concentrate hard not to smirk.
‘I see. I guess it can be a bit chilly but I wouldn’t have called it sexist,’ said Anna, hoping that would suffice.
‘Okay. If you’re sure it’s not an issue,’ said Roberta. ‘Ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them,’ she added, with a tip of her head. Anna was squinting with the pressure of trying to work out what the hell she meant. ‘It’s a quote,’ explained Roberta.
‘Right.’ Anna had no idea which feminist icon would have said that but thankfully Roberta was about to enlighten her.
Roberta leaned in close. ‘Marie.’ Anna was still looking blank. ‘From The Aristocats.’
‘Of course,’ said Anna, trying hard to ignore Karl’s huge grin.
It was another quiet night in for Anna as, now Maurice’s period of confinement had ended, she found she was often on her own once it got dark. He was a proper night owl and the living room window was working well as his exit route. It was too small for a human to fit through, and meant she didn’t need to get a cat flap fitted until it started to get colder. She flicked through the telly channels again but decided there was still nothing worth watching so she switched it off. She may as well go to bed and read. She had settled into life without Liam but it didn’t mean she had got used to being on her own.
Anna picked up her mobile phone and jumped slightly as it sprang into life. She was a little embarrassed about how pleased she was to get a message, whoever it was from. She looked at the screen in anticipation. It was a number she didn’t recognise, so she flicked to the text expecting to see some random marketing message but she was wrong.
It read: Can’t wait to get down and dirty with you tomorrow. Looking forward to catching up over lunch too. C.
Anna stared at the message; clearly it was a wrong number. She crafted what she hoped was a suitable reply: Hi, C. Thanks for the offer but I think you’ve got the wrong number.
Anna was sitting huddled over the phone waiting for a reply. She’d had wrong phone calls before but never a text. It was quite funny really – she wondered how much the other person would cringe when they realised their mistake. After five minutes she felt ridiculous for sitting with her phone in her hand, waiting for a reply from a wrong number. Why would they respond? They’d resend the message to the right person and be a little more careful when texting next time. Then the familiar little beeps came and she hurriedly opened the message: How embarrassing. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I hope I’ve not offended you. C.
Anna wondered if C might actually be a girl, because how many men would bother to respond? She suspected not very many. But seeing as they’d been nice enough to reply, she sent them another text: Not a problem, I’m pretty resilient. Enjoy your date tomorrow.
A response came straight back this time: Pretty and resilient is an interesting combination. Tomorrow not as exciting as it sounds. Helping a friend clean their patio. C.
It was a comedy text to a friend, a clever play on words, not a sexy text to a lover as she’d first thought. She was intrigued as to who this mystery texter was. Though she was keen to text straight back, she calmed herself down and went and put the kettle on and did a little bit of analysis. She really did need to get out more if this was the most excitement she’d had in her life since they’d added Peanut KitKats to the vending machine at work. Anna still didn’t know if the mystery texter was a man or a woman – or worse still, a teenager. Loads of kids had mobiles these days. She gave a little shiver; that was a creepy thought.
Part of her mind had already wandered off in the opposite direction and conjured up a tall handsome stranger, sitting in a large glass-fronted office laughing at the text exchange. He had no wedding ring and bore a striking resemblance to Ryan Gosling – well, it was her fantasy after all.
Anna was cupping her tea and thinking about whether she should reply when another much longer text appeared: Hi Tim, just did something funny – texted wrong number and got cute messages back. Worried it’s a big hairy bloke! See you at 10 tomorrow, mate. Text me postcode for your new place. I don’t know my way around Selly Oak. Did you get the festival tickets? C.
It was as if he’d read her mind, as she could now safely assume he was male and clearly not ancient if he was going to a festival. And he’d called her cute – well, he’d called her texts cute. And he was most likely local if he was going to Selly Oak tomorrow. This was getting interesting. She had to reply to this message, because surely it would be rude not to. After all, she had to inform ‘C’ that Tim wouldn’t have received his text …
Hi, C. Sorry, you got the wrong number again. Nice to text with you though, and enjoy the patio cleaning. A. There. That was okay – informative, and not too forward.
By the time she’d brushed her teeth there was another message: Dear A. Once again, soooo sorry. I am clearly a sausage-fingered idiot. Apologies! I’ll let you know how the patio cleaning goes. C :-)
Anna placed her phone on the bedside table and turned off the light. She quickly drifted off to sleep with the tiniest of smiles on her lips, a large cat on her feet, and just the faintest glimmer of something in her heart.
Anna had a spring in her step the following morning as she picked up her things and went in search of the room for her first meeting of the day. At least she wouldn’t be alone with Hudson; she was able to handle him better if other people were involved. Maybe she needed them there to help her keep her annoyance levels in check. She knew she sometimes overreacted but it was only because she was passionate about getting it right. She found the room and checked it was the right one because it was really small. She knew there were loads of people on the invite list. Her smugness blossomed at the thought of Hudson having to apologise to everyone for the tiny room as they all tried to cram inside. She was going to enjoy this meeting. She picked her spot on the far side of the table so she could see his reaction when he came in, and settled herself down.
She was making some notes when Hudson arrived. ‘Hey, Anna. How’s your day going?’
Why did Americans ask that? Nobody did in this country. At best you’d ask someone at the end of the day, but never earlier – and who was interested anyway?
‘Great thanks.’ About to get a whole lot better when everyone sees your room cock-up, she thought. ‘How about yours?’
‘Swell, thanks. Right, let’s get started.’
Anna did a double take as Hudson started tapping on the large telephone in the middle of the table. Anna scrabbled through the meeting notes. It was a bloody conference call; she hadn’t spotted that. If she’d realised, she could have dialled in from her desk. Now she was stuck in a broom cupboard with Hudson for the next hour, but her resolute Britishness meant that she wasn’t going to leave. She’d have to stick it out. ‘Hudson and Anna,’ said Hudson, when the system prompted him for his name. As he was opening the call there was a rush of everyone’s name and Anna didn’t have time to tick everyone off the invite list.
‘Hey, everyone, thanks for joining us this morning. Is Todd on the call?’
There was a very long pause where they could hear breathing, general office background noise and the odd cough. ‘Okay, no Todd, let’s—’
‘Yes.
