Jane Dublin stood back to admire the Company logo shimmering in primary colours on her kitchen table. Her brand-new PC. She was tempted to call up her sister Christine on the other plaything. Not brand-new, she remembered from that afternoon’s conversation.
Jane was employed by a Cambridge-based insurance firm that had recently introduced a scheme to enable staff to work from home. It was intended to benefit anyone considered still worth employing, but unable or unwilling to get to the office on a daily basis.
Jane, a single mother owing to the recent death of her husband Stephen, had immediately placed her name on the waiting list. Since she was an experienced claims assessor, the company had been quick to offer her a place.
She was still gazing at the computer when her son Jonathan came in from the garden, followed by Tiger, the cat owned by the elderly spinster who lived next door.
Tiger was decrepit and balding—just like his mistress, Jane sometimes unkindly thought—and smelled powerfully of the many tuna meals he had consumed in his lifetime. Nevertheless, she felt a kind of exasperated affection for the animal and always gave him a saucer of milk when, all too frequently, he wandered into the house. She busied herself doing that now.
Jonathan was eight years old and very proud of his mother. His best friend Stephen’s mum knew nothing about computers. He picked up the mobile phone. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“Put that down,” she said. “It’s not a toy.” She turned away to hide her smile after she said it, thinking of her own reaction a few minutes earlier.
“They gave me that so I can stay in contact with people in the office even when my PC is linked to the mainframe at work,” she explained. Jonathan nodded sagely, as if he understood exactly what she meant. A child of the computer age, she thought.
Jonathan went away to watch television in the front room. Tiger had already finished his milk and disappeared, leaving behind traces of his body odour.
She switched off and unplugged the PC, thinking that she’d move it into the box room after supper. Although small, the room would be a good working environment. It was filled with light on sunny days and, importantly, contained a telephone jack point to enable her PC to be connected to the mainframe database at headquarters.
That it was Stephen’s old study somehow comforted her and made her think this new venture would be a success.
She started to repeat the mantra of the homeworker: self-discipline, self-discipline, self-discipline.
Still chanting, she picked up the phone and was about to put it to one side when she noticed its lighted display panel. Jonathan must have switched it on by accident. She was surprised to see a message scrolling across the tiny screen, <<>>. She consulted the reference manual and pressed a button.
When a blast of electronic jumble emerged from the earpiece, she hurriedly held the mobile away from her. She could just make out a tiny voice submerged in the waves of static. The man—about the only thing she was sure of—could have been calling from the moon. The noise ended abruptly.
She stared thoughtfully at the silent phone. The signal must have strengthened towards the end because she’d caught a couple of scratchy phrases.
“Sandie, for God’s sake ... must see you.” Even through the stew of interference, the pain and desperation had been obvious.
Jane recalled what she’d been told that afternoon. She had gone along to Human Resources to sign for the receipt of the PC and mobile. “I hope the phone brings you better luck than the last person we loaned it to,” the young woman in HR had told her. She must have looked alarmed because the girl had laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as all that. It used to belong to Sandra Chalmers, remember her?”
Jane had nodded, having known her by sight, even been faintly jealous of the woman’s unsubtle and yet striking good looks.
Because she worked for Sales and Marketing, out on the road most of the time, Sandra Chalmers had made only infrequent appearances at headquarters. When she did, it was evident that she was very well liked, especially by her male co-workers.
Owing to her popularity, there had been a great deal of gossip when she suddenly handed in her notice. There were rumours about her involvement with some man or other—she was obviously very good at keeping secrets because nobody seemed to know the identity of her lover—and it was known that she and her husband had sold up and left the area shortly after her resignation.
At the conclusion of their business, Jane had ventured a weak joke with the woman from HR. “A mobile for someone who’s not going to be very mobile,” she’d said.
The other’s answer had shown that she was still thinking about Sandra Chalmers. “Better than being too mobile, like some people.”
Jane was thinking, Sandra. Sandie. Extra-marital affairs. Strange, passionate phone calls. The lives some people lead. Feeling a little sorry for herself, she got on with preparing the evening meal.
It was only later, when she was watching TV after Jonathan had gone to sleep, that the call struck her as odd in another way. It had certainly been made since her meeting with the woman from HR—no diverted messages had shown up when they’d switched on the phone to ensure it was working.
Yet Sandra Chalmers had resigned and handed back the mobile more than six weeks previously.
