Life in London by Silawen, Orlando/OC

The morning was beautiful. Beautiful in an unearthly way. Not only was the sun carefully creeping past the early morning clouds and so creating an interesting display of light streaming down but there was a very soft breeze which caused the drops of rain from the previous night to fall and glisten while they did so. The breeze itself was slightly warm and smelled of salt. As she looked out across the water she saw some tourists, apparently early risers for it was only 7 o’clock in the morning, in a small boat making their way across the channel as they made pictures of the Big Ben looming up in front of them.

Her hands gripped the metal fence in front of her and she stepped on the lowest bar, hoisting herself up to sit on the fence as she stared silently at the water moving with every passing ship. London was a busy city, that was for sure, but at certain times it could also be very peaceful. At least if you didn’t count the numerous pigeons flapping their wings as they sought to gain height. The birds were already preparing their next assault on the food of unsuspecting tourists. It was amusing how resilient they were, always finding ways to steal food or beg for it. Of course you also had the tourist who simply threw their food at them but most of the time the pigeons had to find food themselves. Trafalgar Square was an excellent place for them, hundreds of people and constant bird-feeders throwing food down was heaven to them, and so it was there that the biggest concentration of winged pests resided.

She didn’t like them one bit those pigeons. Always annoying her with their hooting and flapping. Never giving her a moment’s peace when she wanted it. They always had to beg for food, never simply leaving if she kicked at them. Sighing slightly she eyed said pigeons and glared at them. The pigeons were her greatest torture here in London…that and loud mouthed tourists. But she didn’t have much choice in the matter. She’d have to live with it. Her home was here, her friends were here and most importantly…her job was here. There were few places in which she would make so much money as she did here.

The breeze picked up a notch and she closed her eyes for a moment as it caught her dark hair and tossed it up and about. Said hair wasn’t particularly long; it would only get in the way, but could still be bound in a reasonable pony-tail. Not that she did that much. She preferred feeling the wind in her hair and she knew it looked better on her.

Her gaze travelled down the road to where her car was; its grey colour contrasting with the bright Looney Tunes pictures on it. She was a cab driver. One of the few women in London with that profession. She loved it dearly for cruising around London, meeting foreign people and talking with them was quite interesting. She had been a cab driver for nearly three years now and she’d been through much. Assaults, bashed windows, groping costumers, she’d seen it all. She had gotten used to the sore treatment some men gave her and so she had adjusted her taxi to warrant off any unwanted attention. It held a gun, hanging under the dashboard, a wooden board she could slip into place when hands came too close to her and she never let anyone sit next to her.

By now you must be wondering what her name is. With the cab drivers she is known as Ducky, she has a habit of calling pigeons ducks for no apparent reason, but her friends call her by her real name. Laurel Milton. 24 years old and since two months living in an old apartment in the village of Staines, close to London. At first she had been living in London itself but the constant noise and smell had gotten the best of her and she decided, with the money she could scrape together, to move to the quiet village she now resided in. It was a short journey to London and there she picked up her cab at the local Taxi Corporation, only by 200 visitors a year behind on the current number one; Cab Coaching on Oxford Street.

A female cab driver was rare these days. There had been protests against it, mostly by concerned mothers who feared their daughters might choose to practise the same profession, people saying it was provoking to place women in such a job. After all men could be quite rude, especially when they were drunk. And what did people call when afraid for their friend’s driving skills during a drunken stupor? Exactly; a cab. At those times people didn’t seem to think it wise to have a female behind the wheel. But Laurel had become quite adept at handling such problems, after all she’d been doing this for quite a while now, and she had her protection.

Her mother had been terrified when Laurel told her what her plans were. When growing up as a kid, in a small house in Brighton, Laurel had been sheltered from most nasty business. However when in her teens she had sought the company of somewhat older girls and they had shown her the exiting world of the Brighton -and London at times- bars and clubs. She had loved it and especially the attention she received. When looking back at those times Laurel could do nothing but sigh in relief that her friends had been more mature and responsible than her and had kept her out of trouble.

