Taxi For Glennie
by Pat Black
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Eddie the taxi driver's a fair guy, so he doesn't mind when Mr Glennie and his wife take a while to organise themselves before getting in the cab. But the hire to the seaside isn't what Eddie expected.
_____________________________________________________________________
It was one of those hires where the punter takes just that little bit too long. Another driver might have written it off, called it in at the base and moved onto the next job. But it was a good hire, and the driver was Eddie.
Eddie always gave it a regulation five minutes before he gave up on a job, even after their contact number had rung out. Even at that, he’d go right up to the door and give them a knock, just to be sure. Some drivers might have had the meter running all the way – and fair play to them; time is money. But not Eddie.
He had switched the engine off and was keeping a close eye on the big hand and thinking about knocking the door when the hire appeared. He didn’t have his coat on, which was not a good sign. Neither was the flushed face and anxious expression. The man was in his mid-to-late sixties, Eddie thought, and in quite good nick for it – short but boxy and broad in the shoulders, with a tight jawline and big ears. He resembled a 1950s matinee idol whose name you couldn’t quite remember.
Eddie wound down the window as he approached the driver’s side. “Taxi for Glennie?” the man said.
“That’s the one,” Eddie replied amiably. “Everything okay, mate?”
“Aye, fine, fine. Thanks for waiting. My missus took a wee turn, there – we’ll be out in just two minutes. Would you mind waiting?”
“No, not at all, mate,” Eddie said. “Is she okay?”
“Oh aye, fine,” Mr Glennie said. “Nothing to worry about. Here, you can put the meter on, if you like. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
But Eddie didn’t put the meter on. It was a big hire, all the way out to Grangeburn Sands, and he was grateful for it. Not the ideal day for a trip out there, all the same. There was a high, keen wind whistling through the open window, and although there wasn’t any rain it was surely on the way.
Mr Glennie appeared with a woman in his arms. “Jesus,” Eddie breathed. She had her head crooked in between the man’s neck and shoulder, a frail thing in a sea-green tracksuit. Even from that distance he could make out a yellow pallor that he recognised from when his mate’s wife Isobel was sick. The woman seemed to be whispering something to Mr Glennie as he braced her against the front door, struggling to lock it behind him.
Eddie got out. “You alright, mate? Looks like you guys need a hand.”
“We’re fine,” Eddie said. “Maybe open the door for us, though?”
Eddie did, and stepped back while Mr Glennie buckled his wife in. She lolled against him while he did so.
“You guys okay?” Eddie said, once he’d started the engine. “I can put the heating on if you like. It’s chilly today.”
“We’re okay, pal,” Mr Glennie said, as his wife put an arm around his neck, like a little girl cooried in with her dad. “Grangeburn Sands, please.”
There was little talk on the way, except the odd muttered reply from Mr Glennie, until they were over the concrete arc of the flyover and out of the city.
“You ever been to Grangeburn Sands?” Mr Glennie asked.
Eddie smiled in the mirror. “Have I been? Oh, only every year when I was a boy. My maw and my old da’ used to load the five of us up in the bus and take us out there in the school holidays. Shingle beach, and we were trying to make sandcastles! But it was paradise when you’re a kid. Lovely country house up the hill, away from the beach, too. I used to run about the grounds with my brother. Used to think I was Robin Hood in the forest. Ha!”
“That’s roundabout where we were married,” Mr Glennie said, brightening up. “That’s why we go back, really.”
“It’s a nice place. When you get a nice day, that is.”
“I just decided to take the ball n’ chain up, you know?” He nodded towards his wife, who dozed on his shoulder. “It’s a bit blowy, but it still looks good, though?”
“Sure she’s, eh... Feeling okay?” It was out of his lips before he could put the brakes on.
“Fine, fella,” Mr Glennie said, irritably, waving him away. “She’s been a bit under the weather, but we’re alright.”
“Sure, mate.”
It didn’t take too long heading down the motorway – always a fair wee run. The leaves had only just started to turn and traffic was light at that time of day. The resort itself had the kind of boarded-up end of the season look, even though that was a few weeks off yet. It had seen better days. Once where shops and amusement arcades had glittered along the prom, now there were charity stores, kebab shops. One horrific off licence with rusted grilling barring the windows looked like it belonged in the wild west.
