When I first saw him he was wearing a long grey coat, walking a grey street, under a heavy grey sky. People seemed not to notice him, or pretended not to, as they passed. He lumbered along the bustling pavement, hunching over a rubbish bin every few yards.

As my car drew level with him he glanced up, meeting my eye, holding my gaze while I waited for the lights to change. There was no shame in his grey eyes. The lights flashed amber and then shone green. I pulled away; he went back to his rubbish bins and indifferent crowds.

Rolling up to the kerb outside the house, I stepped out into the mild and still air of almost-winter. The car ticked and clicked, cooling behind me. I stretched and strode up to the front door.

Eleanor was in the living room watching one of her DVDs. I think it was an old Robert Redford film, as usual.

“Hey, how was your day?” she called, as I locked the front door behind me.

“Ach, it was okay. Same old same, you know.”

“Ah, well. The weatherman said winter’s coming in over the next couple of days. Snow, sleet, wind and hail, just the way you like it.”

“Ha ha. That’s jus’ great, the traffic’s going to be a real bitch when the weather hits.” As I said this my thoughts suddenly returned to the homeless man I’d seen only half an hour ago. I couldn’t imagine living out on the streets at the best of times, let alone with winter descending.

The rest of the night that old man went through my brain like he would a bin filled with hidden treasures. Finally I had to get it off my chest. Eleanor had all but dozed off beside me.

“Hey, El.”

“What?” a drowsy, yet irritable, voice replied.

“I was jus’ thinking about something,” I waited, she didn’t speak, I continued, “On the way home today I saw this old guy. Homeless, destitute, rooting through the rubbish at the side of the road.”

“He sounds lovely, Dear,” she mumbled.

“How come you can be sarcastic in your sleep?” I teased.

“Okay, okay. I’m awake. Now, what are you getting at?”

“Well, since you told me about the winter storms coming in, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. Can you imagine how tough it’s going to be out there? Especially for an old codger like him.”

“Please tell me you’re not serious!”

“About what?”

“It sounds an awful lot like you want to take this guy in.”

“That’s because I do. I think we should offer him shelter, at least until the weather improves.”

“Aaron, you don’t just take a stranger into the house!”

“This guy is harmless, he must be about seventy!”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“Well, I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?” She was getting impatient now, tired, I had her on the back foot.

“Tomorrow, we go out and look for him. If we find him, we sit and talk to him for a while, maybe grab a coffee. If you don’t like him, or I don’t like him, we won’t take him in. Deal?”

Eleanor sighed, another battle lost. “Ok, Aaron.”



I could hardly sleep the rest of that night, thinking about the impossible search the next day held. It would be Saturday; the streets would be even more bustling than usual. How would we ever find him?

At around 8am, I jostled El awake.

“I don’t know how I put up with you sometimes!” she whined, pulling the covers a little tighter around her ears.

I stood at the end of the bed and tickled her feet, watching the duvet jump and squirm, like a sack-full of kittens.

“You really are quite irritating.” I could hear a little giggle under the malice.

“Come on, you can have a lie in tomorrow, I promise.”

“You owe me more than that, Mister!”

“Okay, we’ll discuss your terms later,” I laughed, giving her feet one last flourish.

Over a hurried breakfast, I explained the plan. The guy would most likely be around the busiest streets, where there were more people who might shed a little kindness on him. This would both help and hinder our search. On the one hand, the main shopping streets of the city covered a relatively small area. On the other, the streets would be crowded. We’d have to search on foot. If we spotted him from the car he could easily have sunk into the crowd by the time we could reach him. We’d have to stick together - El had no idea what he looked like.

We left the car at the Park and Ride, no point paying to take it into the city. The bus took us straight to the heart of town. We stepped off into a throng of shoppers. Our search area included the high street and about six or seven of its tributaries. There was nothing for it but to get walking, head up and eyes open all the while.

The streets didn’t seem so grey today - I guess they never do on a Saturday. There were crowds of kids and people in bright colours they didn’t wear to school or the office. The crowds were like vibrant shoals of fish around the grey rock atolls of the buildings.

