Page 123 of Carbon

Okay, think. London. I was in London, and London had cabs. I could get a cab. It wasn’t like I was in a fit state to drive, anyway.

I shoved on a pair of trainers and grabbed my handbag. Now, all I had to do was get out of the house without being seen.

Thanks to the conveniently placed security office, attempting to leave via the front door was out. Instead, I crept through to the kitchen, praying Ruth wasn’t on one of her baking sprees. As I peeped around the door jamb, I heard her humming to herself in the utility room off to the side. Thank goodness. A lucky break.

Only that luck didn’t last. I soon found out that staying at a house belonging to the owners of a security company brought its own problems. The bloody place was so secure that nobody could get in, and I couldn’t get out either. The pedestrian gate set into the wall next to the equally tall metal gates across the driveway didn’t even have a bloody handle, just a keypad that I didn’t know the code for. A shower of tears burst out unbidden. What the hell was I supposed to do?

I crouched behind a bush as the sound of a rumbling engine outside caught my attention, then held my breath, palms sweating, as the huge gates slowly swung open. A delivery from Ocado! The online supermarket brought fresh organic vegetables, a selection of ethically produced meat, and my flipping salvation. The delivery man pulled into the driveway while I ran out behind the van, searching both ways along the road for a taxi.

Hallelujah! A black cab with its light on. I flagged the driver down and leapt into the back.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Sandlebury. It’s near Oxford.” I rattled off the postcode.

“Won’t be cheap, love.” He glanced up at the mansion I’d just come out of. “Still, I suppose you can afford it.”

For once, money had its benefits.

34

“Is there a way around this jam?” I asked, bouncing my knees as the cab inched along the road out of London.

“Traffic’s busy at the moment, love. Workmen dug through the water main on the A40, so everyone’s using the side streets while Thames Water argues with the council about who’s going to fix it.”

Dammit, why today? What was wrong with this country and its infrastructure? Something was always breaking, and it was always somebody else’s fault.

“I’d be quicker walking,” I muttered.

“Aye, along this bit for sure,” the driver agreed. The faded badge taped to the Perspex partition behind the front seats identified him as Darryl Butterfield. “Reckon we should get out and help them dig.”

He turned the radio on, and a commentary on first the failings of the government, then the unseasonably hot weather, then the week’s upcoming football matches was exactly what I didn’t need as I sweated against the leather seats. In Albany House, with its thick walls and air conditioning, I’d been comfortable in jeans, but now I felt like I was about to expire from heat exhaustion.

My phone turned slippery in my hands, and every few seconds I glanced at the screen in case Leroux called again and I’d somehow missed it. Or worse, missed Ben.

“Going somewhere nice today?” Darryl asked.

“Not really. I actually need to pick something up and then come straight back to London. Would you be able to wait?”

“Aye, but I’ll have to leave the meter running.”

“That’s fine.”

Finally, we crawled as far as the M40 and traffic cleared. Darryl sped up to fifty-five, seemingly happy to trundle along in the slow lane behind all the lorries.

“If you can get me there by twelve, I’ll pay you double,” I told him in desperation.

“Why didn’t you say so, love?”

He stepped on the accelerator, and a cloud of black smoke belched out behind us as he swerved into the fast lane. I thought the old taxi would rattle itself to pieces as he floored it past a couple of Audis and a Porsche.

“Used to race dirt bikes when I was a lad,” he told me, seemingly oblivious to the BMW driver he’d just cut in front of making a rude gesture in the mirror. “Most weekends.”

“Did you win?”

“No, love. I crashed more often than I finished.”

I felt around my waist for the seatbelt and gave it a surreptitious tug. Yes, it was securely fastened. My attempts to save my family would all be in vain if I came to a nasty end on the motorway before I even got home.

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