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THE MUMBLING MAN
DAISY STORIES by Crystal Jones ©
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Daisy was worried. She pulled a photo out of her bag.

 

It was of a fair-haired rather depressed-looking youth.

 

She had interviewed his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Forster, about their seventeen-year-old son Andy.

 

He had walked out one day with a few clothes in a rucksack and hadn’t communicated with them again.

 

How on earth was she to find this young man if the police hadn’t managed to?

 

“Let’s go to the seaside tomorrow for the day, Daisy,” This was Daisy’s friend Sonia speaking over the telephone.

 

She had been working for a local newspaper for the last two years but yearned to find a job in London.

 

“Oh yes, and we can get a tan and eat really fresh cod and chips!” Daisy Hamilton, private investigator who hadn’t had a day off for some time rejoiced at the thought of getting away from it all, if only for a few hours.

 

The two friends had been moaning over the phone about life, men and work.

 

“We can go halves on the petrol - shall we go in my car?” suggested Sonia.

 

She was a very independent young woman notwithstanding she came from a well-to-do family.

 

So it was decided to leave at six-thirty the next morning.

 

Armed with sunglasses, sun-cream and colourful seaside clothes the two women set off on their trip to Kingsbourne.

 

Sonia was an attractive young woman of twenty-eight with long black hair and blue eyes.

 

She never seemed to pick the right boy-friend and was always telephoning Daisy about her latest disaster.

 

Just as they were arriving at Kingsbourne they noticed a red light flickering on the dashboard.

 

“That should be the oil gauge. But I had oil put in only a few days ago!” Sonia reasoned.

 

Neither of the two women was very mechanically minded.

 

“Let’s find a garage as quickly as possible,” said Daisy, adjusting her make-up with the aid of the lighted mirror in front of the passenger’s seat.

 

“Look, there’s one over there - opposite the supermarket.”

 

“Sorry Miss, but there must be a hole in the oil tank. Your car is pretty old - and you have to expect these things, you know,” judged the garage owner after lifting up the bonnet and checking the oil level.

 
 

He was not very young but looked a kind and reliable person.

 

“Don’t you worry Miss. If there’s a hole in the oil tank I can solder it. It’ll take a while, though.

 

You go off and enjoy yourselves for the day. The sea front is a twenty minute walk from here.

 

The only thing is, you’ll have to pick the car up again before I close at six o’clock.”

 

Both women were relieved.

 

“That’s marvellous. Thanks very much. See you later then.”

 

Now Sonia and Daisy were free to enjoy the day.

 

“Good job we’ve put our sun hats on. It’s going to be a scorcher today,” Daisy observed.

 

In order to arrive at the sea front Daisy and Sonia had to walk through a pleasant green park with lots of mauve, purple and yellow flowers growing in it.

 

People sat about on the park benches enjoying the sun and children were playing on the grass.

 

“Look!” exclaimed Daisy pointing to a queue of people waiting alongside an air balloon.

 

“Any more for the experience of a life-time?” shouted a man selling tickets for the air balloon.

 

Sonia was very adventurous. “Come on Daisy, let’s see what it feels like!”

 

Within minutes Daisy and Sonia were waving from high up at the people walking about in the park, and soon they could see the town of Kingsbourne and the long strip of sea shore with rows of small shops along it.

 

“So that’s what it feels like, it gets colder as you go up,” commented Daisy as she put her cardigan on.

 

“I wouldn’t care to travel far like this, Phileas Fogg must have had a hard time!”

 

Soon after the two friends had got out of the air balloon they began to feel the summer heat again and made their way to the sea front.

 

“Oh what fantastic fresh air there is here, and the sea’s so blue today!” Daisy and Sonia had plastered their faces, necks and arms with suncream.

 

“Look! There’s a man with the deckchairs.

 

I’ll ask him about a place to change our clothes,” said Daisy.

 

“Don’t forget, we’d better not exaggerate with the sun, Daisy,” advised Sonia.

 

“You’re right. Do you remember when I got sunburnt and I had to sleep on my stomach? Never again.”

 

Daisy made a grimace remembering the terrible experience.

 

Once outer clothes had been taken off and bikinis appeared, Sonia declared, “Let’s have a bathe, I can’t wait to get into the water.”

