Re: [Taxi: Cat & Jack]
[Yes, he'd noticed the very clear divorce between the woman in the passenger seat and the woman who had gone off to Russia on the back of the worst of the town. Before and after, like an ad on TV. Given how much she was still herself, Jack didn't deliberate long over why. There were conclusions that could be drawn but why do it?]
Medical madness can be quiet to begin with. Lots of drugs, from a series of doctors all very expensive and off the books. Whenever you talk about where you come from, I wonder how it is you've managed to stay in one piece. Nine lives? [It was far easier, as put to demonstration by the passenger in the erstwhile taxi, to talk about both at once and neither with the degree of focus that shone far too bright a light.]
She went mad at home. Locking her up would have meant admitting there was a problem, you see. [Grim humor, and Jack's smile slanted sharply in the mirror.] Sasha sounds like a bloody delight. No thanks. [He considered shared anguish as a method to knit people together. Deeply depressing, but a truism. Alcoholics wove together and he had Dahlia faintly in the back of his mind.]
I'm looking for it. The kindred, the relationship, whatever it is. He's a sight easier than yours. Perhaps your new appearance will inspire a change in tune. [But he doubted it, and christ, that had to be miserable. The newspaper at her feet ranged from the fresh to the old. The fresh belonged to the masthead in the Capital, with an editor who was sharp and incisive and the writers were solid, if clearly new. The old? They were the portfolio, and a collection of articles dug out of the old office in the clean-up. Reporting from foreign climes, largely, and the byline was Jack's. But Cat segued, and the look she caught in the mirror was amused acknowledgment.]
Thank you. [Dry.] I don't think you've possibly left room for misconstruing, nor am I in that frame of mind, but I might come up with something later. If the grilled cheese is dreadful.
[The smile eased out of the way and Jack watched the road rather than the mirror.] I went home. To London, the flat hadn't sold yet and I thought I'd look up the people who used to be friends, colleagues really. It was competitive. Best assignments, the ones with a degree of danger, higher up the fold, you know. We were neck and neck, but it was friendly. [A pause, as the road turned, and the newspaper rustled.]
I thought I could go back, that's all, really. That it was a choice rather than really mouldering in a small town on a newspaper that was nothing, that it would wait for me. But it's different. The man I used to compete with has kids, a byline on something turgid that comes with a regular pay-check. My father-in-law was a sod, but that was to be expected, the rest of it -- [He glanced at her.] It was a closed door, and I don't like doors I haven't slammed myself. If you find anything in the recent stuff that's worth reading, dog-ear it. I want to know what they're writing about.