For a start, she kept asking if I had the SIM card from the phone, and I tried to explain to her that my phone, along with the damn SIM card, was no more. I told her that it had been melted away into a puddle of silicon, solder and plastic. “You shouldn’t have put the phone battery in a fire,” she said. “It’s not good for the environment.” Only a semblance of remaining decency prevented me from strangling her at this point. Finally, we neared the end of our tortuous affair. I had the phone in my hand, as yet uncharged, and I had my stack of money ready and available for payment. “Do you have any form of identification?” she asked, somewhat belatedly to my mind. I proudly flourished my passport. “That won’t do,” she said. “I need something with your address on it. Do you have a utility bill?”
I stared at her. “Have you listened to anything I have told you?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Then how would I have a utility bill if my house has been completely burned to a crisp?” I said. “At the time, I hadn’t exactly thought that a utility bill was something I needed to save from the inferno along with my life.” My voice rose to a crescendo. But I somehow managed not to boil over completely. “Sorry,” I said more calmly. “No, I don’t have a utility bill.”
“Then I’m sorry, sir, I must have something to confirm your address.”
We were getting nowhere.
“Can you please produce a duplicate of my last month’s phone bill?” I asked her, now back to my usual calm tone.
“Certainly, sir,” she said. I gave her my cell phone number, and, unbelievably, she also wanted the first line of my address, for security reasons. I told her. A printer under the counter whirred, and she handed over a copy of my bill, complete with my full address printed in the top right-hand corner.
“There,” I said, handing it back to her. “One utility bill.”
She didn’t bat her thickly mascaraed eyelashes.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, and processed my order. Hallelujah!
“Can I leave the phone here to charge for an hour?” I asked her.
“Sorry,” she said. “You will have to do that at home.”
I sighed. Never mind, I thought, I’ll try elsewhere.
In the end, I bought an in-car charger from her and again sat in the Mondeo with my new phone connected to the cigarette lighter socket. Progress had been slow. I looked at my wrist. No watch. It had been on my bedside table. The car clock told me it was half past eleven. Half past five in the morning in Chicago. Still too early to call Caroline, even if I knew the number. I was sure she would call me when she woke. I hoped my phone would be sufficiently charged by then.
I left it charging while I went for a coffee. I sat in the window of a café with the car parked right outside. I had needed to leave the car unlocked with the keys in the ignition in order for the charger to work, so I kept a close eye on it. I didn’t fancy the prospect of having to go back to the young woman to explain that my new phone had been stolen before I had even had a chance to use it.
I next went into a luggage shop and bought myself a suitcase, which, during the following hour and a half, I proceeded to fill with new pants and socks, five new shirts, three new pairs of chinos, a navy blue blazer, two tweed jackets and a tie. Fortunately, my work clothes, the sets of specially designed Max Moreton embroidered tunics and the large-check trousers, were safe at the restaurant. I never wore them home, since they went every morning with the tablecloths to a commercial laundry. But, I thought, I would look a bit stupid wearing a chef’s tunic to the Cadogan Hall next week.
Caroline called around two o’clock and was appropriately horrified to hear my news about the cottage.
“But are you all right?” she asked for the umpteenth time.
I assured her that I was fine. I told her that I was staying with Carl for a couple of days, and I would find myself some temporary accommodation while I decided what to do long-term.
“You can come and live with me,” she said.
“I would love to,” I said, smiling. “But I need to be nearer to the restaurant, at least for a bit. I’ll think of something. It’s all a bit hectic in my mind at the moment.”
“You look after yourself,” she ordered.
I promised I would.
“I’ll call you at seven your time, after rehearsal,” she said, and hung up.
I looked again at my empty wrist. It seemed a long time until seven my time.
Using the rest of my cash, I bought myself a new watch in one of the Newmarket High Street jewelers. That was better, I thought, as I checked to see if it was running properly. My existence was regaining some semblance of normalcy.
I returned to my bank and drew out another sheaf of banknotes and used some of them to buy a box of chocolates and a bouquet of spring flowers for my neighbor.
I parked the Mondeo on the road outside my cottage, the same road I had rolled across the previous night. I took a brief look at the sorry remains of my abode. It was not a pretty sight, with its blackened walls standing pitifully alone and roofless, pointing upwards at the gray sky above. I turned away gloomily and went and knocked on my neighbor’s door. She answered, not in her pink ensemble of last night but in a green tweed skirt with a long-sleeved cream sweater and sensible brown shoes. Her hair was as neat as before, but this time without the hairnet.
“Oh hello, dear,” she said, smiling. She looked at the bouquet. “Oh, are those for me? They’re lovely. Come on in.”
I gave her the flowers, and she headed back towards the kitchen. I closed her front door and followed, sitting again at the now-familiar kitchen table.
“Would you like some tea, dear?” she said as she placed the flowers in a vase by the sink.
“I’d love some,” I said.
She set the kettle to boil and fussed around with her flowers until she was happy with the arrangement.
“There,” she said at length. “So beautiful. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m not sure what I would have done without you last night.”
“Nonsense, dear,” she said. “I was just glad to be able to help.”
We sat and drank tea, just as we had done some twelve hours ago.
“Do you know yet what caused it?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “The fire brigade say they will send their investigation team to have a look. It’s pretty well burned everything. You can just about tell the difference between what was the fridge and what was the washing machine, but even those are badly melted by the heat. The oven is recognizable, but the rest has seemingly gone completely.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” said my kindly neighbor.
“Well, at least it didn’t get me,” I said with a smile.
“No, dear,” she said, patting my arm. “I’m glad about that.”
So was I.
“Do you know what you will do?” she asked.
“I’m staying with a work colleague for the next couple of days,” I said. “Then I’ll try to find somewhere more permanent.”
“I really meant with the house, dear,” she said. “Are you going to rebuild?”
“Oh, I expect so,” I said. “I’ll have to wait and see what the insurance company says.”
I stayed with her for over an hour, and by that time, dear, she had showed me photos of all her many children and her very many grandchildren. Most of them lived in Australia, and she was obviously quite lonely and thankful for having someone to talk to. We opened the chocolates, and I had a second cup of tea.
I finally extricated myself from her life story and went back next door for a closer look at the remnants of my castle. I was not alone. A man in a dark blue jersey and royal blue trousers was picking his way through the ash.