Immediately the train begins hissing and grinding to a halt. There’s a collective intake of breath. The man who is speaking into the phone drops his voice guiltily. Then the train starts up again, and relief ripples through the carriage. Alexander looks at his hand and sees that he too has pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. The bald man opposite actually smiles at him, welcoming him to their club. Alexander looks from the phone to the bald man. He dials the number of the school and puts the phone to his ear.
Nobody’s in yet. The answerphone clicks on. Alexander is about to cut off the call when he senses that the bald man is listening.
‘It’s Alexander. I’m not coming in today.’
As he cuts the call off, the phone bleeps. He looks at the screen: the message low battery flashes. Alexander puts the phone back into his jacket pocket. It bleeps again. He takes it out again and, with a triumphant flourish, switches it off.
The train stops again on the bridge just before it reaches Victoria . The river is high and a strong breeze plucks waves from the glinting surface, making the silver water look as cool and inviting as the ocean. Alexander’s fellow passengers fold their papers, close their laptops, neurotically click and unclick the locks on their briefcases. One or two stand up and make their way to the door so that they’ll be first out. Eventually, the train heaves itself into the station. Alexander is the last to leave.
The station concourse smells of ground coffee. Alexander heads as usual for the entrance to the Underground, then remembers that he has given himself the day off. He doesn’t know why he did that. The necessity of showing himself to be different from the other occupants of the carriage isn’t so pressing now that he’s not trapped with them, but since it’s done, he’s not inclined to change his mind. Why waste such a sunny day in the basement common room? He has no classes today, just a few reports to write, which he could stretch to fill the day, or do in half an hour on Monday morning.
If he goes home now, he will arrive back at about the same time as Nell is returning from dropping Lucy at school. He pictures her face as she walks towards the house deep in thought, then sees him standing outside their front door. She shakes her head at him for forgetting his keys again, but pleasure shines through the mock-cross features, as she pushes the door open and lets them both in. But once they go into the house together, his imagination runs out. He doesn’t know what happens inside.
Alexander’s tummy rumbles and he remembers that he has not eaten breakfast. The smell of coffee and warm pastry beckons. He will treat himself to breakfast, and then go home.
He’s the only person ordering coffee to drink in. He takes the cup and a plate with a pecan Danish on it to a table at the back. The top layer of fatty sugary pastry sticks to the still-tender roof of his mouth. The taste of the coffee flies him to Italy and then to the bar in Soho where he drank espresso yesterday. Quickly he drains his cup and leaves the rest of his Danish.
Outside on the concourse again, crowds of people are walking towards him looking uniformly fed up. For a moment, he feels accused, but then realizes that they’re just making their way to the tube. He tries to push back through, knowing that he has less than a minute to catch the train.
A woman complains in a loud voice, ‘I wouldn’t mind if they kept you informed.’ A man says, ‘No trains until further notice, mate.’ It’s a second or two before Alexander understands that he’s talking to him.
Near the empty platforms, a guard is writing in thick blue felt pen on a white noticeboard .
ALL TRAINS CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
‘Why?’ Alexander asks him.
‘There’s some trouble up the line,’ the guard tells him.
Alexander sighs, then turns around and goes with the crowd. He is about to be washed down into the tube, when he
Nobody’s in yet. The answerphone clicks on. Alexander is about to cut off the call when he senses that the bald man is listening.
‘It’s Alexander. I’m not coming in today.’
As he cuts the call off, the phone bleeps. He looks at the screen: the message low battery flashes. Alexander puts the phone back into his jacket pocket. It bleeps again. He takes it out again and, with a triumphant flourish, switches it off.
The train stops again on the bridge just before it reaches Victoria . The river is high and a strong breeze plucks waves from the glinting surface, making the silver water look as cool and inviting as the ocean. Alexander’s fellow passengers fold their papers, close their laptops, neurotically click and unclick the locks on their briefcases. One or two stand up and make their way to the door so that they’ll be first out. Eventually, the train heaves itself into the station. Alexander is the last to leave.
The station concourse smells of ground coffee. Alexander heads as usual for the entrance to the Underground, then remembers that he has given himself the day off. He doesn’t know why he did that. The necessity of showing himself to be different from the other occupants of the carriage isn’t so pressing now that he’s not trapped with them, but since it’s done, he’s not inclined to change his mind. Why waste such a sunny day in the basement common room? He has no classes today, just a few reports to write, which he could stretch to fill the day, or do in half an hour on Monday morning.
If he goes home now, he will arrive back at about the same time as Nell is returning from dropping Lucy at school. He pictures her face as she walks towards the house deep in thought, then sees him standing outside their front door. She shakes her head at him for forgetting his keys again, but pleasure shines through the mock-cross features, as she pushes the door open and lets them both in. But once they go into the house together, his imagination runs out. He doesn’t know what happens inside.
Alexander’s tummy rumbles and he remembers that he has not eaten breakfast. The smell of coffee and warm pastry beckons. He will treat himself to breakfast, and then go home.
He’s the only person ordering coffee to drink in. He takes the cup and a plate with a pecan Danish on it to a table at the back. The top layer of fatty sugary pastry sticks to the still-tender roof of his mouth. The taste of the coffee flies him to Italy and then to the bar in Soho where he drank espresso yesterday. Quickly he drains his cup and leaves the rest of his Danish.
Outside on the concourse again, crowds of people are walking towards him looking uniformly fed up. For a moment, he feels accused, but then realizes that they’re just making their way to the tube. He tries to push back through, knowing that he has less than a minute to catch the train.
A woman complains in a loud voice, ‘I wouldn’t mind if they kept you informed.’ A man says, ‘No trains until further notice, mate.’ It’s a second or two before Alexander understands that he’s talking to him.
Near the empty platforms, a guard is writing in thick blue felt pen on a white noticeboard .
ALL TRAINS CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
‘Why?’ Alexander asks him.
‘There’s some trouble up the line,’ the guard tells him.
Alexander sighs, then turns around and goes with the crowd. He is about to be washed down into the tube, when he
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