by Charlie Wade
Epilogue
The prison gate opened. Stepping forward, he crossed the line that separated being inside and being free. The air tasted sweeter. Just under three years of breathing that foul air had made him yearn for this moment. The grass looked greener than the last time he could remember seeing it too. The trees taller, they appeared to swish more in the wind.
He turned round and thanked the guard.
“Don’t come back,” he replied with a smile.
Jim shook his head. “This time, I won’t.”
He walked to the front gate past the gatehouse that inspected cars coming in and out. One final wave and he was out. Traffic sped by on the road. People in cars looked round and saw a man in jeans and coat. Jim wondered if they’d mistake him for a guard, or could everyone tell straight away he’d just been released.
Heading for the bus stop, he breathed in deeply. Traffic fumes, but they were familiar. The taste of freedom. The taste of free England.
He knew the bus would arrive in ten minutes. The timetable had been scoured every day for the past week. He’d get on and ask for a single to Dunchurch then change there to Rugby. He’d find the halfway house easily then nip to the shops for some food and maybe a couple of cans of lager. After that, he’d go back to the room and sleep. He’d an early start in the morning. Four a.m. Half a mile walk to the hotel to help cook breakfasts for its guests.
He looked round at the car slowing on its approach to the bus stop. Range Rover; new model. Black with blackened windows. His heart sunk as it pulled up beside him and the passenger electric window wound down.
The man he expected to see wasn’t there; the passenger seat empty. The only seat occupied was the driver’s and that wasn’t him.
It was a woman. Mid-thirties, maybe older but heavily made-up. Red hair, sunglasses and a very familiar look to her nose.
“Fancy a lift?” she said.
Opening the door he got in. Fastening his seat belt he turned to her. The years had been kind. Her face seemed smoother. If anything she looked younger. Jim wondered whether a surgeon had a hand in it.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “Not bad. I take it I didn’t ruin everything?”
She took her glasses off as she pulled away. “No, God no. Worked out just fine in the end. Sorry I just…” she paused, looking back at the road, “left you.”
He was going to say I’d have done the same but didn’t. He didn’t know if he would have or not. “I’d have got caught eventually.”
She nodded. “So ... Fancy a drink? There’s a little pub up the road.”
“Charlotte, I ...” He stopped, wondering what her name was now. “I’ve got a job and somewhere to live. It’s only a hotel kitchen, but it’s a start. I ...” He looked out of the window as the trees rushed by. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. A smile he’d never forgotten reappeared. “I’ve got this thing going in Manchester, but I really need some help. How about we have a little drink and I tell you all about it.”
The End
About the Author
Charlie Wade was born in 1971 and grew up in an Oxfordshire village. Despite having an interest in books and even trying to write a spy novel at the age of 18, he instead headed down the path of maths.
After a succession of jobs in his mid-twenties, he settled on accountancy. After reading Irvine Welsh in the nineties, his interest in writing was rekindled, the results of which were several short stories and a part finished novel. Trying again when he was thirty then again at forty, he eventually finished the spy novel but realised he much preferred writing crime fiction.
Some of his short stories have appeared online and in print over the years. Include Out of the Gutter magazine issue 7 and the Off the Record Anthology.
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