Bear Necessity Read online

  “Here,” he said. “Two pounds. One for you and one for you. Now, please. Go. Away.”

  The children snatched the money and ran off arguing about whose coin was bigger.

  Danny sat down on a nearby bench and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there when he heard the bench creak beneath the weight of another person. He looked up and saw the young street musician rolling a cigarette beside him. His cat was perched on his shoulder wearing a stylish violet cardigan while the man wore a tatty tweed jacket, a wilting bow tie, a pink pair of corduroys, and a low-rise top hat with a pigeon feather sticking out of it. Danny thought he looked a bit like a scarecrow, but one with rolling tobacco sprouting from his pockets instead of straw.

  “How’d you get him to stay up there like that?” asked Danny, nodding at the cat.

  “Milton?” said the man without looking up from his rolling papers. “He climbs up there himself. He pretends he likes the view, but I know he really just likes the sense of superiority.” He slipped his cigarette between his lips and extended his hand. “Tim,” he said.

  “Danny.”

  “First day?” said Tim as they shook hands.

  “Last day more like.”

  “That bad?”

  “Well, let’s see, I’ve been called a pervert, I’ve been kicked in the shins, I have less money than when I started, and I only started twenty minutes ago.”

  “Sounds a lot like my first day,” said Tim.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Well, nobody called me a pervert. They called me plenty of other things though. Tramp. Student. Wankpuffin, whatever that means.” He licked his finger and dabbed his cigarette to stop it from burning unevenly. “Wait, why did they call you a pervert?”

  “I touched a little girl,” said Danny. He shrugged. “No big deal.”

  Tim took a long drag on his cigarette. “Right,” he said.

  “Not like that,” said Danny. “She stole my money so I grabbed her arm and, well, it all got blown out of proportion.”

  “You want to be careful doing stuff like that. You could end up losing your license.”

  “License?”

  “Your street performer’s license,” said Tim. Danny frowned. “You do have a license, don’t you?”

  “Obviously,” said Danny.

  “You don’t, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you better get one before the coppers come sniffing. They love to catch illegal street performers, they think we’re all just glorified beggars or something.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “Look, just get yourself a license. Without it, you’re nothing but a weirdo in a costume.”

  “And with it?” said Danny.

  Tim shrugged. “You’re a weirdo in a costume with a license.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “Five or six weeks, give or take.”

  “Five or six weeks!” said Danny.

  “Maybe four if you’re lucky.”

  “I can’t wait that long.”

  “You don’t really have a choice,” said Tim. “Not unless you know someone who can get you a fake one.” He blew a smoke ring that was fatter than a doughnut. Milton looked like he was contemplating eating it. “What’s the rush anyway?”

  “I’m two months behind on my rent and if I don’t pay up in the next six weeks, then my landlord, who I’m starting to think is either Satan himself or a very close relative, is going to beat me up and evict us.”

  “Us?”

  “Me and my son, Will.”

  “And you thought that becoming a…” Tim pointed at Danny’s costume but failed to find the right words.

  “Panda bear.”

  “Right,” said Tim, not entirely convinced. “You thought that becoming a panda would somehow solve this problem?”

  “No, I thought that doing overtime at the building site I worked on would somehow solve this problem, and then when I got fired I thought that finding another job would somehow solve this problem, and then when I couldn’t find another job I saw how much you guys were making and thought fuck it, what do I have to lose?”

  “Some of these guys make a pretty decent living, that’s true, but they’re talented and they work hard. You’re going to need a really good act if you want to survive in this business.”

  “Act?”

  “Yeah, like, what do you do?”

  “This isn’t enough?” said Danny, gesturing to his costume.

  “Yeah, it’s enough to get you evicted.” Tim took a drag on his cigarette. “Do you know how to play anything?”

  “Badminton?” said Danny.

  “I meant an instrument.”

  “Oh. Then no.”

  “Do you know how to dance?”

