long since he has been within one of these things? Five years? Ten? It smells of stale, sickly deodorant combined with something foul underneath. He wonders what the space is used for predominantly now—not, he suspects, for the making of legitimate calls.
As he feeds his change into the metal slot and taps in the number he even considers the wisdom of his actions. But soon instinct and tradition take hold.
“Caroline?”
Her voice is frosty and comfortless and achingly distant. “Toby? What is it? Why are you calling on this weird number?”
“Have you seen the news?”
A pause. “The news? Toby... you realise that we can’t just chat like this anymore, don’t you? We’ve got to move on with our own lives. Find our own happiness.”
“You don’t understand. No. I’m not calling just to... chew the fat.”
“The what? Listen, sorry if I sound harsh but I just can’t imagine that either of us has anything new to say to one another. Toby? Toby, are you still there?”
Dr Judd has been distracted midway through the speech by a knock on the glass of the box. There is a man outside—early thirties and balding, yet solidly built and in possession both of a braggart’s swagger and of the very worst collection of teeth which Toby has ever seen. The interloper looks extremely cross and is at present busy miming making a phone call, one hand clamped angrily to ear, the other gesticulating expressively.
“Give me a minute,” Toby says.
A tut. “You phoned me!”
“Sorry. Not you. There’s a man outside.”
“What? Where are you, Toby? What’s going on?”
“Something’s happened, darling.”
“Not ‘darling’. We’ve been through this.”
Another tap on the pane. Toby snorts and says: “In. A. Minute.”
The man sets his face into an expression of what he presumably imagines to be menace.
“Darling, I’m at a crossroads and I want to do the right thing but I’m scared and I’m fairly sure I’m in real danger and I need the help of... somebody I love.”
There is a long silence from the other end of the line. Another tap on the window which, Toby, frowning, ignores. It comes again and, in a surge of fury, he gives the stranger his middle finger.
“I’m going to sound like a bit of bitch now, Toby. I know that. But you’ve got to understand that we simply can’t do this any longer. I’m with J J. And I’m really not coming back. Ever. It’s necessary for you to accept these things.”
Toby bites hard on his lower lip. His vision seems to flicker. “Then I’ll...”
“Yes? What will you do?”
“Then I’ll do it on my own.”
As Toby places the receiver back into its cradle the door is wrenched open and he is pulled from the booth.
“Don’t fucking give me the fucking finger.” The stranger’s breath is rank and smells of tobacco. He is wearing too much cheap deodorant.
“Perhaps you need to learn some patience,” Toby suggests.
“More like you need to learn some respect.”
“Oh, really?” Toby has the mad, giddy sensation that he might be about to enter into his first ever fight. If he imagines that the stranger’s face is that of the noted cultural commentator Dr J J Salazar he suspects that he might even stand a chance.
The man steps closer. “Who uses a phone box these days, anyway?”
“Besides you, you mean?”
“I’m waiting for a call. I weren’t making one.”
“I see. Then I’m terribly sorry to have hijacked your office.” His appetite for confrontation already flagging, Toby turns now and starts to walk again the way he has come, towards the bench and the town beyond.
“Mate!” The man is shouting after him.
“What?”
“You’re not scared? Turning your back on me?”
Judd stops, turns back. “No, I’m not frightened of you,” he says. “Not that I mightn’t have been once. But after today—when you realise the scale of what’s against you, when you realise you’ve got nothing left to lose... well, there’s an odd
As he feeds his change into the metal slot and taps in the number he even considers the wisdom of his actions. But soon instinct and tradition take hold.
“Caroline?”
Her voice is frosty and comfortless and achingly distant. “Toby? What is it? Why are you calling on this weird number?”
“Have you seen the news?”
A pause. “The news? Toby... you realise that we can’t just chat like this anymore, don’t you? We’ve got to move on with our own lives. Find our own happiness.”
“You don’t understand. No. I’m not calling just to... chew the fat.”
“The what? Listen, sorry if I sound harsh but I just can’t imagine that either of us has anything new to say to one another. Toby? Toby, are you still there?”
Dr Judd has been distracted midway through the speech by a knock on the glass of the box. There is a man outside—early thirties and balding, yet solidly built and in possession both of a braggart’s swagger and of the very worst collection of teeth which Toby has ever seen. The interloper looks extremely cross and is at present busy miming making a phone call, one hand clamped angrily to ear, the other gesticulating expressively.
“Give me a minute,” Toby says.
A tut. “You phoned me!”
“Sorry. Not you. There’s a man outside.”
“What? Where are you, Toby? What’s going on?”
“Something’s happened, darling.”
“Not ‘darling’. We’ve been through this.”
Another tap on the pane. Toby snorts and says: “In. A. Minute.”
The man sets his face into an expression of what he presumably imagines to be menace.
“Darling, I’m at a crossroads and I want to do the right thing but I’m scared and I’m fairly sure I’m in real danger and I need the help of... somebody I love.”
There is a long silence from the other end of the line. Another tap on the window which, Toby, frowning, ignores. It comes again and, in a surge of fury, he gives the stranger his middle finger.
“I’m going to sound like a bit of bitch now, Toby. I know that. But you’ve got to understand that we simply can’t do this any longer. I’m with J J. And I’m really not coming back. Ever. It’s necessary for you to accept these things.”
Toby bites hard on his lower lip. His vision seems to flicker. “Then I’ll...”
“Yes? What will you do?”
“Then I’ll do it on my own.”
As Toby places the receiver back into its cradle the door is wrenched open and he is pulled from the booth.
“Don’t fucking give me the fucking finger.” The stranger’s breath is rank and smells of tobacco. He is wearing too much cheap deodorant.
“Perhaps you need to learn some patience,” Toby suggests.
“More like you need to learn some respect.”
“Oh, really?” Toby has the mad, giddy sensation that he might be about to enter into his first ever fight. If he imagines that the stranger’s face is that of the noted cultural commentator Dr J J Salazar he suspects that he might even stand a chance.
The man steps closer. “Who uses a phone box these days, anyway?”
“Besides you, you mean?”
“I’m waiting for a call. I weren’t making one.”
“I see. Then I’m terribly sorry to have hijacked your office.” His appetite for confrontation already flagging, Toby turns now and starts to walk again the way he has come, towards the bench and the town beyond.
“Mate!” The man is shouting after him.
“What?”
“You’re not scared? Turning your back on me?”
Judd stops, turns back. “No, I’m not frightened of you,” he says. “Not that I mightn’t have been once. But after today—when you realise the scale of what’s against you, when you realise you’ve got nothing left to lose... well, there’s an odd
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