Winter had always been his favourite time of the year. There was something magical about the changing of the seasons from the warm and balmy months of summer to the cooler months with their crisp temperatures. Bailey loved everything about the winter months—rugging up in warm woollen jumpers, lazy mornings spent snuggled up in bed, or afternoons reading by the fire. It never got anywhere near cold enough for snow, but he didn’t need much of an excuse to put a match to the logs, or when he’d moved into the studio apartment, turn on the gas so he could watch the flames flickering. He hated the new-build houses that seemed all the rage with their ducted air conditioning and lack of cosy heating.
Bailey liked spending his weekends doing nothing more strenuous than taking a brisk walk before returning home to indulge in a movie or escape into a book. During summer he felt guilty about indulging in his passions, feeling like he should be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. When it was cold and blustery, he didn’t need to make excuses to stay inside his apartment; he could read to his heart’s content guilt-free.
He knew the guilt was a hangover from his childhood. He thought back to all the weekends when his old man would drag him from the warmth of his bed early in the mornings. The sun would barely be over the horizon when his dad would be pounding at the door and bellowing at his son. Bailey could still hear the words echoing in his head. “Up and at ’em, boy. Get your lazy arse out of bed.” Or “Most boys your age are out playing. Why don’t you go hang out down the street with the Howell boys?” Bailey cringed at the remembered thought of the vicious teenagers he’d been glad to escape. Plus there had been his dad’s constant plea for Bailey to sign up to play sports. He didn’t give a fuck what sort of sport Bailey played—soccer, cricket, hell, even skateboarding—but Maurice McCreedy had no time for a son who didn’t participate in the usual Aussie weekend pastimes. Thank Christ, his brother Stuart had shared their father’s love of sports. All three of them would sit in the living room watching the rugby league, his dad and Stuart side by side on the lounge, cheering for the Dragons. Or they watched the cricket during summer. They hardly paid any attention to Bailey, huddled into the corner of the armchair, pretending to watch the match while reading the latest book he’d brought back from the school library and hidden in the pages of Stu’s Men’s Health fitness magazine.
Bailey shook his head to clear the memories.
It didn’t do any good to think about how things had been—he was better off focusing on the present, or better still the future. He swallowed back the melancholy and focused instead on the view of the garden. From his warm position inside the small flat, he looked out the window at the blazing display of ambers, reds, and browns, watching the gentle fall of leaves onto the lawn, thinking that the real bite of winter wasn’t far away. It really was a beautiful sight, as the colours of the trees provided a continuously changing picture, but soon the branches would be bare, their outlines stark against the sky.
Pulling his attention back to the task at hand, Bailey bent and picked up another box, placing it on the chair beside him. Inside were books of all descriptions and his task was to sort them into piles that reflected their genre. He started adding the new books to the existing piles that sat on the battered dining table—mainly thrillers, mystery, romance, but there were some self-help, a few biographies, and a small pile of non-fiction. The thrillers were the most popular, but there were a couple of kids who were happy to look at the more obscure topics, so he didn’t like to make too many assumptions about what they would or wouldn’t like.
Once all the cartons were empty of their contents and the sorting complete, he reused the same boxes to hold his haphazardly catalogued books, taking a black marker to label each box on the outside with large block letters. He stacked the five boxes against the wall, deciding to take them down to the van later—the boxes filled with books were heavy, surprisingly so, and his back was aching from the lifting he’d already done. Besides, he thought he deserved a break and was looking forward to the treat he’d discovered in the bottom of one of the boxes. An hour or so spent lying on the couch reading a recent Matthew Reilly novel sounded like heaven.
It was rare to find recent releases in the collection of donated paperbacks. The books came from a variety of sources: people Bailey had put the word out to and people who had found out about his endeavour by word of mouth and were willing to give up a couple of books to a worthwhile cause. He door-knocked at libraries and charity shops, asking for any old or spare books. He’d also created a donation drop-off point in the break room at work, and a few of his friends also gathered books on his behalf. He didn’t need a huge volume to come in each week, because surprisingly, the good majority of the novels were returned to be exchanged once they were finished. Bailey smiled as he thought of the customers visiting his “library.”
