We sprang up and bolted for the door.
‘No good, it’s locked’ I said as the taxi driver rattled and
twisted at the handle ‘We’re stuck’
‘That’s right’ said the tiny woman. ‘Now tell me of the
diamond!’
Her voice and manner were transformed and she made an
unsettling silhouette against the window.
‘I don’t know who or what you are but we’re not saying
anything!’ I said.
There was a pause. A slow and ominous rattle could be heard.
It took me a moment to realise it was coming from her, from the old woman’s
throat. As she lunged across the room the rattle burst into a blood-curdling
scream.
‘Enough of
this!’ said the taxi driver as stepped back and shoulder barged the door with
alarming force.
The old woman still screaming at our backs, we threw ourselves
through the doorway. My head still spinning, I drew breath. But it wasn’t the
stale air of communal corridor that greeted us but the note of a crisp clean
green space, an outdoor space.
‘I know this place’ I said.
‘Mmm’ grunted the taxi driver as he dusted his clothes,
still visibly shaken.
‘It’s the Pleasaunce, off Halstow Road. I went to school
just down the road from here. Why are we here?’
‘The diamond must be gaining
strength’ said the taxi driver wearily and then after a second ‘I don’t know
about you but I could do with a cup of tea…followed by some Chinese food. I
could eat bucket of chicken’s feet’.
‘You’re odd man, you know that?’ I
said but the taxi driver simply only responded with a flash of a grin and a
sweep of the hand, which I took to mean ‘let’s go’.
As we left the Pleasaunce, I cast
a glance back. I’d always liked it there- the feeling of simultaneously being
outside and safely nestled within the park. I remembered the old ping-pong
tables, concrete, outdoor ones, like they have in France. I remembered the
little café as it was and the view of the tiny graveyard tucked in at the
bottom of the slope. It was womb-like and comforting to be here again.
After a minute or two we found
ourselves down at the Woolwich Road.
‘Ahh! Wing Wah Buffet!’ said the
taxi driver, pointing to the corner. ‘Perfect! But wait, what day is it?’
‘I’m not sure what year it is, to
be honest’ I said
‘Not to worry. It’s just there’s
no ice-cream on Sundays’
And it was true. There was the
sign in the window in undeniably bold and forbidding vinyl lettering.
NO ICE CREAM ON SUNDAYS
‘Huh’
We pushed through the glass doors
to a flood of hot, delicious, savoury smells. A odorous soup of curries, fried
fish, steaming rice and cooked peppers.
‘Hello’ said the smart-suited man
calmly walking towards us, his hand outstretched. ‘We’ve been expecting you
two’.
I turned to the taxi driver. He
swallowed almost imperceptibly.
‘Chicken feet!’ He hollered
through the doors and into the kitchen. ‘You’ll be staying a while, might as
well eat’.
Daniel Davies is a teaching assistant at Halstow School. He is also an artist and his work is here: http://gentleistheword.blogspot.com/