The seafront was tired-looking as they made their way along it; the tide was rolling in by that point, whitecaps on top of a slate grey sea that chilled Eddie to the very marrow to look upon it.
“Just pull up over by the benches,” Mr Glennie said. “That’ll be fine.”
Eddie pulled in near some bollards next to a long promenade. Gulls screeched and wheeled away at the taxi’s approach, and plastic containers and brown vinegar-soaked chip wrappers chased each other around the concrete slabs in tight pirouettes near the sea wall.
“How are you getting back?” Eddie asked, as Mr Glennie settled the fare.
“I dunno,” Mr Glennie mumbled. “I’ll think of something. Probably flag down another cab.”
“No problem.”
And Eddie didn’t say anything when Mrs Glennie’s head lolled to one side and her sunglasses leaned off the side of her head at an uncanny angle, nor when he caught sight of her eyes in the mirror, dull and flat as those of a mackerel on ice. Mr Glennie scooped her up and backed out of the cab, tucking her head into his neck quickly. But her arms lolled loose and, over and above the air freshener that dangled from there was a quick, sharp smell as Mr Glennie took her out the cab – not corruption or decay, but something chemical, like disinfectant.
Eddie u-turned once they’d gone, and parked up across the road, opposite a chippie just opening up for the day. During quiet spells on the drive up he’d entertained the notion of a wee fish supper as a treat, but not now. He kept his eye on the man cradling his wife on that desolate bench in front of the sea, giving him a good five minutes, as always. Then he made the call.
The ambulance soon showed up, its emergency lights off. Mr Glennie’s face grew confused as the paramedics crouched to talk to him. They persuaded him to take his arm away from the woman on the bench beside him, and a stretcher was brought out to take the body away. Then Eddie started the engine.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Eddie the taxi driver's a fair guy, so he doesn't mind when Mr Glennie and his wife take a while to organise themselves before getting in the cab. But the hire to the seaside isn't what Eddie expected.
_____________________________________________________________________
It was one of those hires where the punter takes just that little bit too long. Another driver might have written it off, called it in at the base and moved onto the next job. But it was a good hire, and the driver was Eddie.
Eddie always gave it a regulation five minutes before he gave up on a job, even after their contact number had rung out. Even at that, he’d go right up to the door and give them a knock, just to be sure. Some drivers might have had the meter running all the way – and fair play to them; time is money. But not Eddie.
He had switched the engine off and was keeping a close eye on the big hand and thinking about knocking the door when the hire appeared. He didn’t have his coat on, which was not a good sign. Neither was the flushed face and anxious expression. The man was in his mid-to-late sixties, Eddie thought, and in quite good nick for it – short but boxy and broad in the shoulders, with a tight jawline and big ears. He resembled a 1950s matinee idol whose name you couldn’t quite remember.
Eddie wound down the window as he approached the driver’s side. “Taxi for Glennie?” the man said.
“That’s the one,” Eddie replied amiably. “Everything okay, mate?”
“Aye, fine, fine. Thanks for waiting. My missus took a wee turn, there – we’ll be out in just two minutes. Would you mind waiting?”
“No, not at all, mate,” Eddie said. “Is she okay?”
“Oh aye, fine,” Mr Glennie said. “Nothing to worry about. Here, you can put the meter on, if you like. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
But Eddie didn’t put the meter on. It was a big hire, all the way out to Grangeburn Sands, and he was grateful for it. Not the ideal day for a trip out there, all the same. There was a high, keen wind whistling through the open window, and although there wasn’t any rain it was surely on the way.
Mr Glennie appeared with a woman in his arms. “Jesus,” Eddie breathed. She had her head crooked in between the man’s neck and shoulder, a frail thing in a sea-green tracksuit. Even from that distance he could make out a yellow pallor that he recognised from when his mate’s wife Isobel was sick. The woman seemed to be whispering something to Mr Glennie as he braced her against the front door, struggling to lock it behind him.
Eddie got out. “You alright, mate? Looks like you guys need a hand.”
“We’re fine,” Eddie said. “Maybe open the door for us, though?”
Eddie did, and stepped back while Mr Glennie buckled his wife in. She lolled against him while he did so.
