Saracen scratched his head sleepily as the operator did whatever operators do with jackplugs. He lifted the telephone from the bedside table and balanced it on the edge of the bed while he dialled the hospital number. “I don’t believe it…I just do not believe it,” he complained as he struggled to free an arm from the bedclothes. The bleeper in his jacket pocket had just gone off. Saracen woke two hours later but not of his own accord. He was going to take off his clothes, get into bed and sleep until he woke up. It was Saturday, it was eight in the evening and he had promised himself something special. Good, there was nothing to make him change his plans. A card to say that the electricity man had called, a circular from Safeways promising ten pence off washing powder, a brown envelope marked ‘Inland Revenue’ and a white one marked ‘Northampton’ which said it was a Visacard bill. He closed it again with his heel and put down his things before clicking on the hall light and picking up the assorted pile of paper. He found the key and opened the door it swung back like a snowplough, clearing mail behind it. “God was it ever different,” he muttered, changing over the groceries. When he got to the third floor he put the loaf under his left arm leaving his right hand free to search in his trouser pocket for the key. James Saracen carried a loaf of bread in one hand and a carton of milk in the other as he climbed the stairs to his apartment.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |