"Simon R. Green - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

like that, Toby often indulged himself with harmless little fantasies. On leaving the station
she'd be accosted by some mugger, and he would bravely see the villain off and comfort her
afterwards. Or maybe she'd stumble and break the heel on her shoe, and she'd have to lean on
him as he escorted her home. All the fantasies ended in the same way, of course, with the two
of them having amazing sex on some huge, luxurious bed. Always her place, rather than his.
His place was a tip.
The train finally pulled into Bradford-on-Avon station, the carriage jerking to a halt in a
series of sudden jolts as the driver hit the brake pedal just that little bit too hard. Toby often
thought that train drivers went to a special school, where they were taught how to stop a train
in the most distressing way possible - there was no way you could be this annoying without
practice. Finally the train stopped, and everyone surged to their feet. Toby waited until the
woman with the perfect mouth had closed and neatly folded her paper and stuck it under her
arm, and then he rose to his feet as she did. They stood side by side as they waited for the
automatic doors to open, but she didn't even know he was there.
The doors opened, and a rush of passengers streamed out onto the narrow platform. Toby
let the flow carry him along, as the crowd headed for the black iron gate that was the only
way out of the station. (Being only a small station for a small town, the station building itself
always closed at midday.) The air was suddenly cool and bracing as they filed out into the car
park beyond, and Toby looked up to see the last of the summer sunshine swept away by dark,
lowering clouds. At once the rain fell heavily, as though someone up above had just pulled
out a plug, and the commuters ran for waiting cars and buses with shocked cries of surprise.
Toby tucked himself away under a convenient railway arch, and struggled with his
stubbornly awkward umbrella. No waiting wife or family for him. The umbrella was a
collapsible job, just right for his coat pocket; but every now and again it would refuse to open
so he wouldn't take it for granted. He could have made a dash for one of the waiting local
buses, but unfortunately he was supposed to be on a diet. Eat less and exercise more - he
didn't know which one he detested most. Either way, his waistline was still expanding, so he
had no choice but to walk home, regardless of the weather. If he started allowing himself to
make excuses, he'd never get any exercise. He knew himself too well.
Cars were already jostling for position as they fought their way out of the car park, as
though it mattered one jot whether they got home in twenty minutes rather than fifteen. The
two local buses were revving their engines impatiently as the last few commuters climbed
aboard, filling the wet air with heavy exhaust fumes. It was Friday, the beginning of the
weekend, and everyone was eager to start celebrating finishing the working week. They'd all
survived another run of nine-to-fives, and now they couldn't wait to forget it all in pubs and at
parties, dinners and clubs, and with special treats they'd been promising themselves. Or
perhaps they just wanted to get home, bury themselves in the bosom of their family and
batten down the hatches for two precious days of small domestic things. Toby had no plans.
He was tired of pubs, of the same conversations with the same people, and no one invited
men like Toby to dinner parties. There were no clubs or parties on the horizon, and no one at
home to care whether he was in or not. Toby often felt that life was passing him by, while he
reached out with desperate fingers for someone to throw him a lifeline.
Soon enough all the cars and buses were gone, and a blessed peace fell over the car park as
a small scatter of pedestrians trudged off homewards through the increasingly heavy
downpour. There was an unseasonal chill now to the early-evening air, and overhead the sky
was almost pitch-black. Toby fought his umbrella and the umbrella fought back, just to spite
him. But Toby was dogged and determined and quite prepared to beat the umbrella against
the nearest wall until it realised he was serious, and finally it gave in and sprang open with
bad grace. Toby relaxed a little as the rain drummed loudly on the stretched black cloth over
his head. The walk home was tedious enough without having to do it soaking wet. And it was