The caller—this man who was so frantic to speak to her—obviously didn’t know that. Where had he been all this time? Where was he now? Still running the possibilities through her mind, she went up to bed.
Jane settled into a routine in the days that followed. To school with Jonathan in the mornings, then three to four hours’ work on the PC. A light snack for lunch, sandwiches or a salad, and another two or three hours of work before picking him up. It was predictable but satisfying, and she soon decided that she’d made the right choice.
She went to headquarters once a week to attend briefings with the rest of the team, and to plan her forthcoming work schedule with her boss. She looked forward to these outings. Discussing business on the phone was all very well, but it was nice to see people now and again.
Her use of the company mobile was limited, calling the office perhaps a half dozen times a day, usually to clarify some point relating to the case currently displayed on her PC screen.
Incoming calls were even less frequent. Which was why she was surprised to hear the instrument’s distinctive bleat when she opened the front door after one of her visits to headquarters. Not least because she thought she’d switched it off before leaving the house that morning.
The voice had a metallic edge to it, but was stronger now through the surrounding din. “Is that you, Sandie?” Jane couldn’t think of a suitable reply. She could hear his panic return. “Please, Sandie, this is Tony.”
She had to speak. Feeling very foolish, she said, “I’m afraid this isn’t Sandie, I mean Sandra. She’s left the company.”
Only static for several seconds. Then the voice again, sounding young and confused. “I... I don’t understand. Where’s she gone?”
She suddenly felt very sorry for him. “I wish I could help you, but I really have no idea where she is.”
“You mean she’s left me?” Although it was difficult to be sure with that awful noise breaking against the earpiece, she suspected that the man was crying. Absurdly, she too was on the point of tears. Stupid, stupid, she told herself, for someone you don’t even know.
His next words astonished her. “You seem like a very kind lady. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”
She was flustered, but managed to say, “No, not at all.”
He seemed resigned now. “I knew she’d go off me. Which is why... never mind. I’m sure I’m boring you. I’m sorry.” He sounded so lost and alone, she wanted to throw her arms about him.
The interference abating, he sounded much closer all of a sudden. “It’s been nice talking to you. I feel better now. Would you mind if I phoned again?”
Somehow Jane had been expecting the question and said, “No, please do.” Wondering at the intensity in her own voice.
“Goodbye then.”
“Goodbye, I hope we get a better connection next...” She broke off when the words came echoing back to her.
Although she would never have admitted it, not even to herself, the phone call made Jane feel like a different person. She realised what she had been missing since Stephen’s death. The attentions of a man.
Never mind the unfortunate circumstances, and the fact he was a total stranger, someone she had never met and was never likely to meet. She didn’t care about any of those things. He’d brought some drama into her life and she found that she couldn’t stop smiling.
Jonathan thought his mum greater than ever. Tiger was given double helpings of milk now when he called around. She kept the company mobile switched on all the time, even when she wasn’t working on the PC. But it was over a week before she heard from him again.
She was suffering from a cold and had already reported in to the office to say she wouldn’t be doing any work that day. Feeling listless and bored, she kept glancing at the instrument resting on the arm of her chair. Even so, she was shocked when it started to ring. Steady on, she told herself, it’s only someone calling back from the office.
But she knew it wasn’t.
“How are you?”
The connection was much improved, the radiophonic splutterings reduced to a more acceptable level. It no longer seemed as if he was speaking from the far side of the moon or the depths of an ocean. The tinniness, too, had almost disappeared from his voice; he even sounded quite cheerful.
She felt better already. “I’m fine, thanks.” She remembered he didn’t even know her name. “I’m Jane, by the way.”
“Hullo, Jane. I’m Tony. Tony Truro. Silly name, isn’t it?”
“That’s a coincidence,” she said. “My surname is a town as well.”
“Don’t tell me, Oxford?”
She laughed, decided he was definitely getting over Sandra. “No, Dublin.”
“You’d be easy to find in the phone book then, just like me. You’re a local girl, Jane?”
“Lived in Cambridge all my life,” she replied, recalling that Sandra Chalmers had talked with a South London whine.
He sounded very young again. “I’m sorry about last time, but I know I’m getting over it. My problem, you see, is that I grow too attached to people. I find it hard to let go...”
His next words were lost in a sudden upsurge of background noise. Afraid the signal would be broken, and that she’d never hear from him again, Jane started to panic. “Hullo?” she repeated several times.
She was relieved to hear him speak, but much fainter now. “I have to go, Jane,” he said, “but I want to meet you. I’m sure you’re very beautiful.”