 

The sea was gloriously warm and there were quite a few families on holiday enjoying themselves swimming about.

 

After a while the sun disappeared behind some clouds and the two friends decided to sit in their deckchairs to dry off.

 

Then the sun came out again.

 

“I think we had better seek some shade. We could go over to the arcade and explore a bit.” Sonia suggested.

 

“Yes, and find a good fish and chip place!” Daisy reminded her friend.

 

“Pass me the vinegar please, Sonia. I never seem to put enough on my chips,” said Daisy.

 

“Isn’t the cod wonderfully fresh?” Sonia nodded.

 

After lunch the girls walked around town and bought a few odds and ends tourists love to buy.

 

Daisy found some nice green hairclips and Sonia a purple hairband for her lovely hair. 

 

At about five-fifteen Sonia decided she was going off to pick the car up early.

 

“You never know, Daisy, just in case there’s a hitch.

 

You stay here so I won’t have to take my bag with me.

 

You can breathe in the sea air for an extra bit and I’ll pick you up here later.”

 

Daisy agreed willingly as she loved to just watch the movement of the waves splashing the beach.

 

Daisy sat down in front of the sea on a sheltered bench, made herself comfortable and then pulled out her notebook to write down something she had just remembered.

 

 

 

Nearby sat a rather good-looking young man with slight African features and a brownish skin.

 

Every time somebody passed by, he seemed to mumble something.

 

“Whatever is he mumbling?” Daisy asked herself.

 

She strained her ears and made out the words at last: “Any change? Any spare change?”

 

Daisy was surprised because the young man didn’t really look the part.

 

He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of old jeans but he didn’t seem very different from thousands of other young men.

 

She reasoned that although he was asking for money, he mumbled because he felt ashamed of what he was doing.

 

Many people just walked by pretending not to hear or see him and went on their way.

 

Suddenly, a large flabby man waddled by.

 

The young man repeated faintly, “Any change?

 

Any spare change?” but the fat holidaymaker got very angry at being asked for money and shouted at him,

 

“Get yourself a job instead of bothering people!”

 

Daisy was afraid that the young man would react badly.

 

Instead he said nothing and remained completely serene.

 

“Hello, my name’s Daisy.” The private investigator in her had emerged and she wanted to know more about the young man.

 

He had a natural engaging smile and a trustworthy expression.

 

“Mine’s Paul,” he replied.

 

“Some people are so angry, aren’t they?” Daisy said.

 

“Yes, but maybe they don’t know that for the homeless it’s almost impossible to get a job.

 

To get one, you need a fixed residence and if you haven’t got one, you get no job and so no money to pay for a fixed residence!”

 

“I didn’t realise it was quite like that,” said Daisy.

 

“The world’s a difficult place to live in!”

 

A middle-aged woman with a rather lost expression, wearing a strange white flowing dress from another age, walked past them saying, “Hello Paul,” without waiting for a reply and went on her way.

 

A young-looking Asian tourist came by armed with a camera.

 

Paul mumbled his usual, “Any change, any spare change?”

 

The tourist replied he had no money at all and was looking for a cash machine.

 

Paul pointed to the arcade behind them and told the man there was a bank at the end of it.

 

The tourist thanked him and ten minutes later reappeared with a pound for Paul.

 

Daisy looked at Paul’s hands and nails and wondered how a homeless person could look so clean.

 

She found he had a very educated accent and wondered what had happened to him during his young life.

 

Daisy already knew that the situation of the homeless was disastrous - especially in huge cities.

 

She had seen streams of them in New York, London and in the Milan central railway station.

 

“What about applying for a council house?” asked Daisy.

 

“I have, but there’s already a waiting list of two years.”

 

“You know, something else might come along before that. You never can tell.”

 

Paul thought for a moment and replied, “I suppose it could. I hope so.”

 

His engaging smile and the trustworthy expression on his face made Daisy feel at ease.

 

She wanted to know more about him.

 

 “Were you born here?” Daisy asked.

 

“Yes, but my parents came from the West Indies.

 

Now they’re not here in Britain any more,” Paul sighed.

 

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you must have studied at a good school by the way you speak,” commented Daisy.

 

Paul smiled his winning smile again.

 

“Yes, you’re right!

 

I studied at a private school on the south coast, at the seaside. I love the sea.

