Take the A-Train Read Free Page B

shirt and ancient 501s with the left leg chopped off to accommodate my cast. I wasn’t dressed for the Arctic.
    ‘I brought a coat for you to wear. It’s in the boot.’ She dropped my stuff and opened the boot, pulling out my blue Crombie and shaking out the creases. ‘I got it from your flat.’
    ‘I can’t wear that and use these,’ I said petulantly, referring to the crutches. ‘Fucking hell, Fiona!’
    ‘Now don’t get difficult,’ she said. ‘I know it’s a drag, but it’s only a ten-minute drive and the fresh air will do you good. Your face looks like a fish belly.’ She cracked up.
    I gave her another thin smile and leant the crutches up against the side of the car, put on the coat and thanked Christ for dry weather.
    The car was too small for me and the plaster cast, even with the passenger seat way back. Eventually I wedged myself in and gathered the skirts of my coat and the remains of my dignity around myself. With my crutches sticking out of the back seat, we set off.
    She drove like I guessed she would, flat out. She pushed the needle of the rev counter into the red in every gear, and the small engine and the tyres protested like hell, but she never let up.
    We drove straight to Camberwell. Halfway there she pointed out the three high-rise blocks that stood looming over Kennington Park.
    ‘I live in the nearest one,’ she shouted over the roar of the engine and the wind. ‘You’re in luck. The lifts are working today.’ She downshifted and overtook a grey Mercedes on the inside coming up to the lights at Kennington Cross. The transmission clunked in disgust. She turned and looked at me and added, ‘At least, they were.’
    ‘Watch the bloody road!’ I said.
    ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be all right.’
    I looked through the slipstream and felt my eyes tear from the force and thought how beautiful she looked at that moment, with her face animated and her hair tossed by the wind. ‘I hope so,’ I yelled. ‘Or else I’m camping in the lobby.’
    ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes,’ she said, and her laugh was ripped away by the wind.
    We pulled up in the shadow of the tower block. Fiona dragged my stuff out of the boot and I dragged myself out of the cockpit.
    ‘I’m going to park the car,’ she said. ‘Won’t be long.’
    ‘Where do you leave it?’
    ‘I’ve rented a garage since I lost the third hood in four months.’
    ‘You were lucky to get one round here.’
    ‘I wore a very short skirt when I went looking,’ she said. ‘Now the guy who rents it to me wants to be my special friend.’
    ‘I bet he does!’
    ‘Free parking.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And I’d rather pay double. Wait here. I won’t be two minutes.’
    She was four but I didn’t care. Even under the shadow of that brute of a building it was good to be out in the world again. She came trotting back, chest heaving. Even under all that leather and wool it was quite a sight. ‘Come on,’ she said, gathered up my stuff and set off. I followed her through the filthy glass doors. The place was graffiti heaven. It was freezing cold and someone had pissed in the corner. It smelt like a zoo. There were a bunch of kids, black and white mixed, huddled together in one corner around a beat box. The volume was turned all the way up and the cheap speakers distorted the sound to mush.
    ‘Damn!’ I said.
    The kids perked up when we came in. I guessed we made good sport. They started making comments – plenty of ‘fucks’ and ‘cunts’ and ‘shits’, all laced together for maximum offence. There were some mentions of my crippled state. Fiona pulled a face and shook her head when she thought I might say something back. Eventually the lift came. A couple of the kids made as if to join us and keep up the game. It was my turn to shake my head then and slide my right hand down its crutch to make a crude club. The kids were young enough to take the hint, just. Another couple of years and who knows?
    The lift doors closed