Bailey had been operating his small mobile book service for nearly a year now. A couple of nights a week, when he wasn’t rostered on to work, he loaded the van with boxes of paperbacks and visited the areas in the city where homeless and disadvantaged kids hung out. He usually parked in a couple of locations, staying for an hour or so at each, giving the kids time to search through the boxes to find the perfect story. Most of them were regulars, young people he’d come to know over the months, with a few new kids coming along each week, and some who only appeared once, never to be seen again. He didn’t really know if the kids were truly homeless or if they lived in homes with their families and just wanted out for a couple of hours. Or maybe they just couldn’t afford books. But whatever the reason, he loved to see the joy his books brought, and the camaraderie as the kids chatted amongst themselves over the boxes. The books seemed to be an icebreaker, the young adults and teenagers giving each other recommendations and discussing the books they’d read.
He wandered to the kitchen area of the small flat and debated between making a cup of coffee or a cup of tea. Five minutes later he was settled on the couch with his mug of English Breakfast and the cherished paperback. It didn’t take long for the story to lure him in and the tea to grow cold on the coffee table as Bailey turned the pages of his book.
* * *
Sydney was a city of contrasts—so beautiful in some places, but dark and ugly in others. During the day, the inner city was buzzing with people going about their daily business—office workers, students, shoppers—crowds of people filling the footpaths and cars congesting the roads. At night, it was like a different place. Some streets were well-lit and the neon lights of restaurants and bars illuminated the people making their way to or from their evening entertainment. But other areas had an almost abandoned feel, with nothing to draw the night-time crowd. The road Bailey was parked on was one such fairly deserted street, quiet and slightly eerie.
Bailey stepped from the van, the slam of the door echoing loudly. The night was bitterly cold. Bailey pulled up the collar of his jacket and wished he'd brought his woollen scarf as a barrier to the wind that was sneaking under his layers of clothing. He shivered as a particularly strong blast whipped past, rustling the leaves and garbage that lined the gutters, and swirled around his feet. The inner city streets acted as wind tunnels, funnelling the easterlies from the ocean between the tall buildings. Nights like these really brought home how tough the people living on the streets had it, reminding Bailey why he did what he did.
Bailey looked around and his despondent mood lightened as he spotted the group cutting across the small inner city park and heading his way.
"Hey," he greeted when they were close enough.
"Hi, Bailey," Cassie said. A large smile lit up her face as she high-fived him. "What's up?"
“The usual. I’ve come to spend some time with my favourite people.” Bailey grinned, genuinely pleased to see Cassie and her friends. “Hey, Jude,” he greeted the gangly youth standing at Cassie’s side. Jude grunted in response, but Bailey hadn’t expected anything more.
“This is Emma,” Cassie said, indicating the slightly older girl who’d accompanied them. Emma looked maybe twenty to Cassie’s seventeen. Her gaze darted around before she nervously raised her eyes to look at Bailey.
“Hi, Emma,” Bailey said, giving the girl a warm smile. She gave him a barely perceptible nod and started to worry at a fingernail.
“So have you got anything good?” Cassie asked, bouncing on her feet, her demeanour in direct contrast to the quiet nature of her friend. Cassie was always excited to see Bailey—or more accurately, always excited to see Bailey’s books. She pulled a paperback from inside her coat and waved it in his direction. “I loved this one. The mystery was brilliant. You were right, I could hardly put it down. Have you got any more like it?” She didn’t wait for Bailey to answer before heading to the back of the van.
“Hold your horses,” Bailey chuckled, hot on her heels to unlock the doors.
Within seconds Cassie was rummaging in the overflowing boxes, pulling out books and flipping them over the read the blurb on the back. The interior light from the vehicle wasn’t strong, so she had to peer closely to make sense of the words. Bailey retrieved a torch from inside the back of van, turned it on, and passed it to Cassie. The torch would provide much better light for reading. Once Cassie was organised, he turned back to the others.
Jude was standing on the footpath, watching Cassie exclaim over each find. Jude was six feet tall and as skinny as a beanpole. Bailey had no idea if Jude was naturally built to have a lean physique, but had a suspicion that lack of food contributed to the lankiness. He just hoped he was only underweight and not too malnourished. Bailey wasn’t sure of his age, but assumed Jude was a little older than Cassie, although not by much. What he did know was that Jude had taken on the role of Cassie’s protector. The young man kept an eye on Cassie at all times and was never far from her side. Jude wasn’t into reading but had been known to accept the odd magazine if he found something that took his fancy.
