Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) by Isabella Brooke Page B

than happy to help out. It was a surprise to
her that soup kitchens didn't actually serve soup. It would have been a lot
easier. Instead, they gave out hearty pies with mushy peas, sponge puddings,
custard and lots of coffee.
    She also hadn't realised Joel would be there, too. But he
was stationed by the tea and coffee on a table a little way apart from theirs,
and so far, she hadn't had much contact with him. He seemed pretty
disinterested in her, anyway, and that was fine as far as she was concerned.
    The people she was serving with hot food and drink tugged at
her heart. She couldn't decide what was worst; the old men, hands shaking,
grateful that she even looked at them never mind talked, and gave them food. Or
the thin, spiky young women, often fresh out of the care system with nowhere to
go. Or the scared-looking young men with mental health problems. Or the drunken
old ladies who blustered and shouted and tried to block out the reality of
everything around them.
    No, how could you rank them? It was all awful.
    They thanked her with exaggerated politeness, often
insisting on taking her hand in theirs, patting her fingers, as much desperate
for the healing of real human contact. She didn't recoil from the dirty
fingernails, the scabs and the bruises. She just felt helpless in the face of
such need.
    It was approaching eight o'clock and they would be packing
up quite shortly. The queue was diminishing. In a lull, Polly pressed her
gloved hands to the large metal urn that contained the remnants of the gravy.
"Have you noticed the reaction of the public?"
    "Yeah. Mostly scurrying past, head down, like we don't
exist."
    "Well, this shouldn't exist, in a rich country like the
UK. Recession? Bollocks." Polly was close to pressing her face to the urn
in an effort to get warm. "They want to go to some properly poor
countries. Where people are grateful for anything. Here, we whinge if we can't
afford a holiday!"
    "I know." Emily thought wistfully of the times
when she had had enough money for holidays and treats. She was struggling now,
but at least she had a warm flat to go back to. "How much is left in
there?"
    Polly peeked under the lid. "Not a lot. Any more food in
the van?"
    "I think so. We may as well bring out the last bits.
I'll go. Wouldn't want to tear you away from your personal radiator."
    Polly stuck her tongue out at Emily as she went off to the
white transit that had transported all their gear from the charity's lock-up
garage. The food was in insulated boxes and she dipped the thermometer to check
it was still useable - it was. She piled everything into one box, and lugged it
back with her towards the table, struggling as it banged against her shins as
she walked.
    Polly was no longer wrapped around the warm urn. Instead she
appeared to be talking rather excitedly with a man who had his back to Emily.
He was standing quite upright and waving his hands, too. He was dressed in
clean, new clothes and as Emily crept closer, she heard what he was saying.
    "So why has that borough in London banned soup
kitchens, then? I'll tell you why. They've done research. This kind of thing
actually promotes homelessness. I'm not saying anything against you guys. You
probably think you're helping. But you're making the problem worse. You
encourage dependency, you know."
    Joel went to Polly's rescue, even though he was half the
size of her and as pale as a ghost. "Are you really saying that when I was
homeless, standing out here to get a rancid pie or lukewarm brew, was somehow
making me want to stay homeless? That the option of getting a house and a job
was so easy, that I could choose to come here instead?"
    "I'm saying, mate, that plenty of people aren't
homeless. They get off their arses and work damn hard."
    "It's easy for you to say. You don't know what it's
really like."
    "Oh yeah? I'm not here to justify my past to you, but I
have to tell you, mate, that I've been inside. I've been on the rocks. I have
had it hard but never