Up and down those streets we roamed. There were a few people in long, grey coats, and even one or two other lost souls condemned to search through what others throw away, but he was nowhere to be found. Feet aching and patience tested, we stopped at a coffee shop for lunch. It was one of those continental jobs, stuffed crepes and pavement seating, complete with a little copse of patio heaters. We picked a table right under one of the heaters, ordering two cheese crepes, a cappuccino for El and my usual double espresso.

“He seems to be rather elusive, this friend of yours, Aaron. I don’t know if I can allow an elusive man into the house,” Eleanor teased, as we warmed our hands round the coffee and waited for the food.

“Ach, I’m sure we’ll find him soon. He can’t have gone far.”

“You sure? Maybe he knows what you’re like and he’s avoiding us, so he doesn’t have to share a house with you.”

“Aye, that’ll be it,” I laughed, “He’s heard I’m a morning person, and he doesnae want to put up with it.”

Just then, a grey shape entered the outer field of my vision. It was him! It had to be! I turned a little to face the shape. There he was, large as life, raking through one of the café’s bins. I leapt up, knocking the table and sending coffee over the sides of the cups. I left El tutting at the table, and went over to the man.

He noticed my presence and glanced up, “Alrigh’,” he growled, “Can ye’ spare me a quid or two, pal?”

“I might be able to spare you a good deal more than that, my friend.”

He eyed me suspiciously, “Are ye’ wi’ the kirk, like?”

“No, no, absolutely nothing to do with the church.”

“Good, I cannae stand those bastarts. There’s nae shelter wi’oot a sermon!”

“Will you join my wife and I at our table, we’d like to talk to you.”

“Ach, I dunno, pal. I’m a bit busy, likes. Places tae go, peepole tae see.”

“Come on, jus’ join us for a coffee, or a tea, if you prefer. We’ll shout you lunch, too.”

“If yeese insist. I’m nae one tae turn down a warm feed!” The man smiled, his teeth a startling white next to his grubby face and matted beard.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Peepole call me Quinn.” He grinned.

“Well, we’re definitely people, so we’ll call you Quinn, too. I’m Aaron, and this is my wife, Eleanor.”

“Pleased to meet yee, Eleanor.”

“Eleanor, this is Quinn, the man we’ve been looking for.”

“Wha’s tha’?” Quinn asked, “Yees’ve been lookin’ for me? I dinnie suppose I’ve inherited a vast fortune from a long lost relative?” he chuckled.

“It’s a long story, Quinn, but, I’m sorry to say, we don’t have an inheritance for you,” I said.

As I dragged a chair over for Quinn, I noticed that some of the other customers had moved tables further away from us, and further away from the heaters. They were all staring at our little party, though.

“So, why do they call you Quinn?” I asked.

“It’s a long story, an’, if I’m no mistaken, you were gonna tell me your long story first.”

The crepes arrived just then. Quinn ordered a tea and a ham and cheese crepe. We began our tale. I told Quinn how I’d seen him on the way home the previous evening and how I’d fretted over his fate when El told me about the bad weather coming in. Quinn listened, nodding in places, but not showing much more of a reaction. Finally he spoke again.

“Well, yees’ve telt me your story, so now it’s time tae tell yeese mine. I’m called Quinn, after the Eskimo in that Bob Dylan song. The Mighty Quinn.”

“Ah ha. Is it because you feed the pigeons?” I interjected.

Quinn laughed, “Nae, laddy. It’s no ‘cos o’ that. I’ll tell ye why it is, but I’ll need tae tell you how I wound up here on the streets first.”

