The Taxi Queue Read Online Free PDF Page A

Abe was held steady by them. He ignored the overhead rail nearby – he didn’t enjoy strap-hanging. He was aware of the need for balance and subtle footwork. Balance was a matter of the body – or was it of the mind? He could follow his thoughts, but only at a slight distance. Too close, and he lost the movement of the train and jolted sideways, as if coming to from a dream. Then he had to regain equilibrium. This took a few seconds.
    Abe had woken with the beeping of an alarm clock. He had heard ticking though not from the clock. The ticks were loud, not quite regular – accompanied by gurgling from the other side of the room. He was baffled at first, then realised that he was in an unfamiliar room and the sounds were in the pipework. Water in a heating system was beginning to flow. Abe was aware of a strange posh smell that hung about the bedhead – new upholstery mixed with the kind of room spray that came in glass bottles. He opened an eye and saw the weird ruched curtains that trapped shadows inundulating lines. Richard was silhouetted against them, pulling on a bathrobe. Abe turned over into the place where Richard had been lying – warm as a jumper he had just taken off. He felt comfortable burrowed there but the next layer – beyond the hollow of the bed – he resisted. Abe stuck his nose back in the pillow. ‘Is it still snowing?’ he asked when he emerged.
    â€˜No, it seems to have stopped for the moment,’ Richard said.
    Abe was relieved. He wouldn’t have wanted to be marooned at Richard’s. He would have dug his way out.
    They had taken showers in separate bathrooms. Richard had disappeared to the en suite and Abe had used the guest bathroom, decked out with an array of thick towels and baskets of miniature soaps and bath products. Abe picked them up and sniffed them. He made a face as he pulled the previous day’s shirt over his head, missing the whiff of fabric conditioner, which, if he was on top of the washing, eased him into a new day.
    Richard had made him breakfast – tea, cereal and toast. He turned on the kitchen television and they listened to the chirruping presenters. They heard the weather forecast and the travel news. The routine had gone smoothly, as if Abe were a regular house guest. As Abe was swallowing his last gulp of tea, Richard slipped his hand in his inside jacket pocket and muttered something about ‘meeting up again’. A business card was pushed across the kitchen table. The action was commonplace enough but the words reminded Abe of his economics teacher who had said something similar on the last day of school. Abe had been polite and given Mr Owen a phone number. Realising that some similar response was called for, Abe patted his own pocket. Then, seeing the card with the feather on still lying where he had left it, he reached for it, took out a pen and scribbled a number down on the back – also out of politeness.
    They had been ready to leave – Abe was putting on theshoes that he had left by the front door – when the unhurried pace changed. Richard turned abruptly and shot back up the stairs that were tucked round the corner of the hall. Abe heard him above, walking across the bedrooms – checking up, Abe supposed. But he hadn’t left anything – he had nothing to leave. The footsteps went to and fro. A cupboard door clicked. Abe thought of another kind of checking up. His bent head went hot, starting at the nape of his neck and moving over his skull to his forehead. Richard came back down again. From the corner of his eye, Abe saw that he had an odd, panicky look – but it wasn’t suspicion. Abe could read suspicion on a face.
    Richard stood fingering the buttons of his overcoat, as if wondering whether to undo them. ‘You go on ahead,’ he said to Abe, who was still crouching on the floor, tying his laces, tugging at them. Richard started to explain the way to the tube