  “About as well as I know kung fu.”

  “You can do kung fu?”

  “Nope.”

  “Get yourself a cat, then,” said Tim. “This fella right here? Money magnet. Everybody loves him. Well, except El Magnifico. He doesn’t like him much.”

  “El Magnifico?” said Danny.

  Tim pointed at the magician across the park. “That guy. Proper weirdo. Thinks he’s a real wizard, like Gandalf or some shit. He tried to set Milton on fire last week.”

  “With what?” said Danny.

  “With his mind,” said Tim, tapping his temple. “Keep well clear if I were you. The guy’s got more issues than Reader’s Digest.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” said Danny.

  “No problem. And get your act together. Literally.”

  Tim flicked his cigarette away. “Oh, one last thing,” he said, standing up. “Always keep an eye on your stuff. People nick anything that’s not nailed down around here.”

  “Got it,” said Danny. “Thanks again.”

  He watched the man leave, still marveling at the plump cat perched so calmly on his shoulder, until he suddenly remembered his unattended clothes. Jumping up, he ran over to where he’d left them, but it was too late. His bag was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER 9

  Danny had once seen a man in his sixties pogo-stick the entire length of Regent Street dressed in nothing but a baggy pair of underpants that rode precariously lower the closer he got to Piccadilly Circus. Thousands of other people saw him too, but nobody paid much attention. That was one of the many things that Danny loved about Londoners. Nothing fazed them, no matter how strange, and the weirder something was, the less likely they were to give a shit about it. Or so he’d always believed. But as the doors closed behind him and the bus lurched into motion, Danny realized that his perception of Londoners might not have been entirely accurate.

  He tried to act normal, or as normal as he could while riding public transport dressed as a panda, but the other passengers made it difficult to maintain that illusion, especially the teenagers who were filming him on their phones and the old lady in the oversize duffel coat who glared at him as he sat down. He thought about removing the mask at least, partly because he was sweating but mainly because he felt ridiculous, but fearing that somebody from the building site (or, worse, Will’s school) might recognize him, he grudgingly left it on and tried to ignore the looks he was getting.

  The bus groaned to a halt and a young, dark-haired woman got on. She was tall and slender enough to make her way through the crowded bus without disrupting anybody, but that didn’t stop her from disrupting people anyway, shunting passengers out of her way as she strode down the aisle, even those who weren’t in her way to begin with. Her colossal hoop earrings were larger than the bus’s grab handles and she chewed her gum so loudly that the sound hit Danny long before she whacked him in the head with her handbag.

  “Watch out,” said Danny.

  “What?” said the woman as she took the seat opposite, her already mini miniskirt riding even higher on her thighs as she did so.

  “You just hit me in the head with your bag.”

  “And? You just hit my bag with your he
ad, but you don’t hear me bitchin’ about it.”

  “What you got in there anyway, a brick?” said Danny, rubbing his head.

  “Brass knuckles,” she said. “Wanna see?”

  He glanced at her fingers. They were covered in so many rings that he doubted she needed knuckle dusters. Her nails were painted neon pink and she clutched a mobile phone embossed with shiny studs spelling Krystal.

  Danny shook his head and looked out of the window. A gang of teenagers were laughing at him and giving him the wanker sign. He stared at the floor and tried to calculate how many stops he had left.

  “Why you dressed like a skunk anyway?” said Krystal.

  Danny said nothing and hoped she’d leave him alone. She didn’t.

  “Oi. Skunk. Skunky. Skunk man. Skunkerino. Skunk-a-tron. Uptown Skunk.”

  “I’m not a skunk,” he said with a sigh.

  “No?” said Krystal, sniffing the air. “You fucking smell like one.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Danny, fully aware that he did.

  “Yeah, you do. You smell like a sock full of yesterday’s puke.”

  “Skunks don’t smell like socks full of puke,” said Danny, remembering that Mo had once told him that skunk spray actually smelled like an ungodly combination of burning tires and moldy onions. He briefly considered telling Krystal this but decided against it.

