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I stall in the entry hall, patting down my pockets to check I haven’t forgotten anything.
My heart skips a beat.
Where the hell is my phone?
Chewing my lip, I riffle through my bag and check both pockets again.
Nope.Definitely not there.
With a heavy sigh, I bolt back upstairs and search my room for the lost phone. I look everywhere: the dresser, the bed, the windowsill, even behind the TV. But there’s no sign of it anywhere.
I grit my teeth in mental perplexity.
Come on, hold it together. The phone must be here somewhere. You just need to calm down and think. You saw it this morning so it’s definitely here.
Racing back downstairs, I check the sideboard in the kitchen.
No.
I check the cupboards under the sink, the fridge, everywhere.
Nope. Not there either.
Now I’m really starting to panic. I need that phone because it’s the only place I’ve got Nick’s number stored. Technically, I could leave home without it, but if I take the chance and something goes wrong, say Nick’s running late, or we can’t find each other, how will I be able to contact him?
I stand in the middle of the kitchen, running my fingers down my face.Why does nothing ever go right?
Dad appears at the door, arms folded, watching me thoughtfully. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Have you seen my phone anywhere?”
“No, I haven’t.”
In a blind panic, I continue my search, ploughing through every room of the house like a bull in a china shop. I’m on the verge of tears and ready to pull my hair out when fifty minutes later, I find the bloody thing tucked behind my CD rack. With shaky hands, I clutch the phone like a precious trophy.
Then, with a muffled sob, I dial Nick’s number to let him know I’m running seriously late; his phone goes straight to voicemail. Cursing under my breath, I punch out a text to let him know I’m on my way. There’s nothing for it now but to go to West End and just hope for the best.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks as I hurry through the hall. “You’ve got yourself into a right state. Who is this person you’re meeting anyway?”
“It’s no one you know,” I snap. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
Grabbing my bag, I peck him on the cheek and race out the house, half-running, half-skipping down the road toward the train station. I look a royal mess, but figure I can fix myself during the journey.
An hour later, I arrive at Leicester Square station feeling like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. Myhair is all over the place, my face hot and puffy from the packed commute. The evening’s turned into a complete nightmare.
Frantically, I push through the crowds of Saturday-night revellers and clamber up the escalator, three steps at a time. Right now, every single second is critical and I won’t let anything stand in my way. When I get to the top, I race through the ticket barriersand head straight for the Cambridge Circus exit.
Back in the open air, my stomach lurches with apprehension. Nick is nowhere to be seen. I glance left and right, scanning the dark streets.
Still no sign of him.
Did we definitely agree to meet at the Cambridge exit?
My head starts spinning. There are so many people coming and going, so many different faces, it’s hard to tell who’s who.
I look at my watch.
Seven-fifteen.
