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The Taxi Driver
By
I happen to be a taxi
driver and naturally I pick up some unusual and interesting clients.
Anyway, I'd had a good day, taken a few bob, so I called the
control and told them to clock me off. With the perks of the job I
can use the taxi when I'm not working, so instead of going back to
the yard, I made my way home.
My journey on this
particular night was through the old Blackwall tunnel, which goes under
the river Thames. It was raining cats and dogs and as I passed the
tunnel entrance, I notice two things, the time was five minutes to
midnight and I was the only car in the tunnel. Now I'm not the type of
bloke that gets claustrophobic, but I did feel sort of clammy. It was
strange being in that long glistening tile covered pipe and I was
anxious to get through as quickly as possible, especially away from
those glaring yellowish fluorescent roof lights that made everything so
eerie.
Suddenly, as I rounded that
bend deep down in the bottom I had the surprise of my life because I saw
someone hitch hiking, and that's something that you never see in the
tunnel, mainly because its prohibited. However, as soon as I got closer
I could see that it was a young man; he was wearing a brown leather
bomber jacket, was about seventeen years old and had rusty coloured
trousers, which were soaked through. Around his neck he wore a West Ham
United Football supports scarf and was carrying a red crash helmet, he
was limping quite badly. Now it is rarely that I stop for non-paying
guests but it was obvious that this lad was in trouble, so I pulled up.
He sat next to me in the
front seat and we started chatting. He told me that he had developed a
problem with his motorbike just after leaving his girl friends house and
asked if it was possible that I could help him to get home, which was on
the other side of the city. I told him that I was really not for hire
and that I had clocked off, however I knew the area well where he lived
and as it wasn't all that far away from my place so I said "well make it
a couple of pounds for the petrol". He was a chatty sort of guy and kept
talking about his mother being worried and that his parents were getting
on and were not on the telephone.
Eventually we arrived at his
house that was the last one in a cul-de-sac, one of those houses with
steep steps up to the front door built in the mid nineties I think. Well
we stopped, and then he said would I wait a couple of minutes whilst he
went inside to get his money. Well, he got out of the cab, ran across
the pavement, up the stairs to the front door, took the keys from his
pocket then entered and closed the door. I noticed the fanlight over the
top of the door light up. I switched off my engine, as I did not want to
awaken the neighbours because by now it was about a quarter to one on
the morning.
Well I waited and waited,
then I thought `Oh well let it go, its only a couple of quid' but then I
saw the light above the door go out, that changed my mind. What a
liberty I thought, the little sods gone up to bed and its me that has
been taken for a ride. Well I went up the steps and gave just a little
knock, thinking that at least I can put a word in his ear about manners,
but nothing happened. Of course I was now getting a bit put out, so I
knocked real hard.
Suddenly the light went on
again and I heard a voice on the other side of the door say, "Who is
it?"
This was a man's voice, so I
said "It's the taxi driver-I'm still waiting for that boy to pay".
Eventually he opened the door and there stood an elderly man in a
dressing gown. I was just in the middle of explaining when a lady came
down the stairs; she was also in a dressing gown and wanted to know what
it was all about.
"There's no boy that lives
here", said the lady. Well, I knew damn well that I was in no mood to be
conned so I started to tell the whole story. When I got to the
description of the boy and how I knew that he was definitely in the
house and how he had put the hall light on they asked me to come in.
Once more I told them what the boy looked like and how soft-spoken he
was.
The old couple looked as
though they were shocked and the old man said, "Would you come along
with me, please". We went along a narrow hallway to a door at the far
end; he opened the door and put the light on. It was a small bedroom and
obviously a boy's because it was covered with posters and boyish things.
"This is my boys bedroom", said the old man. "Can you see him here?"
I looked around the room and
suddenly my eye caught the sight of a photograph on the side table, it
lay in the centre of various football trophies, I looked closely.
"That's him!" - that's the boy!" I said." I told you I brought him
here".
The ashen-faced gentleman
touched my arm. "My son is dead", he said with tears welling in his eyes
"he was killed on his motorcycle at midnight, three years ago today, on
his way home through Blackwall tunnel.
© Copyright J Henry Foster
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