  “Well, this skunk does,” she said, pointing at Danny.

  “I told you already, I’m not a skunk.”

  “What are you, then? A ferret with scabies?”

  “No.”

  “A rat with Ebola?”

  “Wrong again.”

  Krystal turned to the old lady in the duffel coat beside her. “Any ideas?” she said.

  “A pervert,” said the old lady, scowling at Danny.

  “I think you might be right,” said Krystal.

  “I’m a panda. Okay? That’s what I am. A panda. Got that? Great.”

  A burst of laughter shot from Krystal’s mouth so forcefully that her gum flew out and stuck to Danny like a little gray belly button.

  “A panda!” she said. “Fuck me, that’s a good one.”

  “Seriously!” said Danny, staring at the masticated wad of gum that was now firmly attached to his fur.

  “Stay still,” said Krystal, aiming her phone at Danny and struggling to keep it steady amid fits of laughter. She snapped a photograph, looked at it, and cracked up again.

  “I really don’t see why this is so funny.”

  “Shush,” she said, muttering to herself as her fingers danced rapidly across her screen. “Look at this tragic bastard lol no wonder pandas are extinct lol who would shag that lol hashtag sad fucker hashtag pervert.”

  “Can you at least give me a tissue or something?” said Danny as the bus crawled to a halt and Krystal stood to leave.

  “Here,” she said, pulling a handful of napkins from her purse and throwing them at Danny. “Later, gummy bear. Get it? Gummy bear?”

  “Hilarious,” muttered Danny, plucking at his fur with a napkin as Krystal got off the bus. He looked at the old lady, who was still scowling at him.

  “I’m not a pervert,” he said.

  * * *

  Ivana opened the door, screamed, and slammed it shut again.

  Danny stood in the corridor for a moment as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Remembering that he still had the panda mask on, he was about to remove it when the door flew open a second time and Ivan came barging out. Before Danny could speak, Ivan grabbed him by the throat and backed him up against the wall while Ivana repeatedly clobbered him with a broom.

  “Stop,” he croaked, struggling to prise Ivan’s fingers off. “It’s me… Danny…”

  “Danny?” said Ivan, his grip relaxing slightly.

  “Danny?” said Ivana. She instantly dropped the broom. “Why you dress like rat?”

  “Yeah, why you dress like rat? Ivana, she hate rats.”

  “I’m not a rat,” said Danny, removing the mask and gently massaging his half-crushed larynx. “I’m a panda.”

  “I almost black your eyes like panda,” said Ivan, waving his knuckles in front of Danny’s face. “Come, before neighbors see.”

  Ivan ushered Danny into the flat, which was absurdly small for a man of Ivan’s size, although everything seemed absurdly small for a man of Ivan’s size, even things that weren’t necessarily small at all, like vending machines, and fridge freezers, and certain brands of car.

  Danny nestled himself amid a sea of hand-embroidered cushions that covered almost every part of the couch. Ivan collapsed into a well-worn armchair riddled with doilies and stared at Danny as if he had some terrible news to share but couldn’t quite find the right words.

  “So,” he said, gesturing to Danny’s costume. “This is what English call ‘nervous breakdown.’ ”

  “No, this is what the English call being entrepreneurial.”

  “This is not French word?”

  “Fine, it’s what the French call being entrepreneurial.”

  “So entrepreneurial, this is French word for ‘nervous breakdown’?”

  “No.”

  “I am confused.”

  “Look, I’m not having a breakdown, okay?” said Danny as he absently scratched at the dried gum on his furry belly. “This is my job now. This is how I make money.”

  “People pay you to dress like idiot?”

  “This idiot, he save your life!” yelled Ivana from the kitchen.

  “He did not save my life!” shouted Ivan before switching to a barrage of Ukrainian. He turned to Danny. “You didn’t save my life.”

  “I didn’t say I did.”

  “Good. Because you didn’t.”

  “If you say so,” said Danny, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “So, people pay you to dress like panda?” He emphasized the last word so Ivana could hear.

  “Not yet,” said Danny. “But they will. See, I was in Veranda Park the other day, right? You know the one with all those performers? Musicians and magicians and dancers and whatever? Well, I saw how much money they were making, and seriously, they are raking it in down there, even the crap ones, so I thought sod it, I’ll give it a go myself. Today was my first day.”

  “And how it went?”

  “Well, let’s see,” said Danny, beginning to count on his fingers. “I got mugged by children, I had all of my clothes stolen, there might be a video of me calling a little girl the Antichrist floating around on the Internet somewhere, a woman on the bus spat her gum at me, and I got strangled by a giant Ukrainian and whacked in the head with a broom. You know, typical first-day stuff.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry, Danny!” shouted Ivana from the kitchen.

  “I’ll forgive you if you lend me some clothes. I can’t let Will see me like this.”

  “He doesn’t know you are panda man now?” said Ivan.

  Danny shook his head. “He still thinks I work at the site. I don’t want him to worry.”

  “About your mental problems?” said Ivan, tapping his temple.

  “No, about our financial problems. I can’t afford to pay the rent and my landlord isn’t exactly the most understanding bloke in the world.”

  “I tell you already, you need money, I find you job. I know many people.”

  “Actually, do you know anybody who can get fake IDs?”

  “Of course. What you need? Driving license? Passport? Sainsbury’s Nectar card?”

  “I need a street performer’s license.”

  “You need license to be panda?”

  “Don’t ask. Can you get me one?”

  Ivan shrugged. “I make some calls,” he said.

  “Great, thanks, Ivan. You’re a lifesaver.” Ivan scowled. “Sorry. Touchy subject.”

  Danny sneezed and fished around for one of the napkins that Krystal had thrown at him.

  “Why you have servetka from strip club?” said Ivan.

 
; “What?” said Danny as he wiped his nose.

  “Fanny’s,” said Ivan, pointing to the napkin in Danny’s hand. “Is strip club. In Shoreditch.”

  Ivana poked her head around the kitchen door and glared at Ivan, who seemed to shrink beneath her gaze. Danny looked at the napkin in his hand. The word Fanny’s was scrawled across it in pink looping letters.

  “It’s a long story,” said Danny. Ivan smirked. “And, no, it’s not what you think.”

  “What? I am not thinking anything.”

  “Then stop smiling at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Look, just get me some clothes, would you?”

  Ivan was still smiling as he heaved himself out of his chair and disappeared down the corridor.

  Danny got up and went to the kitchen where Ivana was busy chopping vegetables. “That cake was amazing,” he said. “I literally had to hide it from Will so he wouldn’t eat the whole thing.”

  Ivana put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “How is he?” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

  Danny sighed. “I wish I knew.”

  “And you? How are you?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” said Danny, looking down at his costume. They both laughed, but their smiles quickly faded.

  Ivan returned with a pair of combat pants and an Angry Birds T-shirt.

  “Here,” he said, handing the clothes to Danny.

  “Are these Yuri’s?”

  “Of course,” said Ivan.

  “He’s twelve. I can’t wear a twelve-year-old’s clothes, Ivan.”

  “You think you will fit into my clothes?”

  Danny looked at Ivan and sighed. He unzipped the costume to his waist and pulled the T-shirt over his undershirt.

  “Actually,” said Danny, flapping his arms to demonstrate the amount of spare fabric hanging off him, “does he have anything from when he was younger?”

  * * *

  Will arrived home a few minutes after Danny, who had only just swapped his Angry Birds T-shirt for one of his own when he heard the front door open and close.

  “Hi, mate,” he said, popping his head out of the bedroom as Will and Mo walked into the living room. “Oh, hi, Mo.”

  “Hi, Mr. Malooley. How was work?”