During this time she met quite a few ‘wrong’ guys. One of them who she started dating. After three months she found out that she wasn’t in fact the only girl he was dating and she left him. A month later she met Tony. Unlike earlier mentioned ‘wrong guy’ Tony was everything a girl could want…except…he was gay. At first however Laurel didn’t know that and she pursued him to the fullest, causing many of her friends to laugh at her. When she eventually found out she was so embarrassed she’d run away and hidden in her room for nearly 3 days. Tony however found it absolutely hilarious and had come over to visit and chat with her. They had been the best of friends ever since.

Tony had also been the one who introduced her to the business as he was a cab driver himself. When Laurel was 21 and had her driver’s license she moved to London. London, the city of red buses and an ever-increasing population of people. With their underground system that amazes the world and their policemen always ready to take a picture if asked. A city full of tourists where the rich and famous can spend hours shopping while the poor scrape money together by simply holding a sign on a wooden board all day long.

An interesting city, full of movement yet also full of the most beautiful places. Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abby, the Big Ben, the London Dungeon, the Tower Bridge and many other touristy accommodations were perfect for a nice stroll through culture. Not that Laurel had any time to do so – her shifts started at 8 and ended around 11 o’clock, with breaks of course – but if you were visiting and sought to sightsee then those were the best places.

At the moment everything seemed relatively peaceful. The ships passing by kept their calm and the tourists in their little boat had almost reached the opposite shore. Perhaps a police officer would be waiting there for them, after all it was illegal to cross the channel like that, not to mention dangerous. Her gaze turned to her right and lifted to watch the soft turning of the Eye of London. The huge wheel was a popular attraction and even at this time there were a few cabins occupied. Laurel herself had a habit of taking a ride, just to sit back and think. Its height had the advantage that you could see a huge part of London and it was quite beautiful.

She could just see two men preparing for today’s business as they pulled out some chairs and placed them around the table situated in front of the Mac Donald’s. A grin crossed her face, no matter where you went you’d always find a Mac Donald’s.

As she watched the two men do their thing she heard the soft music of a nearby stand starting to play and it signalled to her that she should get a move on. It always, at the exact time, started playing at 7.25 and her shift started at 7.30. Not that anyone would mind if she simply turned the timer on and didn’t do a damn thing; it was her pay check that would have less money on it.

Stepping from the railing she glanced for a last time at the water before making her way to her cab. She could just see two tourists take a picture of it before hurrying on to catch up with a rather annoyed tourist guide. She was cursing avidly in her native language, Russian, before giving one of the tourists, a smiling Japanese, the finger and motioning the other to follow her. Both did nothing but smile gratefully as they moved out of view.
Shaking her head Laurel opened her car and started, the engine giving a few cranky snorts before starting up properly.

“Yes I know sweetheart, ‘twas a cold night. You’ll feel better after a few rounds.”

Talking to a car…people would think she was mad. But when one drove most of the day with only loud tourists hardly speaking proper English around then one would easily sink this low. Besides at least her cab wouldn’t talk back and confuse her with different point of views. Yes Laurel liked the solitude of her car and the endless rows of tourists requesting her assistance in getting where they wanted. An occasional answer to a well-meant question about her life was enough to satisfy said tourists and she could just pay attention to traffic and claim the money.

As she drove around London, occasionally picking up and dropping off a few people, she couldn’t help but think that her life was fine as it was. A nice apartment, a good job and the chance of meeting different kinds of people. Nothing special yet nothing horrid either. It could have been much worse.
What she didn’t know however was that her life would take an unexpected turn the moment she heard the loud screaming of hundreds teenage girls coming her way. Her eyes widened the moment she saw them, girls and even grown women all making their way across the road, not caring for the cars that had to halt abruptly. Even more surprising was the fact that the door of her car was pulled open and someone literally jumped in.

“Drive, get me away from here!” a hurried voice called and Laurel complied, practically forcing the cars next to her to budge and move away. Her life would take a turn indeed, one she hadn’t expected in the least.

Maneater United > Fiction Ahoy! > Life in London by Silawen, Orlando/OC