The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox
‘I’m one of three architects in a big development organisation. We build office blocks, factories, large housing developments, that sort of thing. There’s never two jobs the same.’ Wasn’t it strange, he thought, how you naturally imparted your business to a cabbie. Probably it was because you never expected to see him again.
Turning a corner, the cabbie grinned at him through the mirror. ‘By! You must lead an exciting life? Plenty to build an’ all, now the country’s back on its feet.’
Lapsing into silence, Tom let him chat on.
‘I’ve allus wanted to travel, but never had the time nor money. I’ve got six kids and a wife who spends like money’s gone outta fashion. I work six days a week, from seven of a morning till late at night. What chance ’ave I got to see the bleedin’ world, eh?’
He gave a loud, raucous laugh. ‘Matter o’ fact, I can never understand where I found the time to make all them bloody kids! Come to think of it, I can’t even remember enjoying mesel at it, neither!’ Taking his eyes off the road to peer through the mirror at Tom, he added, ‘D’you know what, matey? I’ve often wondered how many o’ them kids belong to that smarmy bleedin’ milkman!’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a lucky man.’ In truth, Tom envied him.
‘Oh! You reckon, do you?’ Astonished, the cabbie afforded himself another glance at his passenger. ‘Here’s me … a poor ol’ chap, working all hours God sends, and like as not them two having it off behind my back. An’ you say I’m a lucky man?’ He laughed aloud. ‘Hey! Happen you’re right. Happen he should tek her an’ the kids off me ’ands, and leave me to enjoy mesel.’
Tom defended his comment. ‘What I meant was … any man who’s got a wife and children who love you … has to be a lucky man.’
‘Ah! But how do I know if they’re my kids?’ His tone grew serious. ‘No man likes being cheated on.’
Sensing the cabbie’s abrupt change of mood, Tom wisely avoided being drawn into the subject too far. ‘Look! The traffic’s building up.’ He gestured to the road ahead, and the many vehicles vying for space. Since petrol rationing had ended, traffic had increased.
Swinging his taxi round a crawling trolleybus, the cabbie cursed, ‘Bleedin’ drivers! At least we’ve seen the last of the trams!’
Having got in front of the trolleybus, he refocused his curious gaze on Tom. ‘It’s a busy time o’ day, as you must well know, guv … you living ’ere an’ all that.’
After a while the cabbie lapsed into a pensive mood, and it wasn’t long before they reached Hammersmith. ‘’Ere we are, guv!’
Drawing his cab into the kerb outside a large, handsome building, the cabbie remarked with a whistle of appreciation, ‘Nice flats these … cost a pretty penny too, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He clicked his tongue in admiration. ‘I wouldn’t mind living in a posh place like this … all on me own where the brats and the missus can’t find me.’
Climbing out, Tom had his fare at the ready, which he handed to the driver, together with a generous tip, and a word of friendly advice. ‘You wouldn’t like it,’ he said. ‘You’d be lonelier than you can ever imagine.’
His words appeared to hit home, because suddenly the cabbie was deeply thoughtful. ‘You could be right,’ he answered. ‘Besides, what about that bleedin’ milkman, eh? If I weren’t there to keep an eye on him, Gawd knows what he’d be getting up to wi’ my missus!’ His loud raucous laugh echoed down the street. ‘By! He’d want to be delivering more than the milk … if he ain’t done already!’
Shaking his head, and with a wide grin on his face, Tom watched him drive off.
He was still chuckling as he entered the lift; though by the time he had reached his flat on the sixth floor the smile had slipped and the same idea that had haunted him these past weeks began to invade his thoughts again. ‘It’s time,’ he murmured. There was no doubt in his mind now. ‘Time to leave it all behind.’
Letting himself into the luxurious, soulless place that he now called home, he felt a wave of relief that the decision was made. ‘I need to get away from London … and all the bad memories.’ If he didn’t leave soon, he suspected he might go crazy.
After a bath to wash the grime of the journey from his bones, he threw pyjamas and a robe on, poured himself a whisky and soda and stood looking out of the window. In the growing twilight, silhouetted against a moody sky, the skyline of London was a mesmerising sight.
When the weariness took a hold, he threw off his robe, climbed into bed, and fell into a long, fitful sleep.
Though even now, there was no respite from the shocking memories. Day or night, asleep or awake, they were etched on his soul.
In the early hours, finally driven from his sleep by the dreams that haunted him, Tom got out of bed and began pacing the floor, unaware that he was being observed.
From the apartment block opposite, having been too restless to sleep, Kathy Wilson was looking out of the window, her gaze roving the front of the splendid building across the street. For one lingering moment her eyes rested on the window where, inside a softly lit room, a man was striding back and forth, head bent as he paced up and down, occasionally running his hands through his hair. Now he paused a moment, only to begin again, faster, more agitated … backwards and forwards, like a soul in torment.
Sensing his distress, she gave a whimsical little smile, at the same time softly commenting, ‘It seems I’m not the only one who can’t find any peace.’
When, in that moment, in the semi-darkness, a hand fell on her shoulder, she almost leapt out of her skin. ‘For goodness’ sake, Geoff … don’t creep up on me like that!’ Swinging round, she regarded the man with surprise. ‘I thought you were still asleep.’
Giving a wry sort of smile, the man gripped her by the shoulders. ‘I missed your warm body beside me.’ He kissed her on the neck, not seeming to notice when she flinched beneath his touch. ‘You look especially lovely tonight. Come on!’ he urged. ‘Come back to bed, sweetheart?’ Sliding his hands under her dressing-gown, he stroked her firm breasts.
When his fingers crept downwards towards the softness of her inner thighs, there was no doubting his intention.
‘No!’ Frantic, she pushed him away. ‘It was a mistake … tonight was all wrong … I …’ But when he pressed her lips with his, she felt the shudder of need ripple through her.
‘Come back to bed, Kathy.’ Taking advantage of her hesitation, he collected her into his arms and carried her away from the window and across the room where, ever so tenderly, he laid her on the bed. In a moment he had slipped off her dressing-gown, leaving her naked before him; eyes wide with lust, he gazed down, his own desperate need obvious as his eyes roved over her petite, slim figure with its perfectly round breasts and tiny waist.
Her eyes, though, were her best feature: golden-brown, with long curling lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘I do love you,’ he muttered, then, stretching his arms up to the bedhead, he neatly straddled her. Leaning his head to kiss her on the mouth, he relaxed his body to fuse nakedness with nakedness.
It took less than five minutes for him to satisfy himself and, when it was over, it was she who drew away first; though he was so elated and fulfilled, he didn’t even notice.
For a long moment she looked at him from the bottom of the bed; at his uptilted face. He gave a soft, low laugh. ‘I’m sorry it was so quick, but you shouldn’t have kept me waiting!’ Suddenly he was sitting up, staring back at her. ‘Was it all right for you, sweetheart?’ It seemed to be of paramount importance to him.
Kathy smiled, a reluctant smile that appeared to pacify him. ‘Yes, Geoff,’ she lied. Up until then she hadn’t realised how little she found attractive about him. She didn’t