Three parts frustration and one part relief

If I’m honest, the taxi ride itself is a bit of a blur. I’m not really sure why we didn’t walk to the station anyway, it’s not that far across Parker’s Piece, and Jen’s shopping isn’t that heavy. As it is, the short ride in a vaguely odorous but otherwise unremarkable cab is distinguished only by the fact that Jenny and I stare out of opposite windows in silence. A street corner flash of neon catches my eye.

When we arrive at the station I find that I am expected to pay the whole fare. I mutter something about extortion, and count the exact money into the cabbie’s greasy, outstretched palm. It’s a good job his face is so hidden in shadow – it disguises the look of loathing I feel sure he’s giving me.

I drag Jen’s bags out onto the pavement, where she is waiting with hands on hips. The taxi lurches away, its diesel engine rattling discontentedly.

Didn’t you give him a tip?

No, I did not give him a tip! Christ, we could have walked that in five minutes.

That’s not the point. He’s doing a job.

No-one tips me for doing my job, and that’s a damn sight harder than driving half a mile down the road.

I didn’t know you were so tight, she says, bending to pick up a solitary bag from the mountain of shopping. With that, she turns on her heel and marches into the station. I gather up the assorted other bags and follow in a rustle of paper and plastic.

Come on, she calls. My train’s already in!

And I do hurry, because I want this to be over.

With one foot up onto the train step, Jen takes bags from me and relays them into the carriage. Then she turns and kisses me on the cheek, a hurried kiss that, to an observer, would look chaste. She does that fingernail thing again, down the back of my neck, but this time I’m half expecting it and, although nice, it doesn’t make me shudder.

See you tomorrow.

Yeah.

She pulls the carriage door shut behind her. Somewhere, a whistle is blown and almost immediately the train rumbles away from the platform. I feel something that is three parts frustration and one part relief.

Despite the lateness of the hour, it’s still hot and almost unfeasibly humid – I pull ineffectively at my shirt, trying unsuccessfully to unstick it from the rank sweat on my chest, until I feel a little more comfortable. In the emptiness of the station, the schlatt of digits rolling over on the station clock seems ridiculously loud. My last train home is in an hour and a half. Plenty of time. I check my wallet – not plenty of money but enough, probably. Only one way to find out. I stumble out of the station and head back the way we’d just come, in search of that flash of neon.

No doubt who’s in control here

I can’t help it. I really can’t.

Your niece, Al?

I’m smiling inanely. I’m vaguely aware that Jen has put down one handful of shopping bags so that she can tug at my sleeve. But she doesn’t know what I know. Alan is equally keen to move on, and tries to guide Laura forward.

Come on, let’s not keep the waiter waiting.

That’s very good, I say. Good joke.

I turn to Laura, who is trying to squeeze past Jenny’s shopping.

We’ve met though, haven’t we? You’re very familiar, Laura.

She holds me gaze, and gives a smile that leaves no doubt who’s in control here.

Have we? she says. I don’t recall.

Didn’t I buy something from you?

Alan has both hands on Laura’s lower arms but has, for now, stopped short of pushing her forward. Annoyingly Handsome is lingering, looking somewhat perplexed. Or is that a smirk?

Oh, perhaps. I’m working in Bentley’s at the moment, the electrical department. Have you bought anything from there?

Of course. My new TV. That must be it.

Must be. It was nice to meet you again.

At which point Alan, looking genuinely confused, forces his way between us.

Come on, he repeats, actually tapping his watch in front of Laura. And with that, they brush past us to their table.

Outside, I laugh so hard I have to put my share of Jen’s bags down on the pavement so that I can lean on my knees. I realise, belatedly, that I am a little drunk. However, Jenny doesn’t seem to be seeing the funny side.

Oh shit, she says. Disaster. Now everyone at work will know.

I get a grip, at least a little.

Don’t worry. I don’t think our meeting is going to be something Al wants to broadcast, do you?

What do you mean?

Well, you’ve got an uncle, haven’t you?

Jen nods.

If you were going out for dinner with him, would you dress like that?

Oh. Oh! You think he’s having an affair?

I try to keep my tone even, world-weary but not too world-wise.

Either that or… or he’s paying for her company.

God, really? Do you really think?

I shrug.

But you recognised her from, what was it, a TV shop.

Yeah, well, who knows who she is, but one thing’s for sure, she’s not Alan’s niece, so I think we can assume he’ll be keeping this evening quiet, don’t you reckon?

This seems to satisfy Jen, and she sets off along the pavement, a carrier bag of who knows what shopping swinging in each hand. I scoop up my share of her bags, and follow. After a couple of minutes silence, I try to get the conversation back on track.

So?

So what?

Where are we headed for, you know, dessert?

I load the word with as much innuendo as I can which, after this many drinks, is a surprising amount.

Oh Pete. You’re so… We’ve just been busted by our boss, and I haven’t even left Phil yet. Let’s wait until after then. Besides, I’m tired. All I really want to do is go home and curl up.

I want to repeat myself about Alan. I want to point out that waiting until after she leaves Phil has no logic to it. And I want to state the obvious, that the home she’s so keen to get back to and curl up in won’t be her home in a couple of days time. I want to say all these things, yet all that comes out is something about calling a cab.