by Simon Rosser
“Yeah, that was a great show,” Ben said. “What’s his name, the guy from it? He’s now in The Walking Dead. Now that is a great series.”
“Isn’t that the one about bloody zombies? Blimey, Ben, will you ever grow up?” Lucy joked.
“Anyway, that’s enough about me, how are all you guys doing?” Amber asked.
Lucy and James looked sheepishly at each other, and smirked.
“What?” Amber asked.
“Well, part of the reason we suggested this get together is because of this,” Lucy said, proudly thrusting her left hand out.
“You two are getting married!?” Amber screamed. “No way, that’s great news. Let me have a look,” she said, leaning over to get a better look at the platinum solitaire diamond engagement ring. “Ah, it’s so beautiful.”
Lucy beamed. “James finally popped the question two months ago. The wedding will be next March, and you guys better come along,” Lucy said, giggling.
“Damn right,” Amber said, raising her glass of vodka and coke, as a toast, downing it in one. She then said, “What about you, Ben? Any news? Apart from your sideburns turning grey?”
Ben ruffled his short dark hair and laughed. “At least I’ve still got my hair,” he joked, referring to James’ thinning scalp.
“You know what they say, Ben – bald men are more virile!”
“I’d still rather have my hair,” Ben quipped.
“You were saying?” Amber interjected.
“Well, I broke up with Kelly three weeks ago, after almost four years together,” he said, finishing his beer. “But at least I finally made partner at Sheridans.”
“Really? And really?” Amber replied. “I told you it wouldn’t last with Kelly. Mind you, four years is pretty good going.”
“Salaried or equity?” James asked.
“Salaried,” Ben said. “I’ll be rolling around in a wheelchair before I make equity.”
The four of them laughed.
“Bloody hell, it’s eight-ten already. We need to head over to The Shard,” Lucy said.
“Great, let’s roll. I’m starving,” Ben added.
Amber followed her friends off the train, at London Bridge Tube Station, and headed towards the escalator. A busker sitting cross-legged, on a dirty white sheet, at the bottom was singing a pretty good version of the P.F Sloan 1965 protest song, - Eve of Destruction.
Amber felt a cold chill race up her spine as she listened to the lyrics, her thoughts wandering to the odd mutterings made by the office cleaner, earlier, as he’d backed out of the elevator.
As the escalator ascended, she noticed an old promotion poster for the Brad Pitt movie, World War Z, was still in its silver frame on the tiled wall. Odd, the movie had left the cinema a while ago.
She looked across at the people descending on the opposite escalator, thinking that they all looked half-dead, miserable, and worn out. Zombies would be a perfect description for most of them.
They reached the glass canopy concourse and headed out into the warm night air, and down London Bridge Street. Ten minutes later they were all gaping up at the glass and steel structure that formed The Shard.
They entered the main foyer, and were ushered into a waiting elevator by one of the doormen. The doors slid smoothly closed and they were soon rising at a great rate of knots to the thirty-second floor.
“Shame the elevator doesn’t have glass sides too. It really would feel like we were in the movie, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” Lucy said.
“You mean the sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator,” Ben replied. “I just hope it doesn’t smash through the building and float off,” he added.
Lucy pulled a face.
They reached the thirty-second floor in seconds and the elevator door slid open. Amber and her three friends, along with five other diners who’d shared the lift with them, stepped out into a sumptuous, dimly-lit, landing area. Huge glass windows, on the left hand side, overlooked the city below. On the right was an oak panelled wall, which housed two large, thick, double wooden doors, lit either side by flickering candles. On the oak panelling to the side was a modern sign for the restaurant;
Oblix.
“Wow, this place is amazing. It feels like we’re inside an Aztec pyramid or something,” Amber said, as they looked out at the view below. “That’s just awesome,” Amber continued, looking out over the Thames and the capital’s illuminated skyline.
