Yet more stupid diversions. Was everyone in self-destruct mode? So many accidents in one week defied belief. Perhaps it was another road rage incident. No wonder, in this traffic. It’d take a saint to keep his cool. Made him think of Michael Douglas. Falling Down, losing it on the freeway. Abandoning his car. Just like that. A girl with an orange rucksack meandered through the cars ahead. What did schools do when their parents turned up late to pick up their kids? He wouldn’t know. He supposed 10 minutes or so would be all right. But what about 3 hours? Trains – quite feasible they’d be late. People should take them more often, but then he heard it took five hours to do a one-hour journey the other week. Talk about regressing to the dark ages. All this rain a convenient excuse to let standards slide down the drain, right down, into the gutters. What lay below, anyway? Sewers, like the ones in The Third Man? Plenty of rats. Still, the floods might flush them all out. A horrible thought that – swollen rat carcasses, and worse, floating down the village high street. Public Health out on the rampage. An SUV just like his own edged up on the inside, threatening a cheeky manoeuvre. His fingers formed a rude gesture, then he remembered road rage and thought better of it. And a road sign was flashing ahead: Severe Flood Warning. He would be trapped inside the car with some nutter bashing his fist on the windscreen. Ahead, columns of cars slowly advanced, inching forward strategically, like armies across a world map.
He arrived later for the reunion dinner than he ever remembered being. And he didn’t look the best. His suit was soggy, his hair plastered against his head. But he needn’t have worried. Most of the others hadn’t made it through the storms. Belinda had said he was mad for attempting it when she opened the door. And he liked to make an entrance. Christ! he’d said, entering the candle-lit room all laid out for dinner, so this is what it’s like living in bloody Mozambique! Then, settling himself in the proffered chair, he smiled to himself and added a witty coda, ‘hardly’. Soon he sat at the fringes of a conversation, gazing at the Californian white (more honey than white) hypnotised by the smug gleam of polished wineglasses.
- Congratulate me. I’ve just booked our next skiing holiday. We’ve got a room with a spa bath and a gorgeous view over Mont Blanc.
- There’s no snow!
- I don’t care if there’s none. The suite’s pure luxury.
- You lucky sods. I haven’t had a holiday since January. This job pays well enough, but we’re robbed of holidays. You’ve no intention of boycotting planes then?
- No, if Blair doesn’t, I don’t.
As the evening wore on, the faces blurred and merged, their words lapping vaguely around him until he became conscious of a fleeting concern crossing their faces.
-You all right Mr life-and-soul of the party? You look a bit pale.
- You’ve hardly said a word!
He feigned a chuckle that seemed to shake the life out of him.
- Yes, fine. Enjoying your visions of alpine bliss. I’m just shattered from that godawful journey.
And he sank back into the armchair as they turned away, longing with a sudden intensity for the womb of his cottage.
Pleasantly drunk, he thought, leaning against a windowpane that flickered with candlelight. He pressed his nose heavily against the glass, starting for a moment at the sudden chill, then gazing philosophically into the watery darkness.
Later he felt firm hands guiding him towards one of the sofas. There were towels laid out on top of pillows and a folded duvet. He remembered, then, how he had been prevented from returning home, yet couldn’t grasp why. He glanced vaguely about him and observed a couple of his old friends already slumbering beneath blankets. Bet none of us has done this since his student days, he murmured. Once his eyes closed, he became aware of a muffled flutter overhead. Far off, his mind struggled to locate the familiar sound, fought to overcome his anaesthetised state, to remember. To unforget. He gave up the battle, and surrendered to a dream of houses huddled together beneath a thundering waterfall. Inside tiny black figures pressed their faces hard against the glass, mewing soundlessly.
Bookmark/Search this post with:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