“Here.” Bailey leaned into the van and wrestled a plastic bag from its depths. Inside the Target bag was an assortment of magazines—Men’s Health, some gossip rags, and a few old National Geographics. Jude gave a half-smile as he took the plastic bag and proceeded to look through its contents.
Bailey turned his attention to the young woman he hadn’t seen before.
“Emma, wasn’t it?”
Her gaze flicked to his and she nodded again before looking to Cassie at the back of the van and resuming chewing on her nail. Bailey wasn’t sure if Emma was just shy, or maybe she was nervous. Not that being nervous was a bad thing. It didn’t pay to be too trusting of strangers, not when you were out on your own on the streets where it could be dangerous to talk to the wrong people.
“Did you want to take a look at the books, maybe find something to read?” he offered, hoping to draw her out a little.
“Yeah,” Cassie turned around and gave her new friend a reassuring smile, “there are heaps of good ones in here this week.” She held out a paperback. “Take a look at this. It’s a Tom Clancy.”
Emma didn’t make a move to reach for the book. She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Nah. No thanks.”
“Go on,” Cassie insisted. “Or maybe Tom Clancy isn’t your thing? Hold on. I think I saw a Nicholas Sparks. You like romances?” Cassie didn’t give Emma time to answer. She turned her back but within a minute, had swung around again and was offering the battered paperback edition of The Horse Whisperer. “Come on, take it,” she insisted.
“I don’t like reading,” Emma responded, her hands remaining lodged in the pockets of her old coat.
“Really? Seriously?” Cassie’s eyes widened in shock.
Bailey chuckled as he watched the exchange. He’d been lending books to Cassie for three months now, so he knew how passionate she was about reading. She’d almost read anything he gave her, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she even read the backs of cereal packets if there wasn’t anything else available. Bailey could understand the attraction, though. Books gave Cassie whole new worlds to escape into, much like he did with the hundreds of books he read a year.
“How can you not like reading? How can anyone not like reading books?” Cassie demanded of Emma.
Emma shrugged, then tilted her head towards Jude. “He doesn’t read.”
Cassie laughed. “Jude doesn’t do a lot of things. But he’s a bloke. They don’t read much anyway.”
“Hey!” Bailey objected. He raised a hand. “Bloke here. Guy who loves reading.”
Cass shook her head and giggled. “You don’t count.”
“How dare you!” Bailey said in mock outrage. “Are you saying I’m not a bloke?” He put his hands on his hips and gave both the girls the evil eye, or what he hoped was a good enough version of it.
Cassie laughed and Jude joined in, neither of them in the least perturbed by Bailey’s pretend outburst. They knew Bailey was just giving them a hard time and playing on the fact he was gay. It wasn’t something that’d been announced or discussed specifically, but over the three months they’d been stopping by the van a couple of times a week, it had been fairly obvious. Bailey had mentioned a lack of love life, Cassie had tried to steer him in the direction of some “hot gay clubs” on Oxford Street, and Gary, another of the street kids, had even tried to download a hook-up app to his phone. It hadn’t taken Bailey long to snatch the phone out of Gary’s grasp and shove it in his pocket. Now it mostly stayed locked in the glove compartment of the van—better to keep it out of the kids’ hands and better to stop it getting stolen.
Jude eyed Bailey up and down before staring him straight in the eye and raising an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he waited for Bailey’s response.
“What?” Bailey looked down at himself. Underneath the navy padded jacket he was wearing tight beige pants and a fitted T-shirt that could be glimpsed through the opening of the coat. The T-shirt displayed a grinning smurf. “All right. So maybe I’m not the most blokey of blokes—”
“That’s not what I mean,” Cassie interrupted, waving a hand in his direction. “You don’t count because you’re abnormal with your love of books. For God’s sake, you spend your free time driving around giving out books instead of being out having a good time like normal people—”
“Hey, I’m normal people—”
“You love books. Nerdy love books. Ordinary guys don’t read as much as you do. They get out and they play sport, and they watch TV and they date. I’m talking about ordinary guys from the street, not nerdy guys. Guys like Jude.” Bailey glanced at Jude, who shrugged his bony shoulders and smirked.
“I think you might be stereotyping a little there, Cass. I’m not totally a nerd,” Bailey said.
She tilted her head. “Maybe,” she said with a chuckle. “But I’d love to see the stats on that.”
Bailey gave up on the faux argument. He knew plenty of guys who liked reading, but maybe there was some truth to Cassie’s words. However, as if proving his point, a couple of other regulars who were avid readers interrupted the conversation.
