Eyes On You

Chapter 3-1

3

I haven’t worn a suit in years. It feels so alien. Adjusting my tie, I notice the time on the wall: 8:10 a.m. I best get a move on.

In the mirror, I check my hair and teeth and then slip my jacket on. Stomach filled with crazed-butterflies, I grab my car keys and leave the flat.

Climbing into my car, I take a moment to settle my nerves. You can do this, Matt. It’s just an interview. I take a deep breath and think about Aimee. She’ll be so happy if I get this job. With the extra money, maybe she can quit hers, do something she really loves instead, or at the very least be able to refuse all those weekend shifts. Four years she’s been stuck behind that desk answering phone calls. Four b****y years. I don’t know how she’s managed it without losing the will to live. Those lawyers couldn’t do jack s**t without her help. Just because she hasn’t got a law degree, doesn’t make her any less integral to running that place.

I take another deep breath, c***k my knuckles, and then push the key into the ignition and twist it.

Nothing happens. Dead. Not even a wheezing sound.

Scowling in puzzlement, I try again. Still nothing.

“s**t!” I cry, hitting the steering wheel with the side of my fist. “Don’t do this to me now!”

I try the ignition a few more times, but it’s no use. It’s got to be the battery.

“s**t!”

Patting the sweat that’s collecting on my brow, I try to think of a solution.

Taxi.

I pull out my phone and dial the number.

Engaged.

I try another and the call connects straightaway. “Hello, Mastercabs speaking,” a woman says. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, hi. I need a cab from Dale Street to the hospital ASAP.”

“I’m afraid the next available cab is 9:15 a.m. Would you like me to book that for you?”

My muscles tighten with frustration. “No. Thanks anyway.”

I hang up the phone and try another.

“Good morning. Arthur’s Taxis,” a man says.

“Oh, hi,” I reply, my voice laced with desperation. “I need a cab from Dale Street to the hospital ASAP.”

“I’ve got nothing until after nine, sorry. Rush hour.”

I end the call without even saying thank you, resisting the urge to throw the phone out the window.

Frustrated, I drop my head back against the seat, and close my eyes. Think!

Call Aimee?

No, she’d never be able to get here in time. And those arseholes wouldn’t let her leave anyway. My stomach starts to tighten with panic. Maybe call one of the boys? There’s no b****y time.

Think, Matt! For Christ’s sake!

“Useless b****y car!” I scream, opening my eyes and hitting the steering wheel again.

Come on—think!

Exhaling slowly, I try to calm myself down. I could catch the 8:45 train. It’ll be tight, but I might just about make it if I sprint.

No—I’m not getting the train.

Sighing, I start to run my fingers through my hair, but then stop suddenly when I realise that I’m messing up the style. I move my head across to check my hair in the rear-view mirror.

“Oh f**k!” I shout when I see someone sitting in the back seat.

Heart pounding, I quickly turn my head to see behind me.

There’s no one there.

Jesus, Matt. Sort your b****y head out. You’re seeing things.

Skin crawling, I climb out of the car, struggling to shake off the scare. It’s at least an hour’s walk. I think. Maybe I can make it if I run all the way.

“Why does this s**t always happen to me?” I say as I dart along the pavement, sweat already pouring down my face, the skin under my shirt clammy.

Forget about your suit and hair. Just keep moving.

Don’t stop for anything.

At the end of the street, just before the turning for the park, I glance back at the car, to the empty back seat. The memory of the figure invades my head. I saw a mop of black hair. Was it a woman? Might have been a man. Too quick to make a real description.

Description? Why? It was just my eyes playing tricks, the glare of the sun in the mirror. Stress. That’s all. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

I cross the road and head towards the park gates, praying to God that I haven’t already blown this interview.