, whose numbers never seemed to dwindle no matter what time of night or day it was.
He sat on his rucksack in a dark corner near a stall that sold newspapers and magazines, the collar of his jacket turned up and his hands tucked deep in his trouser pockets. It was there that he dozed fitfully until the early hours of the morning. It was the cold that awakened him.
He rose stiff and sore after the most uncomfortable first night in his young life on the run from his foster home and the relevant authorities who would by now be searching for him. As much as he disliked the foster home, he now had to admit to himself that he missed the warm bed and clean sheets, and he had enjoyed the regular hot meals at the Dixonsâ family home.
Chapter Two
At the station, he noticed that people stood in front of a massive board then went to look
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