Page 50
‘Oh, Jacob. How about just this time, you try to make that nothing into something? Have you got her number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, just call her. Life’s too short and then we die. Just do it, before it’s too late.’
He walked halfway home before he could pluck up the courage to do it. Half past four, standing in the dark beneath a deserted bus shelter on a quiet road between his mother’s house and the first lights of Brentwell, beneath a flickering streetlight and with snow pattering gently around him, Jacob finally mustered the courage. His phone had ten percent battery. It would be a good excuse if it cut out.
His breath came in little gasps. His heart thundered so hard it was bruising the inside of his chest. He scrolled through the phonebook to Charlotte Harding new CH volunteer. Gritting his teeth and letting out a little growl of frustration, he pressed CALL.
It rang three times. He had decided to give up at five. Four … then: ‘Hello?’
‘Ah—’
‘Who is this?’
‘Jacob.’
A pause. Disappointment? He waited for the call to go dead.
‘Jacob? From the tearoom? And the children’s home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. Hello.’
Her voice was so lovely he didn’t want her to stop talking, but when she paused he knew he had to say something back.
‘I’m sorry to call so late….’
‘It’s okay. I do have to go out in a moment, but I’ve got a couple of minutes.’
It was better than nothing. A couple of minutes talking to Charlotte was worth a lifetime talking to anyone else. He knew that with absolute certainty, although he wished he could be greedy and get a couple of hours.
‘Lisa at the children’s home gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’
His heart could have given way. He had to sit down on the damp, dirty bus shelter seat just to stop himself falling over.
‘I just wanted to ask you … it’s a trivial thing, actually.’
‘I’m sure it’s not.’
Will you marry me? Like, right now? Over the phone would do. Anything. Take me out of this misery that’s my life and let me stand beneath the shining light of yours, you wonderful, wonderful thing.
‘I’m trying to get in touch with the … ah … mother of one of your pupils.’
‘Oh.’ A hint of disappointment. Perhaps she knew which ones were single, of an eligible age? But surely a hint of potential jealousy was a good thing? Was she jealous? Was he out of his mind? Was he was he was he—
‘Toad!’ he cried, with a little too much energy, then found himself gasping for a breath he had forgotten to take. ‘Mrs. Toad. Mrs. Clarice Toad? I’m trying to get in contact with … Mrs. … Toad.’
‘Oh, right.’ The optimism had returned. ‘Billy’s mother?’
‘Billy? Yes, Billy. Billy’s mother. Clarice … Toad.’
He wondered if he’d said her name enough times. Toad was starting to imprint itself on his tongue, when all he really wanted to say was Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte—
‘Charlotte?’