Tony and Gavin were older, in their thirties or forties, and had been living on the streets for a hell of a long time. It was hard to gauge their age based on their tired appearance. Both dressed in well-worn clothing and shoes, outfits not changing often, and their faces were lined with the evidence of their hardship. Both had obviously had tough lives. From what Bailey knew, they had always stuck together, and both loved stopping by the van. Although they borrowed books, Bailey knew they also visited for a bit of company, someone to talk to apart from each other. The van became an informal meeting place for a bit of a chat.
As he turned his attention to the newcomers, the wind whipped up the ends of his hair. He absently pushed the wayward strands behind his ear as another shiver coursed down his spine—a reminder that winter was well on its way. Time to think about a haircut, but more importantly rounding up some blankets and coats and adding those to the collection of books in the back of the van.
“Got a smoke?” Gavin asked. It was the same question he asked every time he saw Bailey.
“No, sorry, mate. I don’t smoke.”
Gavin shrugged, rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, and joined his mate at the back of the van.
By the time Bailey had sorted Tony and Gavin out, Cassie had made her selection and was discussing her choice with Jude. Emma had pulled even further away, standing on the footpath under a street light and eyeing the two older men nervously.
Bailey approached, calling to her to warn her as he neared, not wanting to scare her. “Emma.” Her gaze flicked to his and she looked like a frightened rabbit, eyes wide in her pale face. A siren sounded from somewhere nearby and she flinched at the noise. It grew louder as the ambulance drew closer, eventually passing them and disappearing around the corner. The sound gradually faded.
Once he could speak without having to yell over the screaming siren, he made an offer of books again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a book? Or maybe a magazine?” He wasn’t going to push, but maybe she was just shy, or thought she wouldn’t be welcome to one of the novels. “There’s no cost. You don’t even have to bring the book back if you don’t want to. Of course, it’s great if you can return it for someone else to read, but I understand that sometimes things are beyond your control and you might not be able to get whatever you’ve borrowed back.”
Emma hunched further into her coat. “I said I don’t read.”
“Okay,” Bailey said while offering her a smile. “But if you ever change your mind—”
“Hey, Bailey,” Cassie interrupted. “I’m taking the Patricia Cornwell.”
“Awesome. Wait here a sec while I grab something from the front.” He rummaged in the glovebox of the van, pulling out the folder of brochures kept there. He had brochures for local shelters, places that offered food and a bed for the night, plus information on local support services. These organisations offered help with welfare and finding employment, things these street kids needed. Cassie and Jude weren’t street kids, as such. They were homeless but “couch-surfed” at friends’ places most nights. They had a roof over their head, if not a permanent home. He had no idea about Emma, but wanted to make sure she knew what help was available to her if she needed it.
He approached the three teenagers and thrust the small pile of papers at Emma. She took it on reflex, but didn’t even look at what it was. She shoved the brochures, unread, into her overcoat pocket.
“Such a do-gooder. Can’t help yourself, can you, Bailey?” Cassie teased with warmth in her voice.
He gave her a wink. “Where are you guys off to tonight?”
“Got a bit of cash so we’re going to grab some Maccas, then probably find a bed for the night. It’s bloody freezing out here. Here, I got you this.” She reached into her backpack and thrust a Violet Crumble chocolate bar his way.
“Yum. I’ve told you that you shouldn’t feed my sweet tooth.”
“Okay.”
He snatched the bar before she could pull her hand back.
“Ha!” Cassie laughed. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“Yeah, let’s be honest, I’m never gonna turn away chocolate. Thanks, Cass. Have a good night. Enjoy your burgers and your book.”
“Oh, I will. See ya.” Cassie grabbed Jude by the arm. Jude gave a friendly wave, and Emma a terse nod, and they walked off, Emma trailing behind.
Bailey stood by the van. He’d give it another ten minutes before heading a bit further down the road. Another ambulance sped by and he watched the red and blue flashing lights disappear round the corner, the sound echoing between the tall inner city buildings. There were way too many emergency vehicles on the streets. Accidents, drug overdoses, street fights outside nightclubs—these were the regular events of a weekend in the city.
Finally he locked the back doors of the van and got ready to move on. He didn’t like to stay in one place too long and risk run-ins with the cops over parking violations. The warmth of the van was welcome as he cranked up the heating, and once again Bailey thanked his lucky stars that he was only on the streets by choice.