Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

‘Just a minute,’ he shouted again.

‘Actually it’s okay,’ I yelled despite being in a silent room. But he was gone again.

Finally there was silence, I could hear footsteps, then laughter in the distance, then, ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

I fell back on the couch. ‘Yes, hi.’

‘Sorry about that, who’s this?’

‘Em, actually this is going to annoy you seeing all you had to do to get outside but I think I’ve got the wrong number.’

‘After all that,’ he laughed.

‘Yep, sorry.’ I climbed over the back of the couch and was in the kitchen. I looked in the fridge. Nothing to eat as usual.

He went quiet, then I heard a match and he inhaled. ‘Sorry, bad habit. My sister said if I took up smoking I’d meet someone.’

‘I pretend I’m a smoker at work to get more breaks.’ I was surprised I’d said it out loud.

‘What if they find you not smoking?’

‘If someone’s there, then I smoke.’

He laughed. ‘That’s a long way to go for a break.’

‘I’ll do anything for a break.’

‘Like talk to wrong numbers?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Want to tell me your name or does that break the wrong-number code of ethics?’

‘I’ve no problem at all telling a complete stranger my name. It’s Gertrude.’

‘That’s a lovely name, Gertrude.’ I could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Why, thank you.’

‘I’m Giuseppe.’

‘Nice to meet you, Giuseppe. How’s Pinocchio doing?’

‘Ah, you know, telling fibs and bragging about being unattached.’

‘He’s always at it.’ Then I realised that despite it being more comfortable than a phone conversation with my own father, this was weird. ‘Well, I’d better let you get back to the pub.’

‘Actually I’m at an Aslan gig.’

‘I love Aslan.’

‘We’re in Vicar Street, you should come.’

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘Me and Tom.’

‘Well, I would go but Tom and I had a falling-out and it would just be awkward if I showed up.’

‘Even if he apologised?’

‘Believe me, he’ll never apologise.’

‘Tom’s always putting his foot in his mouth, just ignore him. I have a spare ticket, I can leave it for you at the ticket desk.’

His familiarity intrigued me. ‘I could be a toothless married woman with ten kids and an eye patch.’

‘Christ, are you a woman?’

I laughed.

‘So are you coming?’

‘Do you always ask wrong numbers out?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Do they ever say yes?’

‘Once, and I got a toothless married woman with ten kids and an eye patch.’

‘Have they sung “Down on Me”?’

‘They haven’t started yet. Is that your favourite?’

‘Yep.’ I opened the freezer. Chicken curry or cottage pie. The chicken curry was a week out of date; the cottage pie would be out of date tomorrow. I reached for the chicken curry and stabbed the film with a fork.

‘Have you ever heard them live?’

‘No, but it’s on my list of things to do.’

‘What else is on your list?’

‘Eat dinner.’

‘You aim high, I like it. Want to tell me your real name now?’

‘Nope. Want to tell me yours?’

‘Don.’

‘Don what?’

‘Lockwood.’

My heart did a funny thing. I froze. Mr Pan noticed my mood change and jumped up and looked around for what he needed to defend me against, or hide from.

‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Did you say Don Lockwood?’ I asked slowly.

‘Yes, why?’

I gasped. ‘Are you joking?’

‘Nope. Born and bred. Actually that’s a lie, they called me Jacinta, then they found out I was a boy. It’s much easier to tell the difference now, I assure you. Why, is this not a wrong number after all?’

I was pacing the kitchen, no longer interested in my chicken curry. I didn’t believe in signs because I couldn’t sign read but it was just an unbelievably exciting coincidence. ‘Don Lockwood … wait for it … is the name of Gene Kelly’s character in Singin’ in the Rain .’

‘I see.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are a fan of either Gene Kelly and/or of this movie so this is very exciting news to you.’

‘Only the biggest.’ I laughed. ‘Don’t tell me no one’s ever said that to you before.’

‘I can safely say, no one under the age of eighty-five has ever said it to me before.’

‘Not even any of your wrong numbers?’

‘Not even them.’

‘How old are you?’ I asked, suddenly afraid I was having a conversation with a fifteen-year-old and that the police were on their way.

‘I’m thirty-five and three-quarters.’

‘I can’t believe in all of your thirty-five and three-quarters years no one has ever said that to you before.’

‘Because most of the people I meet aren’t one hundred years old like you.’

‘I’m not going to be one hundred for at least two weeks.’

‘Ah. I see. Thirty? Forty? Fifty?’

‘Thirty.’

‘It’s all downhill from there, believe me.’

And he went silent, and I went silent and then it wasn’t natural any more and we were just two strangers on a wrong number who both wanted to hang up.

I got in there first. ‘It was nice talking to you, Don. Thanks for the offer of the ticket.’

‘Bye, toothless married woman,’ he said and we both laughed. I hung up and caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and I looked like my mother, just a face full of a smile. It faded fast at the realisation that I’d just spoken to an absolute stranger on the phone. Maybe they were right, maybe I was losing it. I went to bed early and at twelve thirty my phone rang, waking me in fright. I looked at the number flashing and didn’t recognise it, so I ignored it and waited for it to stop so I could go back to sleep. A few seconds later the phone rang again. I answered it, hoping it wasn’t bad news. All I could hear was noise, screams and shouts. I moved it away from my ear, then heard the music, then heard the singing, then recognised the song. He was calling me, Don Lockwood was calling me, so I could hear my favourite song.

‘ If you think your life’s a waste of time, if you think your time’s a waste of life, come over to this land, take a look around. Is this a tragic situation, or a massive demonstration, where do we hide? ’

I lay back on the bed and listened to the song, then when it was finished, I stayed on the line to speak to him. As soon as the next song started, he hung up.

I smiled. Then texted him.

– Thanks.

He texted back straight away.

– One less thing on your list. Nite .

I stared at those words for a long time then added his number into my phone. Don Lockwood. Just seeing it there made me smile.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A week later I awoke at seven a.m. in a stinker of a mood. I do believe that’s the technical term for it. I hadn’t been asleep for a week; it’s just the amount of time that passed until anything of note happened in my life. I knew I was in a bad mood as soon as I opened my eyes and realised that the apartment reeked of the prawn cocktail that I’d left out on the counter. I felt irritation to the very core of me; like that damp cold that goes right to the bone and is impossible to shake off. I also think that my body had sensed that a new envelope had arrived on the burned carpet even before I’d found it. I could tell it had recently been left there because it hadn’t been peed on and it had landed on top of the little pink marie-rose paw prints from when Mr Pan had knocked over the prawn cocktail and walked it around the carpet.