It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon, there was nothing on television. The gloomy grey sky was dripping water all over the city, and I was in my apartment on my own.
The rain didn't bother me though, I was soaking wet anyway. It's one of the highlights of my week to have a long, relaxing bath every Sunday, just lying there happily until the water goes cold. I had been there for over an hour, and I could feel the temperature creeping lower. A shiver ran through me, it was time to get out. I pulled out the plug.
As the water gurgled away I decided that I would call Sarah to see if she wanted to go out that evening. I hadn't seen her since we had watched that awful horror film on Wednesday. What a waste of money that had been! She would probably want to go for a drink tonight, she usually did.
I grabbed my mobile phone, I always kept it within easy reach when I had a bath. On this occasion, however, my clumsiness failed me. As I leaned over to pick it up, my grip slipped and I accidentally knocked the phone into the bath!
For a second I sat motionless, not quite realising what had happened. Then I frantically scrambled for the phone. I shook it and tried to wipe it dry on a towel. Needless to say, it was completely broken, and I felt like an idiot. I cursed.
What was more frustrating was the fact that I didn't actually have a house telephone. That was something I had done deliberatly, partly to save money, and partly because I had always preferred to use my mobile. As I towelled myself and got dressed, I realised that the only way I could call Sarah was if I went out and used a public phone box.
Throwing on my leather jacket, I looked around my apartment, past the dirty washing-up and the clothes flung all over the floor. Such a mess! After a quick search I found my keys and some cash. I zipped up my jacket and braced myself for the cold damp outside.
Briskly, I stepped out - the rain hit me instantly. I pulled up my collar, as if shielding my neck from the rain would somehow keep me dry.
The streets were empty. Water streamed down the pavements and into the gutters. From some houses there drifted smells of home cooking, delicious aromas that were quite distinct but faint enough to leave me unsatisfied. Feeling hungry, I plodded on.
I passed nobody on the way there, except one poor tramp who crouched in a doorway. He was covered in a brown woolly blanket and he looked wretched. Rain fell onto his hood and over his face, and he was white with cold. "Spare us some change," he asked politely as I walked by. Keeping my head down, I muttered "Sorry". I needed all my change for my phone call. As I hastened away I could feel his eyes watching the back of my head, but he said nothing.
The phone box was not far off. It was battered, one glass panel had been smashed in, at about waist-height. I stepped inside, and as I stood there some rain came in through the hole and splashed my leg.
I fed the machine a few coins and dialled Sarah's number. I knew it off by heart. After six rings, her answer machine kicked in. "Hi there, this is Sarah's phone. Please leave a message after the tone. BLEEP!"
I hung up. I hate answering machines, and in any case, there was no way she could call me back. The phone clanged as it digested my coins - I wasn't going to be given any change this time. For a minute or so, I stood there thinking. If Sarah wouldn't come out, then I may as well spend the rest of the day in with a bottle of wine and a video. I decided to go to the off licence.
Just then, the phone rang.
Sarah! I smiled in surprise. I picked up the receiver. "Hello?".
"Hello, Mark!" the handset cooed. It sounded like Sarah, but was somehow alien. This voice was softer and more enticing. Surely it must be her, I thought. How else would she know who I was?
"Wow, I'm glad to hear from you," I said, relieved.
"Sorry about this, Mark," she said before I could continue. "I have to work tonight. Could we meet in the Blue Bar a bit earlier than we said?"
"Uh, yes." I ignored the fact that we hadn't arranged to meet in any bar that night.
"When are you free? How about now?"
"Oh! I can come right away."
She said, "Great, I'll see you there in a minute!" and ended the call.
"OK," I said, but I was speaking to a beep.
Cheered, I strode back up the road towards the Blue Bar, not quite sure what I was doing. Obviously, I told myself, Sarah had got my call and had phoned me back to ask me out for a drink. It wasn't a very persuasive argument, but thinking about it only confused me.
The tramp repeated his plea as I neared him, but this time I was in a good mood and I had coins to spare. I threw him a few, and he thanked me graciously, as if I'd saved his life. I usually made a point of never giving money to beggars. Sometimes I would give to buskers, because at least they were doing something, and not just sitting there like some useless scrounger. The way I reasoned it, if everyone agreed not to give handouts to beggars, then they would be forced to go out and earn a living for themselves. It would be better for everyone, I thought. Who knows what that tramp would do with the money I gave him?
My thoughts turned to Sarah. Her voice had been attractive on the phone, more so than usual. Indeed she was an attractive woman, but our relationship was one of those that continued more for convenience than any great spark of attraction. Personally, my main reason for staying with her was simply because at the moment I couldn't find anyone better. I was happy to carry on dating her, but I knew that it would end sooner or later.