 

I find that when I’m in a big city like London I can’t read - I can’t concentrate.”

 

Lobster-coloured people walked by happily munching ice-creams.

 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Daisy, “it’s wonderful breathing in this fresh air.

 

It makes you feel alive. Big cities are hard places to live in.”

 

Daisy had the sensation that something very bad had happened to Paul but didn’t think for a moment of asking him anything too private.

 

Paul went on, “I live in London – but I keep getting a rash there.

 

I suppose it’s of nervous origin and nothing seems to cure it.”

 

“Have you tried the good old-fashioned camomile lotion?” said Daisy offering Paul a toffee.

 

“Yes I have, as a matter of fact, it seems to help.”

 

He was clearly happy chatting with Daisy.

 

“You know,” he went on, “there’s a lot of violence on the streets.

 

Many take to drugs or drink and just give up.”

 

Daisy was sorry to encourage Paul to talk about his troubles but reasoned that if he wanted to, he might feel better afterwards.

 

“There’s such fresh bracing air here,” remarked Daisy.

 

Paul smiled happily, “Unfortunately it’s only for the day.

 

My friend Mike, who had to come down here on business, dropped us off – that is, the lady who passed by a few minutes ago, and myself - and he’s picking us up later.”

 

Daisy hesitated a moment and then said, “Have you ever thought of trying to get a job as a photographic model?

 

I don’t know if you’re photogenic or not. But you could try. Or apply when they want extras for crowd scenes in a film!”

 

Paul smiled in a disbelieving way.

 

“Me? - but I’m not good-looking or anything.”

 

“Nowadays they don’t always look for just wonderful-looking men,” said Daisy.

 

“Sometimes they need people with certain physical characteristics.

 

You know - a person who looks like someone who would buy a certain type of product...”

 

Paul looked thoughtful.

 

Daisy opened her bag to pull out her cardigan, as it had become a bit windy, and the photograph she kept in it fell to the ground.

 

The wind was carrying it away but Paul jumped up and managed to rescue it.

 

Instead of giving it back to Daisy immediately, he stared at it for a while.

 

“You know, I think I have seen this person somewhere. Is he a friend of yours?”

 

Daisy overcame her surprise and replied, “No, he’s only seventeen and he’s gone missing.”

 

“He looks like a person who has lost himself,” Paul remarked, “Is this young man on the streets?”

 

“We don’t know,” answered Daisy.

 

“I’m a private detective and I’m working on his disappearance.

 

His name is Andy Forster. But you think you’ve seen him somewhere?”

 

“I seem to remember him. Was it in Regent’s Park near the zoo? I’ll have to think about it. Look, can you give me this photo?

 

I’ll show it to a a friend who never stays in the same place for more than a few nights and meets a lot of people all the time.”

 

“Yes, of course. Thanks a lot, Paul. I realise it may come to nothing, but this young man’s parents are really very worried about him.”

 

Daisy handed him the photo together with a ten pound note and her card.

 

Just then she caught sight of Sonia’s car on the opposite side of the road.

 

“I must be off now, my friend Sonia has arrived.

 

The best of luck to you, Paul.”

 

“Oh Daisy, it’s been lovely talking to you,” said Paul.

 

“You know, very few people talk to us as though we were human beings.”  

 

“Aren’t you red!” Daisy and Sonia said in unison and laughed.

 

They had had a good day notwithstanding the incident with the car, but now they could drive back home safely.

 

As they were going along, Daisy told Sonia all about Paul and the difficulty of finding jobs for homeless people in Britain.

 

Sonia nodded, “I must do something about this, maybe write a really decent article on the subject.”  

 

One miserable wet day in November Daisy’s phone rang.

 

“Hello, is that Daisy?” It was the voice of somebody having difficulty in speaking English.

 

“I’m ringing from Manchester.

 

My name is Antonio. I’ve seen the young man in the photo.

 

He sleeps in a condemned house nearby.”

 

Daisy hadn’t forgotten about the poor parents looking for their son - in fact they had been back to see her recently.

 

She jumped up excitedly and asked where they could meet.

 

“I’ll be outside The Nag’s Head in Commercial Street tonight until midnight.

 

I’ll be wearing a long red scarf and a blue woollen hat.”

 

Daisy described herself and replied, “OK, I’ll be driving up there this evening - see you tonight.”