“It were about six year’ ago that ma wife fell ill. We’d no much money, so I’d tae quit ma job tae look after her. Couldnae afford the carer she needed, likes. Any road, four years I cared for her, day an’ night. All the while she got sicker. I barely recognised my Catriona by the end. Eventually she died, I was glad, in a way. Her suffering was over, at least, but she took a big part o’ me wi’ her. So there I was, ma wife’s jus’ died, my savings have run oot an’ I’m an ald man, so I couldnae get a job. I lost the hoose, ended up staying wi’ my son an’ his family. They’d nae room for me. Already got one bairn an’ another on the way. I’m nae maths wiz, but even I knew that didn’t go into a two bedroom hoose, likes. My son and his missus were fighting every night and it was all ‘cos o’ me. Of course, neither of them could, or would, ask me tae leave. So, one night I jus’ slipped away. I left ma boy a note tellin’ him I didnae want tae be a burden and that it was time for me to go and find my Catriona, wherever she had gone to.”

Quinn paused for a moment, took a consoling sip of tea, then continued, “And that’s why they call me Quinn, ‘cos I went out intae the cold tae die, so as I wouldnae be a burden tae ma family. The way the elderly Eskimos do. Trouble was, the cold didnae kill me. I’ve been out on the streets for near two years now, and I cannae see an end soon.”

All three of us sat in silence for a while. I looked across at El, I could see tears welling in her ice-blue eyes. We’d started the day with a question - would she let this man into our house? I already knew the answer. El looked up at me, it was settled.

“Quinn, we can’t let you stay out on the streets with the winter closing in like this. We’d like you to come and stay with us, at least until the bad weather passes.”

Quinn looked from one of us to the other, his grey eyes shining like silver coins in a dirty gutter. “Dae yeese really mean it?” he asked.

“Aye, of course we mean it, Quinn. You can come back with us right now.”

“And yeese are naethin’ tae do wi’ the kirk?”

“No, no connection to the church!” I laughed.

“Well, I’d be a fool tae refuse, and nae just any fool, an ald one!”



So, Quinn came back with us. He talked all the way in the car, telling us over and over how kind we were. We asked what he wanted for dinner and he told us how he’d dreamt of Catriona’s lamb casserole every night as he tried to sleep on cold doorsteps. El said she’d do her best, but it might not be as good as Catriona’s. How she smiled when Quinn declared it the best meal he could remember having.

We talked into the night. Hearing Quinn’s tales of life on the street - the run-ins with the police, the run-ins with other homeless people, the run-ins with Neds. It was a desperate existence and it felt good to know we had plucked Quinn from its clutches, at least for the time being.

After dinner I even cracked open a bottle of scotch, so we could share a dram before bed. The way Quinn nursed his glass I could tell he had thought he’d never taste whisky again before he died.

Finally it was time to go to bed. We showed Quinn to the guest room and gave him towels so he could shower.

Eleanor and I crawled under our duvet, content and with a warm feeling inside. We made wonderful and gentle love and then fell into a deep sleep.

We didn’t hear Quinn emerge from the guest room. We didn’t hear him using the phone. We didn’t stir as he unlocked the front door to let his friends in. Not a sound disturbed our sleep as he whispered urgent instructions to them concerning the location of the most valuable items. Our slumber remained uninterrupted as our television; our stereo; our CD and DVD collections; our crystal whisky decanter and several other items were carried out to the waiting van. We didn’t even hear Quinn click the door closed behind them.



We learned a valuable lesson that night, though not quite as expensive as it may have been. The police managed to recover almost all of our property, except the decanter, I reckon “Quinn” kept that one for himself. We learned that you can never really trust a stranger in your house, as nice and as harmless as they may seem. But, we also learned how good it felt to help people.

That’s why we set up the charitable trust and founded a shelter for the homeless. Yes, a shelter quite separate from our own abode. Quinn even gave us an idea for fundraising. We headed down to the police auctions, buying up unclaimed items of stolen property and then resold them on internet auction sites.

As for Quinn. Well, the police never did catch him, but they told us they believed at least part of his story was true and that the man had, at least for a time, been homeless. The widower of one Catriona McMillan had indeed left his son’s house around two years ago with nothing but the clothes he wore and his own wits. Tam McMillan, wherever you are, thank you.