When Oliver hadn’t phoned on the Friday, Good Friday, as he’d promised I didn’t know what to think. He’d phoned on the Wednesday evening as promised and we’d spoken for more than an hour. During that call he’d told me he was returning to Cyprus in Early September, after the school holidays, and he would be delighted if I went with him. I’d hesitated before answering. I didn’t know what to say. I was enjoying our chat and for the first time, he was getting a little flirty. But I hadn’t decided whether I preferred him or Sean and I didn’t want to commit myself and then have to cancel if I decided Sean was the one I wanted to be with. In the end, I decided honesty was the best policy and told him about my dilemma.
There was only a slight pause before he told me he appreciated my honesty. After that, he resumed as before, telling me he would book a flight for me and cancel if necessary. He needed my passport details to book the flight and I promised to phone him back with it. He also said he was extremely fond of me and hoped I would choose him, but that he would respect my decision. That was one of the things I liked best about him. He respected me. Again, he showed he had respect for me. When we’d met in Cyprus before, he hadn’t made a move because he respected the fact that I was married, then. On our date on the Friday night, he hadn’t tried to kiss me, because he didn’t want to rush me into anything. And now he was saying he’d respect my decision if I chose Sean. But he also pointed out that he would be very disappointed.
We’d finished our chat on the Wednesday by agreeing he would call me on the Friday between 7:00 and 7:30. Now it was past 10:00 and still there had been no phone call. Had he had second thoughts and decided to forget about me? I realised I would be very disappointed if that was the case. He had never before failed to contact me when he’d made arrangements to do so and the lack of a call was puzzling me. What would his reaction be if I called him? Would he be annoyed? Apologetic? Too busy to talk?
By half past ten I decided to call him. I had to know if he’d lost interest after I’d mentioned Sean. “Oliver?” I enquired when it was answered after it had rung several times. By some sixth sense I’d guessed it wasn’t Oliver who answered. The voice was male, adolescent, uneducated with a strong regional accent. “Can I speak to Oliver?” I asked tentatively. The voice at the other end asked if I meant the posh guy.
“Nah, Rusty,” the voice said. “He’s upstairs with my sister.” There was the sound of other male voices tittering in the background. I asked why he was answering Oliver’s phone and why he was upstairs. “Fucking my sister, you stupid cow,” was the answer to my second question. I received no answer to my first one. And then the call was ended. I couldn’t believe that Oliver was with another woman. Even if he’d been really annoyed by my news, I couldn’t see him reacting like that. But I couldn’t understand why the obnoxious youth was answering his phone.
A few minutes later, my phone rang and Oliver’s name appeared on the screen. Relieved I answered. But it wasn’t Oliver; it was the same uncouth youth as before. “We’ve been thinking,” he began. “Why don’t you come round and we can have a foursome. Not your Oliver and my sister, though, you, me and a couple of my mates. You’d have a fucking good time.” He laughed and I could hear others laughing in the background. Then he ended the call again. I was now getting worried. How had they got hold of Oliver’s phone? I was convinced he wasn’t ‘upstairs’ or with anyone’s sister. And from the conversation and their attitude, I doubted they were any acquaintances of his.
Briefly I thought maybe I’d misdialled; that I’d got a wrong number. The youth had called me by my name and Oliver’s name had appeared when the youth rang me. No doubt about it; they had his phone. I rang his number again. I was going to have a rant at the youth, demand to know how he got the phone and to make sure it was returned to Oliver. The phone rang several times then went to answer phone mode. I tried again, but the same thing happened.
What could I do now? Phone the police and report it stolen? They’d probably tell me there was nothing they could do unless Oliver reported it. I didn’t have his parents’ home phone number, and apart from ‘the Newcastle area’ I didn’t even know where he was. And, if he’d lost it, why hadn’t he rung me to tell me? The answer to that came to me almost immediately and I felt foolish for even considering the question. My number would have been on his phone. There was no reason why he should have remembered it.
I slept fitfully. Each time I drifted off, I dreamt the youth who’d answered the phone and a few friends were trying to get into the house. In my dream, they’d used Oliver’s phone to locate where I lived and were determined to have their fun with me. Eventually, I must have slept for I was woken by my home phone ringing. I looked at the clock; it was nearly a quarter to eleven. I was still shattered and it took a few seconds for me to realise it was Oliver calling me. His voice was strangely muffled, as though he was speaking with his face in a towel.
Rather than be relieved, I was suddenly angry with him. Why had he allowed someone else to use his phone? And if he had my number, why hadn’t he called last night? I told him about the disgusting calls I’d had the previous night. I was blaming him for them, even though I knew I was being unreasonable. I needed to vent my anger, my disappointment at not being able to speak to him, because he had never before let me down. Patiently, he waited until I’d run out of steam before he apologised and explained what had happened.
His father had had a stroke on the morning after he’d arrived and had been taken to hospital. Oliver had been to see him on the Friday afternoon, but had parked on a meter and had only enough change for an hour. In the hospital shop he’d bought a magazine to get some more change and then gone back to top up the meter. Almost immediately after adding the required coins, he was surrounded by three youths. They had knives and demanded money. Oliver knew better than to play the hero, especially when he was outnumbered and they were armed. He handed over his wallet. It all seemed too easy to his assailants. If he’d handed over his wallet so easily, what else could they take? They took his watch and then his phone. And then the one behind him kicked him behind his knee. He fell to the ground and then all three of them started kicking him, in the back, the front and his face. Fortunately a car turned into the road looking for a space and the three youths ran away. The driver saw him lying on the ground. He didn’t have far to go to casualty but they kept him in overnight for observation.
That morning, he’d phoned his secretary at her home. Fortunately, it was a number he did remember. He’d asked her to go into the office to find my number, even though the office was closed. She’d only just called back. I asked how he was. He was bruised and ached and his face was puffed, but with no broken bones. However, he joked that he was glad I couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t win any prizes in the beauty stakes.
It was a few minutes before I remembered his father had had a stroke. How was he? I asked. “Looking much better that me,” was his reply, and then he said it hurt him to laugh. Fortunately, his father had been rushed to hospital in time and the stroke was only mild, so his father was actually quite well. He was also wallowing in the attention he was getting and feeling aggrieved that his son was trying to divert attention to himself.
We spoke for another twenty minutes or so. He’d given a statement to the police that morning. There had been a couple of other muggings the same evening and it seemed the same people were involved. He would let them know about the call I’d had from them. There was always an outside possibility one extra bit of information could make a difference in the case.
He would be travelling home on the Monday morning. If I could bear to look at him, he’d love to see me. He didn’t feel like going out for a meal, but we could have a takeaway, like the day my house flooded. Why didn’t he come to me for dinner? I asked when he said he’d be home by tea-time. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but one he gratefully accepted.
I started planning the meal almost immediately. I wanted it to be special.