3. Reading. Task 3. A good day

 

It was high summer in London, and the raindrops felt almost warm on Max Skinner’s face as he ran up Rutland Gate and into Hyde Park. He followed the curve of the Serpentine while the shapes of other people determined to suffer before breakfast came and went in the grey predawn murk, (0)their faces slick with rain and sweat, their progress marked by the moist slap of their footsteps on the path.

The weather had discouraged all but the hard-core joggers. It was too wet for the familiar faces who sometimes provided Max with a little welcome distraction. Too wet even for the Dachshunds (1) as yet, no obvious bags or wrinkleshis thoughts on the day aheadeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardswhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankledressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executiveas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidbut he ran, and he was youngempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juiceshook himself like a dog on the doorstep, their embarrassed owner clumsily after them mouthing apologies.

Turning at the top of the Serpentine, Max started back toward the Albert Memorial, (2) but he ran, and he was youngdressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executivewhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankleeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juiceshook himself like a dog on the doorstephis thoughts on the day aheadas yet, no obvious bags or wrinkles. There was a deal that he’d been nursing along for months, a deal that would deliver a bonus big enough to pay his infinitely patient tailor and, much more important, get the bank off his back. Occasional murmurs of discontent about the size of his overdraft had turned into letters couched in ever more alarming terms, underlining the fact that it had been a lean year so far. But it was going to change, Max felt sure. With a surge of optimism, he sprinted down Rutland Gate, (3) empty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juicehis thoughts on the day aheadwhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankleas yet, no obvious bags or wrinklesshook himself like a dog on the doorstepeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsbut he ran, and he was youngdressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executiveas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had said, and let himself into the stucco-fronted Georgian house that a developer had converted into what he described as highly desirable executive studio apartments.

Max’s second-floor apartment was a work in progress; or, (4) as a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saiddressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executivebut he ran, and he was youngwhose joy it was to nip at every passing anklehis thoughts on the day aheadas yet, no obvious bags or wrinklesempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juiceeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsshook himself like a dog on the doorstep, an unfinished symphony. At the moment, it was a place used for sleep and very little else. There were two good modern paintings leaning against the wall, a few pieces of spiky avantgarde furniture, a dusty and sorry-looking ficus, a battery of stereo and video equipment. Despite having been there for more than two years, Max had managed to avoid giving the apartment any personal touches, apart from a small pile of running shoes in one corner. He went into the tiny, unused kitchen, opened the refrigerator, (5) as a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juicewhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankleas yet, no obvious bags or wrinklesshook himself like a dog on the doorstephis thoughts on the day aheaddressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executiveeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsbut he ran, and he was young, and took the latter with him into the bathroom.

Hot water and a cold drink. The after-run shower was a daily reward for one of his few healthy habits. He worked too hard, ate in the irregular way of bachelors, and slept too little, (6) but he ran, and he was younghis thoughts on the day aheadempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juicewhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankleeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsas yet, no obvious bags or wrinklesdressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executiveas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidshook himself like a dog on the doorstep. Forty was several years away, and by then, he told himself, he would have his life and his finances in order, ready to settle down and – who knows – make another gallant attempt at marriage.

He studied his reflection in the shaving mirror. Blue eyes, only slightly bloodshot; dark brown hair, cut short in the current fashion; skin taut over high cheekbones; (7) his thoughts on the day aheadbut he ran, and he was youngempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juiceas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidas yet, no obvious bags or wrinkleseager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsshook himself like a dog on the doorstepwhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankledressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executive. Could be worse, he thought.

Five minutes later, he was ready to conquer the financial universe, (8) shook himself like a dog on the doorstepas yet, no obvious bags or wrinkleshis thoughts on the day aheaddressed in the uniform and trappings of the modern young executiveeager for the delicious treat that may come afterwardsas a decorator friend with his eye on a lucrative assignment had saidbut he ran, and he was youngempty except for a bottle of water and a carton of orange juicewhose joy it was to nip at every passing ankle: dark suit, dark blue shirt, dark tie, a bulky watch designed for deep-sea divers obsessed with punctuality, cell phone and car keys at the ready. He ducked through the drizzle and into the obligatory black car for the drive to the City, where today, he felt sure, the long-awaited deal would come through. And then the bonus. He’d finish furnishing the apartment, hire a housecleaner to keep it spotless, take a few days off. Not even the weather forecast on the radio – scattered showers, followed by outbreaks of heavier rain, with a chance of hail – could dampen his spirits. This was going to be a good day.