 

Daisy got in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Forster who were very agitated and arranged to go up with her to Manchester.

 

At about eleven o’clock that night the three finally arrived at the The Nag’s Head.

 

There was a young man sitting on a bench outside the pub wearing a scarf wound around his neck and a woollen hat.

 

Daisy got out of the car and walked over to the young man.

 

“Excuse me, is your name Antonio?” she asked.

 

“Yes, are you Daisy? Pleased to meet you.

 

Look!” Antonio pulled out a dog-eared photo of Andy which Daisy recognised as the one she had given to Paul.

 

“I was handed this by a mate who'd just come up from Islington,” explained Antonio.

 

“There’s this chap with long hair and a gingerish beard who sits by the river-bank during the day and sleeps in a derelict house.”

 

Daisy felt her heart sink.

 

How could Antonio have recognised Andy from the photo if he now had a beard?

 

Antonio continued as if he had read Daisy’s mind, “I've seen him often, and as I'm an artist - I paint, I notice people's features.

 

According to me it's Andy!”

 

Antonio got into Daisy’s car and indicated the way to a run-down street.

 

At the end, on the corner, there was a big notice up in front of a house. It said No entry.

 

They all got out of the car and saw that the front door of the condemned house was sealed, as were the windows.

 

“Let’s try the back entrance,” suggested Antonio.

 

Daisy was carrying a powerful torch and they all crept round to the back of the house and found the back door half open.

 

They all went in.

 

It seemed there had been a fire and most of the staircase was missing.

 

Daisy shone her torch towards what must have been a sitting-room once.

 

There were a couple of charred armchairs, a broken-down table and an old divan which had strangely survived the fire.

 

Lying on top of it there was a bearded youth curled up in a sleeping bag with a photo of his family near his head and a miniature brown teddy bear.

 

The young man blinked his eyes as Daisy shone her torch on him.

 

“Andy!” shrieked Mrs. Forster.

 

Antonio was very happy with the fifty pounds Daisy gave him and the fifty Mr. Forster gave him too.

 

The Forsters hugged and kissed Andy who explained that he had been through some pretty bad experiences, but felt he couldn’t ask for help or get in touch.

 

His parents soon showed him they really wanted him back and he immediately agreed to come home again.

 

Daisy was very glad this story had ended happily and told her friend Sonia all about it, who had already begun writing a series of articles entitled Work and the Homeless soon to be published by one of the major London papers.

 

A couple of months later, one evening, Daisy was having a takeaway Chinese meal on a tray watching an old comedy show on television when the advertising came on.

 

A wonderful-looking new fruit drink was being launched and a young man was smiling happily at her through the screen as he was drinking it.

 

It was Paul!

 

THE END

 

THE DAISY STORIES
The Mumbling Man

by Crystal Jones
© 2013 All Rights Reserved


Daisy was worried. She pulled a photo out of her bag. It was of a fair-haired rather depressed-looking youth. She had interviewed his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Forster, about their seventeen-year-old son Andy. He had walked out one day with a few clothes in a rucksack and hadn’t communicated with them again. How on earth was she to find this young man if the police hadn’t managed to?
“Let’s go to the seaside tomorrow for the day, Daisy,” this was Daisy’s friend Sonia speaking over the telephone. She had been working for a local newspaper for the last two years but yearned to find a job in London.
“Oh yes, and we can get a tan and eat really fresh cod and chips!” Daisy Hamilton, private investigator who hadn’t had a day off for some time rejoiced at the thought of getting away from it all, if only for a few hours. The two friends had been moaning over the phone about life, men and work.
“We can go halves on the petrol - shall we go in my car?” suggested Sonia. She was a very independent young woman notwithstanding she came from a well-to-do family. So it was decided to leave at six-thirty the next morning.
Armed with sunglasses, sun-cream and colourful seaside clothes the two women set off on their trip to Kingsbourne. Sonia was an attractive young woman of twenty-eight with long black hair and blue eyes. She never seemed to pick the right boy-friend and was always telephoning Daisy about her latest disaster.
Just as they were arriving at Kingsbourne they noticed a red light flickering on the dashboard.
“That should be the oil gauge. But I had oil put in only a few days ago!” Sonia reasoned. Neither of the two women was very mechanically minded. “Let’s find a garage as quickly as possible,” said Daisy, adjusting her make-up with the aid of the lighted mirror in front of the passenger’s seat. “Look, there’s one over there - opposite the supermarket.” 