I couldn't help thinking how strange she'd sounded on the telephone. Could that really have been her? The longer I thought, the more I was convinced that it must have been someone else.
I reached the Blue Bar, it was a cavernous, neon place where the decor was all shiny and silver in an effort to look futuristic. It only served to make the bar a hangout for the pretentious.
There was no sign of Sarah anywhere, the bar was quite empty in fact. A group of well-groomed twentysomethings laughed raucously in one corner over a bottle of wine. Their mobile phones were singing. They appeared to be arguing about which of them earned the most, but in an arrogantly light-hearted manner. I felt slightly nauseous just watching them.
I asked for a pint of lager and apologised awkwardly as I paid for it with my credit card. The barman barely noticed, it probably happened to him all the time. I took a sip and turned to watch the patterns of heavy rain water on the window. They trailed across it as if fast invisible snails were racing each other to the ground.
A pang of displeasure tickled my tongue. The first mouthful of beer is always harsh, I reflected. It takes a while for the taste buds to adjust to the flavour. When I considered it, I hadn't even come to the bar to drink, but instinctively I had bought one. Where was Sarah anyway?
As I sank my drink, I became aware of an attractive young woman sitting on her own in a corner near the front window. She was slim and blonde, with a slightly crooked face that added to her appeal. I turned away, not wanting to stare. From the way she was looking at her watch, though, it was fairly obvious that she was waiting for somebody.
It seemed clear to me now that Sarah hadn't phoned me at all, and the voice I had heard had belonged to this woman by the window. I considered whether I should approach her, but caution stopped me. What was I doing, about to chat up a complete stranger in a bar? I wasn't the sort of man who did that. I mean, I could be charming enough, but starting a conversation from nothing was not really my speciality, and my common sense told me I would only make a fool of myself. Instead I sat watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I started to imagine who she could be waiting for. Probably a good looking man with lots of money. I always thought it unfair that I could never get a stunningly attractive girlfriend like her. Sarah was a nice looking girl, pleasant enough, but she was far from perfect. Strange, I wondered, how people always put physical appearance as their top priority in a partner - it leaves us average looking people at a bit of a loss.
Soon I found that my glass was empty. I glanced back at the girl, and saw her still staring out the window expectantly. Well, I wouldn't stand a chance with her anyway, I thought to myself. And Sarah obviously wasn't going to show up. Pushing my glass away, I stood up and walked out and went back up the road, intending to go to the off licence and warm up my evening.
The rain poured on. The tramp had disappeared from his hidey-hole, no doubt to spend his day's earnings. I wondered what I would say if I bumped into him buying some alcohol.
The telephone box stood there, decrepit, as the rain bounced off it. In the never-ending downpour, it was a sign of comfort and of shelter. Water could not penetrate it's metal exterior, except for the small hole where the glass panel had been smashed in. Inside, a small puddle of water had gathered. I stopped and looked at it.
There was something almost hypnotic about the way the water played around that panel. Liquid stalactites formed for barely a fraction of a second, then broke off. Sometimes they landed outside the phone box and trickled down a tiny river on the pavement; sometimes they landed inside and added to the pool. It would be impossible to stand in the phone box now without getting the soles of one's feet wet. What would happen, I wondered, if the entire thing were to fill up with water?
I stood there looking, and became aware of myself. My trousers were wet through to the skin, and my hair was soaked and cold and stuck to my forehead.
I thought of the woman I had spoken to, on this very phone. Had that actually happened? I began to think that it was actually Sarah who had called, and that she was playing some kind of trick on me.
The telephone rang! With a little hesitation, I opened the glass door and picked it up.
"Hello."
"Hi, Mark. Where are you?" The voice sounded high-pitched, almost angry. "I've been waiting here for ages."
"I was just in the Blue Bar a minute ago," I said.
"Don't lie to me. I'm sitting by the door, you haven't come in at all." So it was the woman I had seen there. This could be interesting.
"I'll just be a minute."
"If you're not here in five minutes, I'm leaving, OK?"
"Right, I'll be there."
Without stopping to think, I found myself once more heading back to the bar. How did this woman know me? I wondered. And why had she not recognised me? I couldn't fathom the mystery, but I gained confidence from this second telephone conversation. I decided that I would go and chat to her. What did it matter that I didn't know her? Life would be dull if one didn't take risks now and then.
I reached the bar and stepped inside. The sound of the rain was muffled as the door glided shut behind me. The barman eyed me curiously, as if wondering why I had returned. The blonde woman briefly glanced in my direction, but she was busy. She was busy chatting excitedly to a man sitting opposite her at her table. I was too late.
The man looked familiar. As I walked forward, trying not to stare, I realised what had happened. He wore ragged clothes, his face was unshaven, and in his hand he held a pint of beer, which he had bought with MY money!
Quickly, I turned and walked out. I headed straight for the off licence.