A Christmas story from Shropshire author Eddie Main.

The Taxi

Jane got off the coach at the terminus. She looked at her watch. It was half-past eleven on Christmas eve. She smiled wryly; things hadn’t gone too good for her. At least it was a very mild night for the time of the year.

She was on her way to spend Christmas with her friend Ann, but due to her missing her first coach connection at Birmingham and then finding herself standing in the wrong queue for the next coach, she had managed to extend her trip by over three hours.

She and Ann had been schoolgirl friends and they had both got married and moved to different parts of the country and lost touch with each other. But, thanks to a mutual friend, after five years they had managed to get back in touch.

In that time they had both become widows. They became closer and all the more reason for them to be able to talk to each other on the telephone. The two couples had never met but both respective husbands had died four years previously, and neither Jane nor Ann had married again. A few months ago Ann had suggested that she spend Christmas with her in Telford, to which Jane readily and happily agreed.

So there she was in Telford, on Christmas Eve, hours behind schedule, wandering around a not altogether deserted town centre. At that the time of night there were a lot a revellers about, a lot of singing and plenty of colourful activity.

She made her way to an empty taxi rank, with just a few people waiting around in the hope that a taxi would turn up. At that time on Christmas Eve the chances were less than slight.

She slumped on to a seat in the taxi rank and pulled out her mobile phone from her handbag. She was just about to punch in Ann’s telephone number when a taxi drew up alongside the seat.

The taxi driver reached over and lowered the passenger window.

“Taxi for number 5, Adams Close,” he announced.

Jane couldn’t believe her ears. What a Godsend, she thought, thankfully.

“Yes, that’s me, thank you,” she cried.

The driver got out of the taxi and walked around to the rear, by which time Ann had carried her suitcase there. He took it off her and placed it in the boot. Anne smiled and looked at him with a little surprise.

He was wearing a very colourful red Hawaiian shirt with a white body warmer. He had a moustache with a small goatee beard, and she thought that he looked like a very much smaller and thinner version of James Robertson Justice and smiled to herself. She took her seat in the back of the taxi.

They drove for about ten minutes through the outgoing roads of Telford. All the Christmas decorations were in full force. Not a word passed between Ann and the driver, she was more interested as to where they were going. At last he slowed down and stopped outside a detached bungalow and got out and made his way to the rear of the cab. Ann, too, got out. The driver brought her case to her.

“That is very kind of you, you must be very busy tonight,” she said, opening her purse. “How much is that?”

The taxi driver turned to get back into the taxi.

“Just a minute,” Ann exclaimed. “You must be paid.”

“All paid for,” he said in a soft voice.

“But a tip?” Ann waved a five pound note at him, “It’s been very good of you and it’s Christmas. Please,” she almost pleaded.

“All done and dusted, it’s all tickerteeboo,” he replied. And with that he drove off.

Ann watched as the taxi sped away. “Well, I never,” she exclaimed.

The outside light of number 5, Adams Close came on and in the doorway stood Jane.

“At last,” she cried, rushing forward to embrace her.  They stood with their arms around each other for a brief time.

Jane picked up Ann’s suitcase. “I thought you’d never get here,” she laughed.

“Neither, did I,” Ann replied, shaking her head. “What a trip.”

“Let’s get you inside,” Jane put her arm around her. “You can tell me all about it.”

After showing Ann her room Jane took her into the small lounge.

“First things first,” she laughed. “A drink. It’s Christmas and we haven’t seen each other for such a long time. Reasons enough, I would say.”

“That’ll do for me,” Ann replied. “I’ll drink to that.” They both laughed.

“Is it still the G and T, lemon but no ice?” Jane asked as she reached the oak cabinet where there was a collection of bottles.

“Yes, still the same,” Ann replied. “I’ve tried other stuff over the years but I still come back to my favourite.”

“Me, too,” Jane said. She handed Ann a very large gin and tonic. “Right, let’s hear what you have been up to all these years.”

Ann took a sip and coughed. She looked at her glass, “That’s some G and T,” she laughed. Suddenly she blinked and with a look of concentration she took another sip. “First of all I want to thank you for the taxi. How on earth did you know that I would be at that taxi rank and at that particular time?”

Jane turned to face her. “Taxi? What taxi? I never ordered a taxi for you, how could I have known where you would be?”

She laughed. “The last message I got from you was when you were waiting for your coach in Manchester and that you would be arriving in Telford at approximately eight o’clock. You were to ring me on your mobile and I was to come and collect you in the car from the coach station.”

Ann reached down and got her mobile phone out of her handbag and switched it on. “Look, I still can’t get a signal,” she held it up and waved it around the room.

She handed it to Jane, “See, nothing. Dead. That’s why I haven’t been able to contact you earlier.”

“Let’s get back to this taxi business. How did a taxi pick me up and know where I wanted to go,” asked Ann.

“It’s beyond me. You hear a lot of stories about taxi drivers,” she paused. “You know that my late husband, Frank, had his own taxi?”

“No, I didn’t,” replied Ann. “When did he die?”

“Four years ago. Cancer. He was a lovely man,” Jane said, her eyes moistened.

“Well, this taxi diver was most helpful, refusing a payment and a tip.” Ann sipped her drink, “All he could say was, ‘All’s done and dusted. Its all tickerteeboo.’”

Jane put down her glass and looked at Ann in astonishment.

“Yes, I thought that was a funny comment to make as well,” Ann said. And he was wearing a very loud red shirt with a white body warmer. He certainly looked Christmassy.”

Jane went rigid. “That was one of Frank’s favourite expressions, ‘All’s done and dusted. It’s all tickerteeboo,’” she said slowly.

She reached over to the drinks cabinet and on the top was a silver photograph frame. The photograph was that of a man in a red Hawaiian shirt with a white body warmer, he had a moustache and small beard. She picked it up and handed it to Ann.

“It’s my taxi driver,” she exclaimed.

“It’s my Frank,” Jane said.