“Sorry Miss, but there must be a hole in the oil tank. Your car is pretty old - and you have to expect these things, you know,” judged the garage owner after lifting up the bonnet and checking the oil level. He was not very young but looked a kind and reliable person. “Don’t you worry Miss. If there’s a hole in the oil tank I can solder it. It’ll take a while, though. You go off and enjoy yourselves for the day. The sea front is a twenty minute walk from here. The only thing is, you’ll have to pick the car up again before I close at six o’clock.”
Both women were relieved. “That’s marvellous. Thanks very much. See you later then.” Now Sonia and Daisy were free to enjoy the day.

“Good job we’ve put our sun hats on. It’s going to be a scorcher today,” Daisy observed.
In order to arrive at the sea front Daisy and Sonia had to walk through a pleasant green park with lots of mauve, purple and yellow flowers growing in it. People sat about on the park benches enjoying the sun and children were playing on the grass.
“Look!” exclaimed Daisy pointing to a queue of people waiting alongside an air balloon.
“Any more for the experience of a life-time?” shouted a man selling tickets for the air balloon. Sonia was very adventurous. “Come on Daisy, let’s see what it feels like!”
Within minutes Daisy and Sonia were waving from high up at the people walking about in the park, and soon they could see the town of Kingsbourne and the long strip of sea shore with rows of small shops along it. “So that’s what it feels like, it gets colder as you go up,” commented Daisy as she put her cardigan on. “I wouldn’t care to travel far like this, Phileas Fogg must have had a hard time!”

Soon after the two friends had got out of the air balloon they began to feel the summer heat again and made their way to the sea front.
“Oh what fantastic fresh air there is here, and the sea’s so blue today!” Daisy and Sonia had plastered their faces, necks and arms with suncream. “Look! There’s a man with the deckchairs. I’ll ask him about a place to change our clothes,” said Daisy.
“Don’t forget, we’d better not exaggerate with the sun, Daisy,” advised Sonia.
“You’re right. Do you remember when I got sunburnt and I had to sleep on my stomach? Never again.” Daisy made a grimace remembering the terrible experience.
Once outer clothes had been taken off and bikinis appeared, Sonia declared, “Let’s have a bathe, I can’t wait to get into the water.”
The sea was gloriously warm and there were quite a few families on holiday enjoying themselves swimming about. After a while the sun disappeared behind some clouds and the two friends decided to sit in their deckchairs to dry off. Then the sun came out again.
“I think we had better seek some shade. We could go over to the arcade and explore a bit.” Sonia suggested.
“Yes, and find a good fish and chip place!” Daisy reminded her friend.

“Pass me the vinegar please, Sonia. I never seem to put enough on my chips,” said Daisy. “Isn’t the cod wonderfully fresh?” Sonia nodded.
After lunch the girls walked around town and bought a few odds and ends tourists love to buy. Daisy found some nice green hairclips and Sonia a purple hairband for her lovely hair. 

At about five-fifteen Sonia decided she was going off to pick the car up early. “You never know, Daisy, just in case there’s a hitch. You stay here so I won’t have to take my bag with me. You can breathe in the sea air for an extra bit and I’ll pick you up here later.” Daisy agreed willingly as she loved to just watch the movement of the waves splashing the beach.
Daisy sat down in front of the sea on a sheltered bench, made herself comfortable and then pulled out her notebook to write down something she had just remembered.  
Nearby sat a rather good-looking young man with slight African features and a brownish skin. Every time somebody passed by, he seemed to mumble something. “Whatever is he mumbling?” Daisy asked herself. She strained her ears and made out the words at last: “Any change? Any spare change?”
Daisy was surprised because the young man didn’t really look the part. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of old jeans but he didn’t seem very different from thousands of other young men. She reasoned that although he was asking for money, he mumbled because he felt ashamed of what he was doing.
Many people just walked by pretending not to hear or see him and went on their way. Suddenly, a large flabby man waddled by. The young man repeated faintly, “Any change? Any spare change?” but the fat holidaymaker got very angry at being asked for money and shouted at him, “Get yourself a job instead of bothering people!”
Daisy was afraid that the young man would react badly. Instead he said nothing and remained completely serene.  
“Hello, my name’s Daisy.” The private investigator in her had emerged and she wanted to know more about the young man.
He had a natural engaging smile and a trustworthy expression. “Mine’s Paul,” he replied.
“Some people are so angry, aren’t they?” Daisy said.
“Yes, but maybe they don’t know that for the homeless it’s almost impossible to get a job. To get one, you need a fixed residence and if you haven’t got one, you get no job and so no money to pay for a fixed residence!”
“I didn’t realise it was quite like that,” said Daisy. “The world’s a difficult place to live in!”

