.’
‘Later, Ben. Let’s just get going, shall we? How about some nice music?’ Alex flicks the controls and AC/DC fills the car. In spite of his irritation, he smiles at Juliet. ‘My little rock chick.’
Alex puts his hand on her knee and squeezes, then he rests it there. This feels good. At the moment it’s all right; his wife and his child in the car doing normal things, the sort of things that normal families do. They sit at the junction of Sheen Lane waiting for the red lights to change. A motorbike comes up on the outside and sits unnervingly close to the door. The rider is covered from head to toe in black. Alex can feel his chest tightening. The visor is dark, making the face invisible. Alex focuses on the gloved hands, waiting for any movement. He flicks a look in the rear-view mirror. All Alex can see is a vast radiator grill of a large lorry which is almost grazing his tail. He’s hemmed in. He clears his throat but it’s hard because his mouth has gone dry. He tickles the accelerator and turns the music right down. He touches the gear stick, wipes his palm on his thigh, then rests it on the gear stick once more, brushes his foot over the accelerator, checks the rear- view mirror, the motorbike at the side of him, a cyclist on the inside, his wife and child in the car. He lets off the handbrake and moves forward.
‘Alex, the lights are still red …’
He edges forward, dodging a car coming in from the right. The car hoots and Alex hoots back, then he’s free of the junction and he puts his foot down, overtaking the car in front. He almost hits the bollard in the middle of the road, but he manoeuvres past it. He can feel Juliet’s tension beside him. ‘Alex, what the fuck …’
He is breathing heavily. His chest still feels tight. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. He forces a smile and squeezes his hands on the steering wheel. The wheel feels oily and slippery from his sweat. He wipes his palms one by one on his thighs. Juliet can see what he is doing. She knows what’s going on. He’s showing weakness. He’s showing he can’t cope. But he can. He just knows more than most people what the threats are; he knows what to look out for, the dangers coming from every corner because you just never know. You’ve got to be watchful all the time, otherwise you’re likely to be taken out, annihilated, turned into pink mist.
His body starts to shake. ‘Alex, pull over. Let me drive. Sweetheart, look, you’re in no fit state. It’s OK. Come on … please … pull over.’
‘I’m fine.’ By clutching the steering wheel he can make it go away. If he takes some deep breaths. If he thinks about the tree, the decorations, the boxes they’ve got to unpack, the bloody fairy lights, his mother and how he’s going to cover up his lack of patience with her. Will he be able to get through Christmas without snapping? Just a couple of days, that’s all. Just a couple of days.
It’s subsiding now. He’s beginning to feel he’s getting a grip. The tree lights, the fuses, the whereabouts of the screwdrivers. The need to buy lots of batteries. All of it a distraction; if he focuses upon it hard enough he will be OK.
When they get to Petersham the car park is bursting with vehicles. Juliet says she’ll go on ahead, take Ben. ‘Fine,’ he says.
‘I’ll meet you inside.’ He watches his wife and son, hand in hand, retreating from his view. Exhaust fumes from the car in front fog the air. Smoke, explosives, gunfire … just an exhaust … in greater London … the suburbs. Nothing to be afraid of except finding the right change for the ticket machine. It’s a shop, no need for a ticket. They just want you to spend lots of money. The tree – there’d better be a bloody tree after all this. And what else will she buy? He’d better hurry up and get in there so he can see what she’s doing. Christmas, just one big bloody expense. The smoke in front of the car... it’s spreading over the bonnet. He can
‘Later, Ben. Let’s just get going, shall we? How about some nice music?’ Alex flicks the controls and AC/DC fills the car. In spite of his irritation, he smiles at Juliet. ‘My little rock chick.’
Alex puts his hand on her knee and squeezes, then he rests it there. This feels good. At the moment it’s all right; his wife and his child in the car doing normal things, the sort of things that normal families do. They sit at the junction of Sheen Lane waiting for the red lights to change. A motorbike comes up on the outside and sits unnervingly close to the door. The rider is covered from head to toe in black. Alex can feel his chest tightening. The visor is dark, making the face invisible. Alex focuses on the gloved hands, waiting for any movement. He flicks a look in the rear-view mirror. All Alex can see is a vast radiator grill of a large lorry which is almost grazing his tail. He’s hemmed in. He clears his throat but it’s hard because his mouth has gone dry. He tickles the accelerator and turns the music right down. He touches the gear stick, wipes his palm on his thigh, then rests it on the gear stick once more, brushes his foot over the accelerator, checks the rear- view mirror, the motorbike at the side of him, a cyclist on the inside, his wife and child in the car. He lets off the handbrake and moves forward.
‘Alex, the lights are still red …’
He edges forward, dodging a car coming in from the right. The car hoots and Alex hoots back, then he’s free of the junction and he puts his foot down, overtaking the car in front. He almost hits the bollard in the middle of the road, but he manoeuvres past it. He can feel Juliet’s tension beside him. ‘Alex, what the fuck …’
He is breathing heavily. His chest still feels tight. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. He forces a smile and squeezes his hands on the steering wheel. The wheel feels oily and slippery from his sweat. He wipes his palms one by one on his thighs. Juliet can see what he is doing. She knows what’s going on. He’s showing weakness. He’s showing he can’t cope. But he can. He just knows more than most people what the threats are; he knows what to look out for, the dangers coming from every corner because you just never know. You’ve got to be watchful all the time, otherwise you’re likely to be taken out, annihilated, turned into pink mist.
His body starts to shake. ‘Alex, pull over. Let me drive. Sweetheart, look, you’re in no fit state. It’s OK. Come on … please … pull over.’
‘I’m fine.’ By clutching the steering wheel he can make it go away. If he takes some deep breaths. If he thinks about the tree, the decorations, the boxes they’ve got to unpack, the bloody fairy lights, his mother and how he’s going to cover up his lack of patience with her. Will he be able to get through Christmas without snapping? Just a couple of days, that’s all. Just a couple of days.
It’s subsiding now. He’s beginning to feel he’s getting a grip. The tree lights, the fuses, the whereabouts of the screwdrivers. The need to buy lots of batteries. All of it a distraction; if he focuses upon it hard enough he will be OK.
When they get to Petersham the car park is bursting with vehicles. Juliet says she’ll go on ahead, take Ben. ‘Fine,’ he says.
‘I’ll meet you inside.’ He watches his wife and son, hand in hand, retreating from his view. Exhaust fumes from the car in front fog the air. Smoke, explosives, gunfire … just an exhaust … in greater London … the suburbs. Nothing to be afraid of except finding the right change for the ticket machine. It’s a shop, no need for a ticket. They just want you to spend lots of money. The tree – there’d better be a bloody tree after all this. And what else will she buy? He’d better hurry up and get in there so he can see what she’s doing. Christmas, just one big bloody expense. The smoke in front of the car... it’s spreading over the bonnet. He can
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