Jane, who knew herself to be motherly-looking and plump, said nothing. An overwhelming screech cut into his next words. “I promise I’ll...”
The violent and inconclusive ending to their conversation unsettled her; she found it difficult to sleep that night. Due in the office next day for a team briefing, she was determined to make it in spite of her worsening cold. It was time she took the initiative.
Sandra Chalmers had cultivated a special female companion at work, one Tracey Wilkinson, who was younger and much less confident than her friend. On Sandra’s occasional visits to headquarters, they had always lunched in the staff restaurant, heads together, whispering and giggling. Men colleagues had gathered kudos just for being at the same table. Jane had gained the impression there wasn’t much the two women kept from each other.
After the briefing, she went to Tracey Wilkinson’s office on the second floor. The girl was alone apart from an office junior, moodily entering statistics into an electronic spreadsheet. As he wandered off in search of coffee and excitement, Tracey looked at her.
“Can I help you?” Her accent was a mongrel blend of Cambridge and South London. Her friend’s influence, no doubt.
Jane knew the odds were extremely long. After all, not one word of rumour had reached her—or anyone else, so far as she knew—concerning the identity of Sandra Chalmer’s boyfriend. Perhaps Tracey wasn’t such a confidante after all. But she took a deep breath and said, “I know all about Sandra Chalmers and Tony Truro.”
The straightforward approach worked. She could see the girl was too staggered to put up any sort of defence.
“H-how do you know about that?” Tracey stammered. “I never told anyone. Sandie will kill me, she hates people knowing her business.” She looked so frightened that Jane wondered for a moment what hold Sandra Chalmers had over the young woman.
She tried another question, wanting to confirm her suspicions. “She broke it off because of the age difference, didn’t she?”
Tracey, still in shock, nodded dumbly. “Sandie’s not as young as she lets on,” she mumbled. Her face indicated that this revelation was the final betrayal.
And now for the million dollar question, Jane thought. “And you know where Tony is, don’t you?”
She was astonished when Tracey started to cry. “I know, I know,” she sobbed. “But it wasn’t all Sandie’s fault. He was only a kid. I could tell he was taking it too seriously, he was that type. I told her, but she wouldn’t listen.” For the first time, Jane noticed the strain on her pretty features.
The young woman was staring back at her. “But how do you know about Tony?” she said. “No one here knows, except me.”
Jane debated whether to tell her the truth. No, the girl would think she was a sad case, searching for a man because he’d accidentally phoned her a couple of times! “I need to see Tony,” she said.
Tracey gaped at her, horrified. “You must be mad! They’ll never find his body after all this time!”
The secret was out now and she couldn’t stop talking. “How was Sandie supposed to know he’d drown himself? Just because she finished with him. That’s why she left here after it happened, she can’t bear people knowing...”
Her words were no longer registering. It felt as if the lights were going out in Jane’s brain, one by one, and then she started to fall. The last thing she saw before the blackness was the puzzled look in Tracey’s wide blue eyes.
The cold was blamed for her faint.
She was alone at home a week later, Jonathan having gone to the pictures with Christine and his cousins, a long-promised treat. Christine had begged her to go with them, but Jane still felt unable to leave the house. Reluctantly, her sister had gone off with the kids.
She had already returned the mobile phone by registered post, together with a letter of resignation. Her boss had called around, but left shortly afterwards, mystified, cradling the PC in his arms while promising that her job would be left open in case she changed her mind.
Jane now sat staring blankly at the book she held in her hands, strange thoughts racing around her head. One image in particular: a watery figure trudging across the fields of East Anglia. Towards the city. Towards her.
Stupid, she told herself, the poor devil was rotting in the North Sea, he wasn’t going anywhere. Anyway, he was a very modern ghost. At the very least, he’d come in a phantom car. She only stopped laughing when she recognised a rising note of hysteria.
The same thoughts, the same words, over and again. I grow too attached to people. I want to meet you. Easy to find in the phone book. A modern ghost, indeed. She glanced at the directories stacked beside the telephone in the hall. No, I’m not looking to see how many there are, she told herself, it would mean I am going mad.
It was dark outside when she went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As she stood at the sink, there was the sound of scratching at the back door. Jane remained very still, but the noise continued, growing louder. Then a strong whiff of fish reached her through the partly open window.
She hoped it was Tiger, come for some milk.
But she knew it wasn’t.
