A Great Man?

Daisy has a favourite spot for lunch underneath the statue of the great man. Second step down, right of centre, just along from the indent that fills with water and takes days to dry out. Every morning she challenges herself to make a packed lunch that, when she flips the lid from the plastic box, makes her heart skip with anticipation. Today she has homemade felafel and a yoghurt dip, she forgets the proper name. She can't remember how to spell felafel either, but suspects that there might be two 'l's in the middle. She's tempted to check her phone but she's almost at her data limit for the month. She opens the box and yes! it is everything she hoped for. She removes the clingfilm from the dip, and takes the first of four chunks, covering it with as close to a quarter of the yoghurt dip as she can calculate. The texture is exactly what she wanted. The balance between the bitterness of the chickpeas and the sweetness of the yoghurt is just right for her.

Daisy looks up and sees a man standing directly in front, staring straight at her. She can make out his features because she has carefully chosen this spot so that the sun hits her from the side, providing warmth and light in the otherwise dull autumn, but avoiding the bright light blinding her eyes. There's not much to notice about this man. Certainly in a police photofit she wouldn't be able to select any unique features. He is a little older than she is. 'Slave money,' he says. Daisy returns to her felafel. The second tastes as good as the first, but she can't enjoy it with the man standing over her. 'Did you hear me?' She smiles. 'You shouldn't be sitting on these steps.' Daisy chews her way through the second piece, too quickly for her own liking, but feeling under pressure to be able to respond to the man. 'Are you listening to me?' She never opens her mouth whilst she is eating, least of all to talk. 'They should pull this statue down.'

Perhaps at this point Daisy's face becomes quizzical, because the man starts to shout at her. 'See all the buildings here. Beautiful you think. Beautiful everyone thinks. But they're not.' He is pointing at the office building where she works. 'Every single one of them was built with money earned from slavery. The buying and selling of human lives. And that man was responsible.' Daisy looks up at the statue of the great man whom she has never really noticed before. She can't see his face, it's such a long way above her and the plinth is in the way. The man standing in front of her is still pointing, staring intently at the statue's face. 'They should pull down this statue, and every single one of the buildings he paid for. Start again.' He lowers his pointing finger to his side. 'Promise me you'll think about it.' He walks away.

Daisy picks up her last felafel and scoops up a reasonable amount of the remaining yoghurt dip. She has a tissue under her lunchbox which she has kept for the end. She pushes her index finger deep into the corners to tease the last remnants out of the container. She flicks her index finger from her lips and wipes it on the tissue. She raises her head and looks at the building where she works. It is a fine old stone building, with intricate carvings and high ceilings. Hard to heat, she suspects, but you don't get the same character with modern buildings.