“Isn’t it just,” James said. “Look how small St Paul’s Cathedral looks,” he said pointing. “And over there in the distance, I think that’s the Natural History Museum.”
The three of them looked in the direction he was pointing, and sure enough, they could see the grand Romanesque and Victorian buildings of London’s Natural History Museum, over on the Cromwell Road.
After taking in the view, they were shown into the luxurious confines of the restaurant. An Asian man, in a dark blue suit and tie, took their jackets. “Welcome to Oblix,” he said, before ushering them over to one of the table waiters, who showed them over to a table in one of the far corners of the restaurant. Huge glass windows extended from floor to ceiling all around the edge of the room, affording the diners an incredible panoramic view of the city below.
“Jesus, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to eat,” Lucy said, after sitting down. “That view is making me feel queasy.”
“Any idea how high up we are?” Ben asked.
“Not that high,” James said. “There’s another forty floors above us!”
“Who the hell could live up here?” Amber said. “Just looking out makes me feel dizzy. Any higher and I think I’d be petrified. I don’t like heights,” she said.
“Not sure I’d fancy it, either,” James said. “I wouldn’t mind spending a night or two in the hotel above us, but a residence even higher again? No thanks!”
“Which level are the apartments on?” Amber asked.
“Fifty-three to sixty-five,” James replied.
“Jesus!”
The waiter who’d shown them to their table appeared, handed them each a menu, and asked if they wanted a drink.
Amber ordered water for each of them, and, with a confirming glance at the others, a repeat of the round they’d had in the pub earlier.
The waiter nodded politely and disappeared.
The four of them perused their menus. A few minutes later the waiter returned with their drinks, and took their dinner orders.
“Cheers, guys. Here’s to us, and to a great view. Really is spectacular,” Amber said, sipping her vodka.
“Great to see you, Amber,” Lucy said, clinking glasses with her.
The restaurant’s ambience was perfect and the low lighting permitted a great view of the city below. Over on one of the far walls was a large plasma screen, which was showing slow moving images of outer space, or perhaps the Milky Way Galaxy, which seemed to be reacting, in a hypnotic way, to the low-volume calming music that was drifting from the restaurant’s speakers.
Amber found herself entranced by the images, and as she stared at the screen, she was reminded of the morning’s news story.
“Hellooo….! Are you still with us?” Lucy asked.
“Sorry,” Ben said. “I was just checking the news on my phone.”
“Not you! I meant Amber,” Lucy retorted.
Amber shook her head. “Me? Sorry, I was captivated by the images on the screen over there. Kinda groovy space stuff that seems to be jiving to the music they’re playing in here.”
Lucy and James turned around to look. “Oh, yeah, that’s cool,” they both said, after studying the screen.
“Hey, talking of space, you guys see the news this morning?” Ben asked.
“You mean the meteorite stuff?” Amber said, managing to focus again.
“Yeah, that stuff. It’s all a bit bloody weird. I’ve just been looking now. According to the BBC News website, the team that were sent to the Arctic, to search for whatever landed there, have gone missi
ng and can’t be contacted,” Ben said, reading from his iPhone. “They seem to think that poor weather in the region could be interfering with the team’s communications equipment.”
Amber shook her head, an ominous feeling welling up from the pit of her stomach. “Strange,” she said. “People were talking about it at work today.” She considered telling her friends about the office cleaner and his mumblings about the end of the world, but she thought better of it.
“Maybe the aliens have finally landed,” James said, humming the theme tune to The Twilight Zone.
“That’s not funny, James,” Lucy said, just as the waiter appeared with their entrée course. “Would you like to see the wine list now?” he asked them.
Ben looked at Amber and shrugged.
“Oh, sod it,” she replied. If the aliens have landed, we’d better make sure we get sloshed!”
The waiter handed them the leather bound wine menu, appearing a little bewildered at their conversation. “Shall I come back?” he asked.