A middle-aged woman with a rather lost expression, wearing a strange white flowing dress from another age, walked past them saying, “Hello Paul,” without waiting for a reply and went on her way.
A young-looking Asian tourist came by armed with a camera. Paul mumbled his usual, “Any change, any spare change?”
The tourist replied he had no money at all and was looking for a cash machine. Paul pointed to the arcade behind them and told the man there was a bank at the end of it. The tourist thanked him and ten minutes later reappeared with a pound for Paul.
Daisy looked at Paul’s hands and nails and wondered how a homeless person could look so clean. She found he had a very educated accent and wondered what had happened to him during his young life. Daisy already knew that the situation of the homeless was disastrous - especially in huge cities. She had seen streams of them in New York, London and in the Milan central railway station.
“What about applying for a council house?” asked Daisy.
“I have, but there’s already a waiting list of two years.”
“You know, something else might come along before that. You never can tell.”
Paul thought for a moment and replied, “I suppose it could. I hope so.”
His engaging smile and the trustworthy expression on his face made Daisy feel at ease. She wanted to know more about him.
 “Were you born here?” Daisy asked.
“Yes, but my parents came from the West Indies. Now they’re not here in Britain any more,” Paul sighed.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you must have studied at a good school by the way you speak,” commented Daisy.
Paul smiled his winning smile again. “Yes, you’re right! I studied at a private school on the south coast, at the seaside. I love the sea. I find that when I’m in a big city like London I can’t read - I can’t concentrate.”
Lobster-coloured people walked by happily munching ice-creams.
“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Daisy, “it’s wonderful breathing in this fresh air. It makes you feel alive. Big cities are hard places to live in.”
Daisy had the sensation that something very bad had happened to Paul but didn’t think for a moment of asking him anything too private.
Paul went on, “I live in London – but I keep getting a rash there. I suppose it’s of nervous origin and nothing seems to cure it.”
“Have you tried the good old-fashioned camomile lotion?” said Daisy offering Paul a toffee.
“Yes I have, as a matter of fact, it seems to help.”
He was clearly happy chatting with Daisy.
“You know,” he went on, “there’s a lot of violence on the streets. Many take to drugs or drink and just give up.”
Daisy was sorry to encourage Paul to talk about his troubles but reasoned that if he wanted to, he might feel better afterwards.
“There’s such fresh bracing air here,” remarked Daisy.
Paul smiled happily, “Unfortunately it’s only for the day. My friend Mike, who had to come down here on business, dropped us off  – that is, the lady who passed by a few minutes ago, and myself - and he’s picking us up later.”
Daisy hesitated a moment and then said, “Have you ever thought of trying to get a job as a photographic model? I don’t know if you’re photogenic or not. But you could try. Or apply when they want extras for crowd scenes in a film!”
Paul smiled in a disbelieving way. “Me? - but I’m not good-looking or anything.”
“Nowadays they don’t always look for just wonderful-looking men,” said Daisy. “Sometimes they need people with certain physical characteristics. You know - a person who looks like someone who would buy a certain type of product...” Paul looked thoughtful.
Daisy opened her bag to pull out her cardigan, as it had become a bit windy, and the photograph she kept in it fell to the ground. The wind was carrying it away but Paul jumped up and managed to rescue it. Instead of giving it back to Daisy immediately, he stared at it for a while. “You know, I think I have seen this person somewhere. Is he a friend of yours?”
Daisy overcame her surprise and replied, “No, he’s only seventeen and he’s gone missing.”
“He looks like a person who has lost himself,” Paul remarked, “Is this young man on the streets?”
“We don’t know,” answered Daisy. “I’m a private detective and I’m working on his disappearance. His name is Andy Forster. But you think you’ve seen him somewhere?”
“I seem to remember him. Was it in Regent’s Park near the zoo? I’ll have to think about it. Look, can you give me this photo? I’ll show it to a a friend who never stays in the same place for more than a few nights and meets a lot of people all the time.”
“Yes, of course. Thanks a lot, Paul. I realise it may come to nothing, but this young man’s parents are really very worried about him.” Daisy handed him the photo together with a ten pound note and her card.
Just then she caught sight of Sonia’s car on the opposite side of the road. “I must be off now, my friend Sonia has arrived. The best of luck to you, Paul.”
“Oh Daisy, it’s been lovely talking to you,” said Paul. “You know, very few people talk to us as though we were human beings.”  

