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GENTS
A novel
Warwick Collins
Published by The Friday Project, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain in 1997 by Marion Boyars Publishers
This edition published in 2007 by The Friday Project
Text © 2007 Warwick Collins
Warwick Collins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9781905548767
Ebook Edition © JULY 2016 ISBN 9780007391783 Version: 2016-07-18
To Scott Pack
CONTENTS
At Charing Cross the two underground trains passed each other like tongues of flame. Ez Murphy saw, in the window’s reflection between a young girl and an elderly woman, his own face dark with the lights shining white on his broad cheekbones.
The trains roared and razored in the confined tunnel. As they crossed, his faded image, obscure against the glossy dark, was thrown into sudden prominence by the rush of white lights behind it. The faces of the two women became ghostly, obliterated by the surging luminescence.
He was in his early forties, well-dressed, stocky, broad-shouldered. In the reflection opposite, his hands floated up to adjust his tie, a startling negative against the washed white of his collar. The two trains passed. During the ensuing silence the faces of the women were restored again, two white flowers.
The train traversed several other stations before it finally slid to a stop with a brief squeal of acquiescence. The doors rumbled open. Ez stepped onto the dimly lit platform and walked to the sign marked EXIT. It was eight twenty-two by the station clock. Travelling up the escalator, he put his ticket in the machine, then paused in the concourse. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to see daylight. Walking up a flight of grey flagged stairs, he stepped out into the street.
Drifts of London sunlight touched his eyes; a flock of pigeons wheeled above the buildings. Traffic fumes hung over the city.
He approached a sign on a wrought iron stairway which said GENTS. Straightening his tie, he walked down the steps. At the bottom, he faced a turnstile. He glanced around for assistance, but could see no one. Shrugging his shoulders, he shifted the change in his pocket and put ten pence in the slot. Then he walked through the turnstile and paused to glance around him.
The interior was faced with geometric tiles,