LOVE PROBABLY

13.

It’s past 8 p.m. Left to my own devices, I follow the flow of travellers bustling about on the platforms. Some rush into the London metro but personally, I don’t want to. It would be too brutal for me, I’m used to breathing the great outdoors. I decided to take a taxi. For my first time, I want to be driven like a princess. Then we will see; I’ll adapt. I will have to take public transport, otherwise, my savings will go to waste.

It’s a real anthill here. It’s crawling everywhere, in all directions. Compared to Beccles station, this one is several times larger. What am I saying? At least twenty times larger! I follow the directional signs “Exit” and “Taxi” and I feel that my walk takes forever. Did I already get lost? Note… You don’t really get lost when you don’t know your destination.

The rain drums on the pavement when I leave the station enclosure. It’s dark outside. I walk towards the queue. The taxis parade. Disciplined patrons step forward when their turn comes. We are a little sheltered from the rain but in the distance, the downpour is unleashed. The motorists’ windshield wipers panic on the windshields. I would have preferred to be greeted by a starry sky. The meteorologists were right. Rain was on the way. I sincerely hope that the sun will be here tomorrow. The Indian summer doesn’t just exist in the movies. I don’t want to keep a wet memory of London.

“Hey, are you falling asleep? You’re going to move forward?”

A man yells at me. Lost in my meteorological thoughts, I don’t see that a small distance has been created between the person in front and me.

I don’t reply and catch up. I turn around and smile sarcastically at him, thinking So, you’re proud of yourself! We made two metres!

He’s clever, now we’re in the rain. Luckily for us, the taxi drivers keep coming and the queue is moving along at a good pace. It’s rush hour. In no time, it’s my turn. A sedan comes up to me. A man gets out of his vehicle, without even glancing at me, opens the door for me, takes the luggage from my hands and puts it in his trunk before getting back in, all without saying a word. He’s an Asian in his fifties. I even come to wonder if he speaks my language. With both hands resting on a leopard skin adorning his steering wheel, he waits.

“What filthy weather!” he finally says, looking at me in his rearview mirror. “Where are we going?” he asks in perfect English.

“Uh... One minute... I must find my paper where I noted the address. Damn!”

I empty the contents of my bag onto the back seat. I can’t see clearly. The ceiling light turns on as if by magic and I finally find what I’m looking for. The driver sets off before having the place of my destination.

“So where are we going?” he repeats gently.

“Sun Street.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! That’s right.”

“It’s your first time?”

“Yes!”

“Well ... You’ll not be disappointed!”

“Oh, yes! Why’s that?”

“You’ll see!” he said all smiles, throwing me curious little glances through his rearview mirror.

“Say! Can we pass by St. Paul’s Cathedral?” I ask him.

“It’s not at all on our route and at this hour, it’s frankly not a good idea, but the customer is king, it’s up to you!”

“I’m not in a hurry. I’d like to go there, please.”

“Your wish is my pleasure! Here, here’s my card. You never know, if you need my services another day… It’s nicer to already have a contact.”

In the dark, I can’t decipher his name. Well yes, of course, what an i***t I am! It’s in Chinese characters. I turn the card over and read: Christian Linh Chen.

“Delighted, Mr Chen, my name is Madeline.”