Ben was perusing the menu. “No, it’s ok, I think we’ll go for a bottle of the New Zealand Viognier,” he said.
“Good choice,” the waiter smiled.
Five minutes later, the waiter returned with their main courses, and the wine. An aroma of sizzling king prawns with ginger, and chargrilled rib-eyed steak filled the air.
“Wow, that smells great,” Lucy said.
The four of them ate in relative silence, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere and incredible views afforded by their corner positioned table.
“Good choice with the wine Ben,” Amber complimented.
“I’ve only had one and a half glasses and I can feel the effect already,” Lucy said.
“Maybe it’s the altitude,” Ben suggested.
“Really?”
He shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, more like the five rum and cokes you drank earlier,” he said.
Lucy shrugged, and finished off her wine.
They were halfway through their meals when the relaxing atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by a table of ten people nearest to the wall-mounted plasma screen, who appeared to be distracted by the television. They were staring, drinks in hands, suspended midway between the table top and their gaping mouths.
“What are they looking at?” Lucy asked, turning in her chair to see what was going on.
“It looks like a CNN newsflash,” Ben said.
“I’ll go take a look,” Amber said. “I need to go to the restroom anyway.”
Amber got up and made her way to the side of the bar where the restrooms were located, stopping to take a look at the news to see what had caught all the others diners attention.
As she digested the breaking news banner running horizontally along the top of the screen, a wave of deep-rooted dread filled her. She stared at the banner again to make sure she’d read it properly;
…SPACE TELESCOPES, AND GROUND-BASED RADIO TELESCOPES, HAVE DETECTED A SECOND MYSTERY OBJECT, WITH A TRAJECTORY THAT WILL RESULT IN AN IMPACT, SOMEWHERE IN ANTARCTICA, CLOSE TO THE MAGNETIC SOUTH POLE…
The table of diners were all talking about the news report.
“Very odd,” one man said.
“Are they certain it’s another meteorite?” Another chap asked.
“The scientists searching for the object that hit near the North Pole are still missing,” a blonde girl pointed out, sipping her cocktail.
Amber continued to the restroom, feeling a little ill from the mix of alcohol and the apprehension she now felt. She was certain something weird was going on, and that the public weren’t being told the entire truth about it.
When she returned to the table the relaxing cosmos images were playing again, on the plasma screen, and the restaurant had returned to normal, as if the newsflash had never occurred.
“You ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Lucy said, as Amber sat back down.
“I’m ok thanks”
“So what was the newsflash about?” Ben asked.
“Well, it seems like the meteorite story is getting even stranger. The scientists searching for whatever hit near the North Pole haven’t been located yet, and another object has been tracked heading towards the Antarctic.”
“What? You’re pulling our legs!” James said, his voice full of scepticism.
Amber shrugged. “That’s what they said.”
“Well, that is a bit freaky,” Lucy frowned.
James repeated the Twilight Zone theme tune he’d hummed earlier.
Their waiter appeared to clear away the plates. “Can I get you anything else, ladies and gentlemen?” he asked.
“More drinks?” Ben suggested. “Or shall we just pay the bill and have one or two elsewhere?”
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Lucy said. “We’ve done the view now. Let’s get back down to sea level and find a pub.”
“Agreed,” Ben said.
“Ok, let’s go,” Amber said, getting up. “I might feel a little better when I’m back on the ground.”
The four of them paid the bill, collected their jackets and left through the large oak wooden doors to the main corridor, where they all stood for a few moments, taking in the view of the Thames below, now streaked in silver and white from the moonlight, as it snaked its way to the coast.
The elevator arrived and they stepped in.
Twenty minutes later and they were squeezing into The Old Monk Arms, one of the many busy pubs that lined the river.
Amber stuck to Coke, but after only twenty minutes, her stomach was telling her she’d had enough and needed to go home. The time was approaching 11 p.m. anyway, and she had no desire to go to a nightclub. She finished her drink. “Listen guys, it’s been a fantastic evening, but I’m not feeling great, so I’m heading off.”
