Читать книгу Her Turn to Cry: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming - Chris Curran - Страница 10

Checking her watch for the umpteenth time Joycie paced up and down by the bus stop. This was definitely where she’d asked the taxi to pick her up and she’d given him a big enough tip that he surely wouldn’t let her down. But if he didn’t get here soon she’d miss her train.

She moved closer to the kerb as she heard an engine approaching, but it was only a kid on a moped. He stopped right next to her and she stepped back to lean on the wall of the terraced house, looking at her watch again and then into the distance, pretending she hadn’t noticed him.

He climbed off the bike. ‘Hello, darlin’ you’re outta luck you know.’ His accent was so strong it was difficult to make out the words. She didn’t look at him. ‘No bus due for ages,’ he said.

‘I know.’ She brushed at her coat, still avoiding his eye.

‘I can give you a lift if you like. Plenty of room for a skinny bird like you on the back.’ He let out a wobbly laugh, as if his voice had not long broken.

‘No thank you, I’m waiting for someone.’ But now with a rush of air she seemed to be surrounded by boys on pushbikes.

‘Eh, Sammy, got a new girlfriend, have ya?’ A heavyset lad bumped his bike onto the pavement, coming so close she could feel the heat steaming from him.

‘Yeah, and she’s dead posh.’ Moped boy leaned over and pushed Joycie’s arm. ‘Go on, doll, say something for him.’

Joycie felt rather than saw a net curtain twitch in the house behind her. This was ridiculous, they were just kids. ‘Look, go away and leave me alone, will you? I’m waiting for someone.’

A shriek from moped boy. ‘Ooer, hark at it. Told you she were posh.’

The others joined in with honks of laughter and the nearest boy came even closer, looking round at his mates then back at her. ‘How’s about a kiss then, darling. Bet you’re not too la de da for that.’ She shoved him away and his face changed. ‘Don’t you push me, you tart.’

Loud clicking footsteps and the boys turned as a man of about forty, tall and thin in a camel coat and black trousers, rounded the corner. He stopped and looked at her. ‘These lads bothering you, miss?’ His accent was London, not Manchester.

The boy nearest Joycie said, ‘Nah, mister, just having a chat, weren’t we?’ He looked at his friends, but they were getting ready to ride away. He moved his bike back onto the road. The man stared at him, arms folded over his chest, his hard gaze shifting from him to moped boy, who started his engine and rode off. The other lad followed fast, shouting, ‘Bye, darling, see ya,’ as he went.

Joycie looked at the man. ‘Thank you.’

‘Waiting for a taxi are you?’ he said, his voice low and polite.

‘Yes, it should be here by now.’ Silly to feel scared, he was trying to help her.

A piercing whistle and there was her taxi. Almost as if it had been waiting for his signal. She reached for the door but he was there first, holding it open and giving a tiny bow as she climbed in. His hair was short and greased down, his face shiny and newly shaved. He had very pale grey eyes.

‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’ She tried to close the door, but he held onto it.

‘Station is it?’

‘Yes.’

He leaned towards the driver and she caught a whiff of aftershave. ‘Better hurry if she wants the London train.’ She reached for the door again, but he held on. ‘You shouldn’t be hanging around street corners in a place like this, you know. And it’s just as well those lads didn’t recognize you.’

As the taxi pulled away he gave her a small wave and a little nod and turned away, shiny black shoes gleaming under the street lights.