“Aren’t you red!” Daisy and Sonia said in unison and laughed. They had had a good day notwithstanding the incident with the car, but now they could drive back home safely. As they were going along, Daisy told Sonia all about Paul and the difficulty of finding jobs for homeless people in Britain. Sonia nodded, “I must do something about this, maybe write a really decent article on the subject.”   

One miserable wet day in November Daisy’s phone rang. “Hello, is that Daisy?” It was the voice of somebody having difficulty in speaking English. “I’m ringing from Manchester. My name is Antonio. I’ve seen the young man in the photo. He sleeps in a condemned house nearby.”
Daisy hadn’t forgotten about the poor parents looking for their son - in fact they had been back to see her recently. She jumped up excitedly and asked where they could meet.
“I’ll be outside The Nag’s Head in Commercial Street tonight until midnight. I’ll be wearing a long red scarf and a blue woollen hat.”
Daisy described herself and replied, “OK, I’ll be driving up there this evening - see you tonight.” Daisy got in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Forster who were very agitated and arranged to go up with her to Manchester. At about eleven o’clock that night the three finally arrived at the The Nag’s Head. There was a young man sitting on a bench outside the pub wearing a scarf wound around his neck and a woollen hat.
Daisy got out of the car and walked over to the young man. “Excuse me, is your name Antonio?” she asked.
“Yes, are you Daisy? Pleased to meet you. Look!” Antonio pulled out a dog-eared photo of Andy which Daisy recognised as the one she had given to Paul.
“I was handed this by a mate who'd just come up from Islington,” explained Antonio. “There’s this chap with long hair and a gingerish beard who sits by the river-bank during the day and sleeps in a derelict house.”
Daisy felt her heart sink. How could Antonio have recognised Andy from the photo if he now had a beard?
Antonio continued as if he had read Daisy’s mind, “I've seen him often, and as I'm an artist - I paint, I notice people's features. According to me it's Andy!”
Antonio got into Daisy’s car and indicated the way to a run-down street. At the end, on the corner, there was a big notice up in front of a house. It said No entry.
They all got out of the car and saw that the front door of the condemned house was sealed, as were the windows.
“Let’s try the back entrance,” suggested Antonio. Daisy was carrying a powerful torch and they all crept round to the back of the house and found the back door half open. They all went in. It seemed there had been a fire and most of the staircase was missing. Daisy shone her torch towards what must have been a sitting-room once. There were a couple of charred armchairs, a broken-down table and an old divan which had strangely survived the fire. Lying on top of it there was a bearded youth curled up in a sleeping bag with a photo of his family near his head and a miniature brown teddy bear. 
The young man blinked his eyes as Daisy shone her torch on him.
“Andy!” shrieked Mrs. Forster.

Antonio was very happy with the fifty pounds Daisy gave him and the fifty Mr. Forster gave him too.
The Forsters hugged and kissed Andy who explained that he had been through some pretty bad experiences, but felt he couldn’t ask for help or get in touch. His parents soon showed him they really wanted him back and he immediately agreed to come home again.  

Daisy was very glad this story had ended happily and told her friend Sonia all about it, who had already begun writing a series of articles entitled Work and the Homeless soon to be published by one of the major London papers.

A couple of months later, one evening, Daisy was having a takeaway Chinese meal on a tray watching an old comedy show on television when the advertising came on. A wonderful-looking new fruit drink was being launched and a young man was smiling happily at her through the screen as he was drinking it. It was Paul!

THE END

Finished on 22nd April 2013.