“No, don’t leave, Amber, just stay for another hour, pleeeeeease,” Lucy begged.
Amber shook her head. “I’m really not feeling too great, and need an early night’s sleep,” she said.
“Oh, ok then. I guess we’ll see you again, soon. Let’s try and do this night out once every few months, in future, not just every three years,” Lucy said.
“Great idea! I’ll arrange the next meet-up, sometime around Christmas,” Amber suggested, as she stood.
“Sounds like a plan,” Lucy replied eagerly.
Amber kissed and hugged the three of them, then made her way out of the crowded, rowdy pub, into the cooler and quiet night air.
Amber walked briskly toward the London Bridge Tube Station. The area was still busy. She passed a couple walking arm in arm, the girl giggling in response to her partner’s comments. Groups of men, still in their suits, were returning home, after going out for drinks straight from work. She passed the usual array of homeless people sitting cross-legged along the side of the station concourse, before stepping onto the ‘down’ escalator to the tube platforms below.
As the escalator descended, she noticed that the Brad Pitt movie poster frame had been vandalised. A jagged crack had been made in the Perspex cover by a sharp knife, or something, leaving the poster inside ripped. The sight of it gave Amber goose bumps on her arms, as the escalator descended.
As she got closer to the bottom, she could see the busker who’d been playing earlier, was now packing up his equipment. He was just zipping up the cover over his guitar as she stepped off the escalator. By his feet was his plastic tub of coins, so she tossed a one pound coin into it, having felt a little guilty for not giving a donation earlier - she’d enjoyed the music on the way in.
“Thank you, love,” the bearded busker said, in a gravelly, worn out voice. “Probably my last time down here,” he added, as he continued packing up his things.
“Why’s that?” Amber asked, stopping briefly.
“It’s the end,” he said.
Amber froze.
“End of my tenure down here. I’m moving to a new patch on Monday. The folks are getting bored with my music here,” he said, half laughing and half coughing.
/> “Oh! Good luck, then,” Amber said, hurrying in the direction of her platform.
Amber finally arrived back at her uncle’s apartment at 12.15 a.m. Bernie, the security guard was still sitting behind his small array of computer monitoring equipment, as usual, and buzzed open the door for her.
“Crikey, you’re working late tonight?” Amber said, as she walked into the white-marble tiled reception area.
“Tell me about it. I’m doing a back-to-back shift,” he said, looking up from the copy of The Sun newspaper, he was reading. “And you’re home early!”
“Yeah, I don’t feel too great,” Amber said, as she waited for the elevator. “I need an early night.”
Just as the elevator doors pinged open, Bernie lifted the paper up to read it again.
As Amber turned, stepping into the lift, she noticed the headline on the front page;
HAS E.T FINALLY ARRIVED?
“Sleep well,” Bernie said, without looking up from the paper.
His last words resonated around the inside of the elevator as it ascended silently to the sixth floor.
CHAPTER 5
12:20 A.M.
AMBER BOLTED THE apartment door behind her and removed her jacket, hanging it and her umbrella on the stand inside the door. She felt very tired, a combination of the alcohol and the relatively late hour, and she couldn’t wait to flop into bed.
She had a quick wash, removing what little make-up she was wearing, brushed her teeth, and after walking through into the bedroom, she stripped off her dress, hanging it up in the closet, and pulled on her pyjamas. She walked over to the lounge window, took one last look at Battersea Road Bridge below, still busy with traffic, and closed the blinds.
What a weird night, she thought, as she flopped onto her bed. The news story about the meteorites had given her the creeps, especially when considering all the odd comments she’d heard during the day. She didn’t even want to put the news on. Amber closed her eyes and thought about the next morning. She planned on having a long workout in the apartment’s gym, followed by a swim and sauna. The thought of a long bank holiday weekend, and no work for three days, was great.
