According to The Guardian, Britain has nearly 1.4 million low-income tenant households. About 30% live in substandard housing, 10% in overcrowded conditions, and 85% in areas classified as "poor after housing costs." Claire Lee had heard of Britain's slums. Despite the glossy portrayal of high society in the media, the reality beneath the UK's generous welfare system was a struggling underclass riddled with issues. Words like "prostitutes," "drug dealers," and "gangs" were often the first associated with these areas. Tonight was Claire's first time venturing into a London slum after dark.
The streets were pitch-black, streetlights all out. Claire's group navigated by the faint glow seeping from low-rise buildings. He eyed clusters of people on the roadside sizing them up, and he stared right back. Why? Because his crew included three towering men, each over 6'3". His driver, Welch, even taunted passersby now and then.
Costa and a scruffy man trailed behind Claire. The man, dressed in a sweat-stained wool coat, looked unwell despite the chilly night.
"You walk home like this every night? Aren't you scared?" Claire asked.
"Poor folks don't hassle poor folks. Plus, everyone knows about my kid. I could leave my door unlocked, and no thief would bother," the scruffy man replied with a bitter smile.
Claire, frowning, scanned the unfamiliar slum. "Good thing Delia and the others didn't come. We'd have trouble on our hands," Costa quipped, glancing at a man howling at the sky nearby.
Welch chim Mediately chimed in, "For these people, aside from drugs, there's little reason to keep living. I hear charities sometimes bring food and water here."
The scruffy man stayed quiet, his pace quickening as they neared his apartment. When they reached a low, dilapidated building, he rushed inside. A harsh coughing echoed from within.
"Cough, cough! Daddy!"
"Simon, how're you today?"
"Daddy, I'm great today! Cough, cough. Mommy even had me study my lessons!"
Claire's group hung back. He hesitated, eyeing the building's warped foundation and crooked doorframe. A musty smell wafted out. Bracing himself, Claire stepped inside, spotting black mold spores on the ceiling and walls—years of dampness and leaks. A boiler sat in the corner. Simon's mother was cooking in a kitchen with a collapsing floor, propped up by a wide plank.
Simon, startled by the strangers, was surprisingly cheerful despite being bedridden. "Hi! Welcome to our home. You're our first guests!"
Claire's tense expression softened. Squatting down, he smiled. "We're your dad's friends. Met him on the way home and thought we'd visit. Hope you don't mind."
Simon, precocious, grinned. "Wow, Daddy always says his friends left him. I'm happy he's got friends like you!"
Costa, behind Claire, flinched. Simon didn't know why his dad had no friends, but Costa forced a smile. Simon's mother, wary, glanced at her husband, Fast Sharaf. He whispered something, and she gasped, covering her mouth. After Claire chatted with Simon, she gathered the courage to stand behind her husband, studying Claire.
"I brought some stuff kids love," Costa said, hauling in a bag of food. When Simon's mom spotted prescription meds inside, she squealed from the kitchen.
Simon, frowning cutely, called out, "Mom, don't do that! You'll embarrass Daddy in front of his friends!"
Clearly, she wasn't much for talking, but her excited noises betrayed her surprise—a rural Newcastle woman overwhelmed. Fast, however, stood confidently by the bed; their 35-square-meter home left no room to sit.
Seeing Simon and Claire hitting it off, Fast pulled out his son's prized toy set. Simon lit up like a kid. "Claire, look! My favorite!"
"Batman!"
"Haha, Batman gave me this last Christmas. The box even has his autograph!"
Simon clutched the Batman figure tightly. When Claire asked to see it, Simon refused. As he mentioned the autograph, Claire glanced at Fast, confused. Fast, standing by the bed, looked embarrassed. Simon urged his dad to show Claire the "Batman-signed" box.
"Daddy, show your friend, but don't let him touch it! Only brave guys like me who fight at the hospital get this!"
Simon waved his Batmobile, making "vroom" noises. Claire saw the box's scribbled marks and shot Fast a reassuring look.
"Your idol's Batman?" Claire asked.
"Yes! I'll beat all the bad guys bullying my parents. They cry at night sometimes—I bet they met villains outside. Batman will save them like he saved Catwoman!"
Costa, holding his phone, bolted outside. Claire glanced at the door, took a deep breath, and stayed silent. Simon's mom, sensing the mood shift, sniffed hard and brought fast food to Simon's bed. "Eat up, Simon. You need food to grow strong!"
Simon groaned, "I don't wanna eat!"
Fast pulled out a near-expired "whole grain biscuit" from Tesco and munched. "Eat, buddy. Daddy's eating too. How'll you be a hero if you don't?"
Reluctantly, Simon nibbled his meal—a special hospital-ordered nutrition meal Claire had Ronaldo arrange, ensuring proper nutrition and easy digestion.
Claire stepped back, giving the family space. Costa, eyes red, stopped filming but kept the camera rolling.
"Simon, why'd you stop eating?"
"Daddy, I don't wanna."
"If I eat too much and grow too fast, won't you and Mommy get old faster?"
Claire broke down, crouching outside, wiping uncontrollable tears. Costa and Welch found corners to hide in; the other big guys stood silently.
Soon, Simon's voice faded—medication meant he needed 10-14 hours of sleep daily, as Fast had explained.
"Thanks for coming. I'm already grateful for what you've done," Fast said, bowing deeply to Claire.
Startled, Claire didn't dodge but asked softly, "Your son has a dream, right?"
Fast paused, then smiled. "Yeah, he wants to be a hero. Like Batman."
"He's got a hero's dream. We all do. It's worth respecting."
---
Waking up, Claire stared into the mirror—swollen eyes, puffy face, nothing about him looked normal. Simon's innocence had hit him hard last night. Before leaving, Claire booked the family a room at Wellington Hospital—£4,000 a day, but he believed they needed it.
Good deeds bring good rewards, Claire always thought. Rubbing his cheeks to relax his face, he headed downstairs.
There, Ogmondu Ford and Steve Chen waited, the latter sprawled on the couch, asleep. "You guys are here? Did my charity event for the website get rejected?" Claire asked.
Ford, embarrassed, stayed quiet, nudging Chen awake.
"Huh? Oh, you're up!" Chen, groggy, greeted Claire. "What's with you? YouTube sale blues or your condition worsening?"
"F, my death doesn't help you!" Chen tossed a cushion at Claire, who caught it, laughing. "Kidding, kidding!"
"If you didn't make my team work late, I wouldn't be this wrecked," Chen grumbled.
Claire, all smiles, massaged Chen's shoulders and legs. He wanted his revamped Claire's Ticketing Website to help "Little Simon" chase his hero dream while drawing cheap, hefty traffic.
"Site revamp's going great," Chen said calmly, ignoring Ford's awkward vibe. "If Warner Bros. gives us free Batman licensing, your marketing plan's golden. It's a good deed."
Claire noticed Ford's unease but didn't pry. The website relaunch was barely 48 hours old, and Ford, a Merrill Lynch rep charging £4,000/hour, showing up unprompted was suspicious.
"I'm here because an investor wants to back Claire's Ticketing Website—$21 million for 20% equity, no control. If you take it, your site's valued at $100 million!" Ford said.
Claire instantly knew Ford had pitched his business plan to his higher-ups. He didn't name the investor, but Claire could think of 100 ways Merrill Lynch's investment arm might cleverly back him.
Glancing at Chen, who stayed calm, Claire asked, "Why so quiet?"
"If I said Goldman Sachs and Google want in, would you believe me?"
"F!" Claire cursed, startling Chen and Ford. Before they could explain, he spun around, grinning. "If they're serious, they can sit at my table and negotiate!"