Page 52 of The Cocktail Bar
“Course… here you go.” The driver twisted her bulky frame awkwardly, showing off an impressive neck tattoo, as well as an array of gold hoop earrings straight out of anArgoscatalogue, proportionately decreasing in size as they ran down her earlobe. She handed Alice a notepad and pen.
Alice scribbled the first words that came into her head, hardly poetic at this time of the morning, but better than vanishing without a trace of an explanation.
“I’ll be fifty-nine seconds, literally,” she said, tearing the paper with its taxi details off the pad and opening the door.
“No probs, but how about some music? I’ll get the CD ready while you’re doing your thing.”
This woman was seriously something else at three forty-five am.
“I dunno… um… err… what about some Sting?”
Hardly her favourite, despite singing his praises to Heather, but bizarrely he was the first artist to pop into her head.
“Your luck’s in.”
Alice smiled wanly at the back of her head as the driver lunged at the glove box compartment and busied herself rifling through her musical collection. She stepped onto the kerb and walked the few metres behind her, past the organic bakery, to River’s bar, took a deep breath and then slid the paper under the door, immediately berating herself thereafter that Georgina might well return to work within hours, the first to place her grubby mitts on it.
She ran back to the cab only to be welcomed by the beats of The Police andEvery Breath You Take,which serenaded her in an irritatingly timely fashion. The driver began to whistle along and Alice closed her eyes, trying in vain to focus on the woman in front of her and her tragic middle-aged impediment, as opposed to Georgina and her growing stomach. In any other circumstances this would definitely not be preferable.
Somehow it must have worked though, because when she opened her eyes it was to the site of the lush green hills of Peasedown St John, basked in a pretty pink sunrise, and not long after, the trickle of Georgian terraced houses and Bed & Breakfasts, witnessing her arrival into the glorious city of Bath.
“Almost there. I must say, I for one can’t wait – gonna treat myself to a fry-up in one of the city cafs before I head back to Glasters.”
“Sounds great,” Alice lied and again she tried to focus on anything but the kind of subject which threatened to evict the contents of her stomach.
“Now are you one hundred percent sure you’re doing the right thing?”
“I beg your pardon?” Alice wasn’t sure how much more of the driver’s tiresome quirks she could take.
“Look, far be it for me to interfere, and what is spoken in this taxi, stays in this taxi. From Dec to Kanye, Ana Matronic to Alice, Joe Bloggs to The Queen… should I ever be lucky enough to have her grace my behind.”
For almost five am this was beyond painful.
“What I’m trying to establishment, love, is are you sure you won’t change your mind about running away from him?”
“How did you… I mean, running away from who? I’m not even running away!” Alice tried in vain to reassure the both of them, completely overlooking her giveaway high pitched voice, now on the brink of a screech.
“Okay, fair dos, I see the subject’s off limits.” The driver held her chubby hands up and shook her head in defeat. “All the best to you, I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Yeah, thanks, same to you… no don’t bother, it’s okay, I’ve got this.” Alice held up her own hand to stop her chauffeur from heaving her weight out of the seat to help her with her luggage, and went to the boot to do the honours solo.
A round of completely unnecessarybon voyagebeeps later and the mysterious woman, whose name had never been revealed, was presumably off for her Full English Breakfast in a greasy spoon, leaving Alice to feel equally full – of paranoia, fear, guilt, regret, and just about every other lower spectrum emotion one could conjure up besides, as she made her way to platform one.
