Jam Read Online Free Page B

into the distance. ‘We’re all going to be late now, like,’ he said. ‘Thousands of us. Hundreds of thousands, like. Think there’s a million here?’
    â€˜No. Not a million.’
    â€˜Think it’s solid the entire way round the M25? The whole sort of ring?’
    â€˜Doubt it.’ Max sighed. ‘The volume of frustration that’s building up, it’s enough to fuel a rocket to the moon.’
    The man laughed nervously. ‘I was just checking that the back doors are locked,’ he volunteered, as if trying to slip an explanation in under the radar. ‘I’m like that, me, having to check things all the time.’
    â€˜I know what you mean,’ said Max. ‘I’m a bit like that myself.’
    They fell awkwardly into companionable poses.
    â€˜Do you know what the problem is?’ said Max.
    â€˜The radio said it was flooding, I think,’ said the man.
    â€˜Flooding? But it hasn’t been raining.’
    â€˜Don’t know, mate. There hasn’t been much on the radio. Difficult to get reception here, like. Bit of a black spot. I’ve buggered all my timing anyway. I’m supposed to be doing three more drops tonight. But instead I’ve just got to sit here and stew.’
    The man was short, much shorter than Max, with the kind of face that seemed to cling to its skull, as if in a strong wind. His uniform hung sacklike on his frame, and his eyes were two sparkling pebbles; the voice was high-pitched, constricted. Max thought he must be forty; a bachelor, probably, for he wore no ring. Imagine, sitting in a jam like this for the sake of someone else’s shopping.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said the man, ‘didn’t offend you, did I?’
    â€˜Offend me?’
    â€˜Christ, I did, didn’t I?’
    â€˜What? How?’
    â€˜When I said . . . you know . . . the b-word, like.’
    â€˜What b-word?’
    â€˜Black spot. God, I’m cringing.’
    â€˜Black spot? Why should I be offended by that?’
    There was a difficult silence.
    â€˜What time is it?’ said the man.
    â€˜Nine,’ Max replied. ‘I hope this isn’t going to last all night.’
    â€˜No way,’ said the man. ‘It’ll clear in an hour, max.’
    â€˜How did you know my name?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜My name. Max.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. No, I meant it will clear in an hour, max. Maximum, like.’
    â€˜Ah. Sorry.’ Max chopped his heel into the tarmac. ‘I just want to ask you a favour. My wife and I have somebody else’s little girl in the car, and we need to tell her parents about the hold-up. But neither of us have any signal.’
    â€˜Somebody else’s little girl,’ the man repeated.
    â€˜It’s completely above board. Completely,’ said Max, awarethat his protestations were implying the opposite. ‘She’s a friend of our daughter’s. We’ve taken them out for the day.’
    â€˜I see,’ said the man. ‘So what do you want from me?’
    â€˜Just to . . . to borrow your phone. Just for one minute. It was my wife’s idea. I’ll pay you. Sorry. This wasn’t my idea. Sorry.’
    The man turned and climbed into the cab of the van, where he slid across to the passenger seat and began to rummage in the glove compartment.
    â€˜I do have a mobile, somewhere,’ he said over his shoulder. Max peered into the cab and saw that the door of the glove compartment had broken, and needed to be propped open.
    â€˜Do you want me to hold it for you?’ said Max.
    â€˜If you wouldn’t mind.’
    Slowly, and without expertise, Max levered himself into the van. Instantly he found himself surrounded by a familiar fug of bodily odours, stale exhalations, and the suggestion of fried food and beer.
    â€˜Can’t seem to find the bugger,’ the man said, as Max held the glove