The Glove.Chapter 2

The Glove. Chapter 2

1.

The tram was approaching now. A shout of metal. A blast of air. It stopped a little before her. A clatter of doors and hurrying people pushing and shuffling into the smiling toothless gap left by the opening doors that hissed to one side.

Unthinkingly, she gripped the umbrella with both hands. Shook it, closed it and was the last to step into the crowded bubble of light and warmth.

It was only after the doors closed, after the juddering hesitating motion forward, that she realised she was holding one glove. She glanced through her reflection in the window and saw the other,  flat, fallen, in a puddle of darkness in the pouring morning rain.

2.

He was late that morning. A rush of children, occupied bathrooms, breakfast and the delivery which was as unexpected as it was early.

He saw them off. Rucksacks, lunches, mobile phones and a reminder that he would be later home that evening. He swept the garage back, bundled his case and coat in the boot, slammed it down to feel better and unlocked the car door.

The car still smelled of pizza from the take-way last night. He reversed out, opening all the windows at the same time. The ancient dodge coughing and spluttering its leaded petrol fumes all over the neighbours immaculate garden. He smiled. Mischievously. He opened the door and closed the garage with a rusty echoing clang that undoubtedly woke the mice camped out for the winter in the old packing boxes still full of his dead wife’s winter coats and jackets.

He stopped. Ruefully rubbed his two day beard, and was about to think of her again when he saw the neighbour’s opposite open their electric blinds, thought better of it and tucked himself back into the low leather drivers seat, slipped into gear and peering into the thinning darkness, drove to join the queues of other cars all turning left against the flow of traffic.

He indicated right. Smiled, and thought again of Eveline.

It was colder this morning. He closed the windows. Turned up the whining heater to full and pressed the old radio cassette player knob with a resounding click.

The music immediately filled the car with an accompanying cackle and crack of hissing and then settled into some old ‘70s disco number that reminded him of the cheapness of emotions. It passed the time, the three minute dash to the country station.

The road descended in a series of switchbacks, the morning sun peering, blurred and weaving through a forest empty of leaves.

He smiled. The second time that morning. He liked November. Most of the world tucked away in coats, hats, and gloves or packed in shopping malls or simply holed up at home.

The world seemed emptier somehow. And that suited him just fine. 

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