Lennon.
Bank Holiday’s are great for one reason and one reason only; no work. I could have spent my day off sleeping all day, even reading or maybe a little writing, but I didn’t. My little writing escapade I had indulged myself into recently was going great and it would have still been going swimmingly if I hadn’t left all my notes and notebook at the bakery.
Therefore, instead of being wrapped up in my duvet, listening to the radio, sipping a cup of tea, I found myself inches away from the train carriage doors hurtling down the track towards White Chapel. London was oddly busy for a bank holiday, although nowadays most big brand shops and companies are still in working order. Floyd had given Nia and myself the day off, personally I think he just wanted a day off. Not like I ever actually see him doing any work, every time I’ve walked into his office he’s watching some bizarre film on Netflix.
My headphones were tangled around my neck in what most would call an unsafe manner, however being in such a tight, awkward space surrounded by hundreds of strangers I could live with the lack of comfort. My iPod was on shuffle so the range of music drifted from anything like; The Rolling Stones to Christina Aguilera. I had thousands of songs all varying from genre to genre. Dom often referred to me as the ‘music know-it-all’. I wasn’t exactly that, put on some award show and I could spot a couple artists, but half of them were foreign to me.
“The next stop is White Chapel.” I vaguely heard the tannoy inform passengers about our whereabouts. I turned the volume down on my iPod as the train began to approach the station I needed. “Now approaching White Chapel.” I stopped my music playing completely when it pulled into the station so I could distantly hear myself mutter repeated apologies as I tried to leave the carriage without knocking anyone over.
Reaching the surface I took a deep breath in, it wasn’t exactly pleasant, London isn’t the greenest of cities but any air was better than moist, sweat filled underground oxygen. The main road through the area was filled with traffic and traffic jams, slow enough to let me weave in between cars to cross over. Of course the displeased taxi drivers all blared their horns, I wasn’t even in their way.
Walking down the street I plugged my headphones back in and swayed my shoulders a little to the familiar beat. I would have hummed along too but I’d rather not display any further public embarrassment than I already did half the time.
The bakery was hardly far from the station so after one song I was pulling my keys from my satchel ready to open the door. I turned the music off once again as I slid the key into the door, not unlocking it just yet. I took my headphones off and slipped my iPod into my bag, out the way. After turning the key and hearing the distinct click of the lock and forcefully pushed the stiff door open. I was about to close it after I had entered when the sound of voices halted me in my tracks.
I was about to call out to see who was there when I heard the recognisable voice of Floyd, although it wasn’t Nia whom he was speaking with nor his wife. In fact it wasn’t a woman at all and it was more than one voice. Debating what to do next, I shuffled on my feet. Should I leave and pretend I wasn’t there? Should I go and say hello, warn them that I’m there and just picking something up? Or grab my notebook from the kitchen and run for it?
I chose the latter one. The voices were of men, men who sounded stern and unpleasant. Floyd even sounded more uptight than usual. From the front of the bakery I couldn’t hear any of the actual conversation but I could tell they were in the office at the back.
Eventually I silently closed the door behind me, careful to make sure the click of the lock wasn’t too loud. As I shut the door, I noticed a black van, with tinted windows in the back parked out front. Naturally I assumed who ever were inside the building owned that van.