“You guys okay?” Eddie said, once he’d started the engine. “I can put the heating on if you like. It’s chilly today.”
“We’re okay, pal,” Mr Glennie said, as his wife put an arm around his neck, like a little girl cooried in with her dad. “Grangeburn Sands, please.”
There was little talk on the way, except the odd muttered reply from Mr Glennie, until they were over the concrete arc of the flyover and out of the city.
“You ever been to Grangeburn Sands?” Mr Glennie asked.
Eddie smiled in the mirror. “Have I been? Oh, only every year when I was a boy. My maw and my old da’ used to load the five of us up in the bus and take us out there in the school holidays. Shingle beach, and we were trying to make sandcastles! But it was paradise when you’re a kid. Lovely country house up the hill, away from the beach, too. I used to run about the grounds with my brother. Used to think I was Robin Hood in the forest. Ha!”
“That’s roundabout where we were married,” Mr Glennie said, brightening up. “That’s why we go back, really.”
“It’s a nice place. When you get a nice day, that is.”
“I just decided to take the ball n’ chain up, you know?” He nodded towards his wife, who dozed on his shoulder. “It’s a bit blowy, but it still looks good, though?”
“Sure she’s, eh... Feeling okay?” It was out of his lips before he could put the brakes on.
“Fine, fella,” Mr Glennie said, irritably, waving him away. “She’s been a bit under the weather, but we’re alright.”
“Sure, mate.”
It didn’t take too long heading down the motorway – always a fair wee run. The leaves had only just started to turn and traffic was light at that time of day. The resort itself had the kind of boarded-up end of the season look, even though that was a few weeks off yet. It had seen better days. Once where shops and amusement arcades had glittered along the prom, now there were charity stores, kebab shops. One horrific off licence with rusted grilling barring the windows looked like it belonged in the wild west.
The seafront was tired-looking as they made their way along it; the tide was rolling in by that point, whitecaps on top of a slate grey sea that chilled Eddie to the very marrow to look upon it.
“Just pull up over by the benches,” Mr Glennie said. “That’ll be fine.”
Eddie pulled in near some bollards next to a long promenade. Gulls screeched and wheeled away at the taxi’s approach, and plastic containers and brown vinegar-soaked chip wrappers chased each other around the concrete slabs in tight pirouettes near the sea wall.
“How are you getting back?” Eddie asked, as Mr Glennie settled the fare.
“I dunno,” Mr Glennie mumbled. “I’ll think of something. Probably flag down another cab.”
“No problem.”
And Eddie didn’t say anything when Mrs Glennie’s head lolled to one side and her sunglasses leaned off the side of her head at an uncanny angle, nor when he caught sight of her eyes in the mirror, dull and flat as those of a mackerel on ice. Mr Glennie scooped her up and backed out of the cab, tucking her head into his neck quickly. But her arms lolled loose and, over and above the air freshener that dangled from there was a quick, sharp smell as Mr Glennie took her out the cab – not corruption or decay, but something chemical, like disinfectant.
Eddie u-turned once they’d gone, and parked up across the road, opposite a chippie just opening up for the day. During quiet spells on the drive up he’d entertained the notion of a wee fish supper as a treat, but not now. He kept his eye on the man cradling his wife on that desolate bench in front of the sea, giving him a good five minutes, as always. Then he made the call.
The ambulance soon showed up, its emergency lights off. Mr Glennie’s face grew confused as the paramedics crouched to talk to him. They persuaded him to take his arm away from the woman on the bench beside him, and a stretcher was brought out to take the body away. Then Eddie started the engine.
About the Author
Pat Black is a thirtysomething writer, journalist and bletherer, born and raised in Glasgow. He says he has made that difficult transition from aspiring novelist to failed novelist, although he has had a couple of short stories published. He’s the author of Snarl, a completed novel about a monster that tries to mount the Houses of Parliament. Holyrood emerges unscathed, for now.
If you enjoy Pat’s short stories, you’ll find a whole compendium of them – three dozen, in fact – in his Kindle collection, Suckerpunch, which can be downloaded at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
If you enjoy Pat’s short stories, you’ll find a whole compendium of them – three dozen, in fact – in his Kindle collection, Suckerpunch, which can be downloaded at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.