Neon London

An Extract From: Let Helen Like Snow

Southwark burned onto the River Thames, piercing the brown water’s surface and overpowering the moon’s attempt to light the night’s sky. The whir of bike chains and the fading hum of dying night clubs provided a fitting chorus for Elysa as she stood alone, soaking in the unfamiliar skyline that sat on the opposing side of the river bank. She’d landed yesterday, and had spent her first day on foreign soil dizzied by the bustle of a new place. Her eyes reflected the pool of ever-changing water - purple, blue, red, green; a concoction of vibrancy as the Saturday night buzz drifted slowly downstream. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she’d decided to take a stroll. Her mother was at the hotel, fast asleep and totally unaware that Elysa had slithered away for some air. She could recall owning a book about London as a child. It was a picture book, filled with cartoonish drawings of Big Ben, The Tower of London, Buckingham palace etc. She’d sit on her Father’s knee, pointing out the landmarks on the pages, reading them aloud as she went. Now she was here, staring into the iridescent water.

She’d strolled around for some time before settling in this spot, her legs became vessels of indecision as she’d walked along the unknown streets, detached from the mind as they wondered in a way that can only be achieved through solitude. Where did the river flow? Out towards the sea, out towards Europe, out towards home? A party boat was sailing by, drumming the metronome of the city as it went. Thumping echoes hit the wall behind her and cast out a rhythmic net, in which Elysa found herself tangled like a downstream salmon. The party boat moved and chugged, ferocious in its utter refusal to be ignored by anyone on dry land. She’d never really seen anything quite like it before. Her pupils reflected the neon signs on the side of the boat in huge letters, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH!”. Elysa felt a pang of melancholy in her heart and stomach, a flutter of homesickness with an undeniable sense of fear.

Fleeting crowds of decreasing numbers were dispensing from the pubs and bars behind her. Quarter-zipped, slick-back haired groups of young men, groomed for skyscraper cubicles and round one Apprentice exits, polished brown shit-flickers leading their way as they trundled, stumbled, and fell out of the gentrified central London clubs,

“Clarkey, we’re going back to Smithy’s place in Clapham if you fancy sharing an Uber with me and Ollie?” She tried not to stare as the group smoked away their wait for the taxi, but accidentally caught the eye of the tallest member of the faction.

“Oi oi darlin’, room for one more in the Uber if you fancy it?”, to which two of the other members of his entourage whistled in her general direction.

“Excuse me, I not understand well.” Elysa awkwardly smiled and looked around her to see if anyone else was nearby.

“You, come back, with me.” He said whilst gesturing her over with his fag butt, before throwing it down and stomping out its embers. He started to take a step towards Elysa, and in her panic she tripped backwards into the embankment wall.

“No, no. I don’t want to. I don’t understand.”, Elysa said with an obvious air of fearfulness.

The man smirked menacingly, and continued his advancement towards the now cornered Elysa. She felt her heartbeat race, as the vulnerability of her current position became obvious to her. The group laughed and sniggered in the background, played it off casually as their drunken friend got ever closer to Elysa.

“Don’t worry darlin, I’m Ollie.” The entitlement behind his green eyes terrified her. The cumbersome beat of the party boat still groaned along the pavement. She didn’t dare look away or try to run. He kept advancing.

“Oi Ollie, leave it out for fuck sake!” Two heel-ridden girls with light blonde dyed hair toppled their way over, cackling as they went, attempting not to spill the last drops of their half-empty champagne glasses, “Sorry lovey! Ollie’s had a few too many.” They each hooked at Ollie’s arms, and turned him back towards the group. The boys booed the girls, who responded by sarcastically raising the glasses in their direction. They all scooped up into the Uber, and they were gone.

Elysa was alone again.

She crossed her arms in an attempt to stop her shaking hands. A train passed behind her, over the river, the rattling noise of tracks on metal blades made her jump and want to bury herself, deep into the sheets of her own bed, in her own home. But it was miles away. She started to walk back, walking fast until her shins ached and her thighs were sore. The huge glass buildings towered over her and littered the sky with a detrimental, orange hum. Flashing red lights atop office blocks beeped down at her and laughed at her inconsequentiality. Busses; loud and dirty, protruding wing mirrors overhanging onto street pavements, skimming lampposts as they raced. A rat scurried from a drain in front of her. She was on the bridge now, travelling in the direction of her hotel. She gazed down into the rapid waters, lit eternally with the glow of entertainment and fun, with the promise of two pound shots and five pound entry. Her wettened cheeks illuminated at the river’s mercy, two silver streams of LED enhanced fear and sadness. She was crushed by the city, by its loneliness. Not a soul in the world knew where she was, as her vessel legs carried her to the hotel entrance. The streams from her eyes reached her chin, their beds too shallow to carry the neon writing of any party boat, as they forged their own trenches on her fragile cheeks. In her mind the green eyes of the man, the pump of the music.

She buried herself in the bed, and didn’t leave the hotel again for her remaining three days in the city; her image of the landmarks destined to remain a cartoon sketch, viewed from the bobbing knee of her now deceased father.