Telephone in a Wilderness

 The slate grey mountains had overlooked Michael's path ever since he slammed the doors on his off white Mini Metro. It wasn't equipped with central locking so he still manually checked every door handle before heading on his way. He regularly got stick from his mates, family and even his mother about the age of his motor. Truth be told, he actually liked hearing it- it set him apart from his peers. Made him special in a way. 

Anyway, today- he'd convinced himself- was going to be a good day. He'd finished work early on the Friday to take advantage of Michael Fish's sunny outlook and had booked a room in the Lake District at an out of season price. He'd decided to scale a few of the peaks before heading back to spend the evening with his new girlfriend Bryce. Their relationship had been flowering recently, and Michael wanted to move to the next level, but couldn't shake several seeds of doubt that had set root in his mind. 

As he tied his faithful walking boots, he knew the fresh air and time in the slate grey mountains would surely clear his head. Those self-same dour peaks, new found sales badges of the tourist board of England, rose up around him, creating a stadium effect with Michael as their only actor. They pierced into the rapidly gathering clouds- maybe Fish was wrong? Unperturbed, he set off on a route he knew very well from countless childhood walks he had undertook in the area. 

As his boots crunched underfoot, his brain wrestled with the idea of Bryce. Yes their relationship had been developing rapidly over the last few weeks- he had even offered her a drawer at his place. She had reciprocated at hers. Toothbrushes had first migrated, waving at each other as they crossed paths. CDs and even perfume and aftershave bottles had also followed suit. They'd even been on a few 'couply' nights out with mutual friends from work, yet he still was bogged down by the potential conversations girls inevitably had whilst powdering their noses. Still something nagged at Michael. He kept kidding himself that he was imagining it, she was after all flirty with alot of people... But before he knew it, he was falling down the rabbit hole, comparing her behaviour before and after they were together, thirstily hunting for slight incidences of change. 

His thighs and calves began to niggle, then scream out in satisfying pain as he scaled the peak. Each footstep becoming more painful, yet conversely bringing him closer to ending the pain. Even to an experienced runner, climbing these Lakeland fells required a sinewy strength- not something every one had. He's invited Bryce up here a few weeks ago, but she declined- citing a family get- together. In truth he'd been hurt that he hadn't been invited- surely this was the perfect opportunity for him to meet her parents?

Michael- don't you think that we're moving too quick? I just don't want you to get hurt that's all...

He'd seethed on that particular drive home- the steering wheel on the Mini Metro still had the imprints. Talk about being frozen out. A huge plume of exhaled gas escaped from Michael's lungs as the mountain had been conquered. In a moment of quiet reflection, he plucked his wiry glasses from his face, and wiped the combination of steam, rain and sweat from the frames and lenses. His crumbled copy of Wainwright's Pictoral Guide to the Lakeland Fells offered brief comfort, but suddenly he snapped back to reality. He'd been fooling himself. The walk had invigorated his body but his paranoia was bouncing around his head like the Tasmanian Devil- being just as destructive too. What are you doing right now, Bryce...? His phone had no new messages, however, he knew she'd seen his last text- the computerised eye ball was showing. Surely she had time for a quick reply?

Thankfully the descent was alot easier- then arctic temperatures at the summit had been replaced with the warm blanket like glow of sunlight kissing his skin. Still very much in the countryside, a strange red telephone box came into view. It wasn't the first time he'd seen this particular one. At least BT hadn't demolished it with their swathe of replacements in the 1990s- tearing away another one of Britain's iconic landmarks. Despite it being maybe the twentieth time he'd seen this phone box, he'd never ventured in. He'd never needed to. This would be the day! Surely this was the romantic gesture they would tell their grandchildren about- do you remember when... he even tailed off in his own mind. It was confirmation he sought, one way or another. He yanked open the door, expecting the same urine smell you'd expect in a city centre callbox. Thankfully it didn't, although it did had a damp musty stench as a replacement. 

He lifted the receiver, then immediately put it down. Don't bother her Michael...she'll be busy. Busy doing what. His mind was still busy playing mental tennis. He steeled himself and grabbed it again. His fingers shook as he dialled the number. He knew it off by heart. Did she know his off by heart? Doubtful. The ring tone sounded repeatedly, seemingly forever, then clicked...

125 miles away a brand new iPhone, practically out of its box, began trilling, the sound of a boiling kettle almost drowning it out.

"Just answer that for me will you", came a voice from the kitchen.

The green button was pressed...

"Will do... Hello? Hello... is anyone there? Bryce's phone? Bryce Chatterley?" It was a male voice. Disbelief curdled with a self knowing almost satisfaction in Michael's brain. He stared at it, willing this to be untrue. Why had he rang? Now he knew! He slammed the receiver. Then picked it up and slammed again. And again. Again. Again. Until the brittle plastic shattered in his hands. Some of the shards created superficial cuts to his hands; thin spots of crimson crept to the surface of his skin. 

The line suddenly went dead. The man looked puzzled, then quickly forgot. Telemarketers he didn't doubt. Such a nuisance.

"Will you hurry up Bryce?" called the man impatiently from the living room. "You know we're going out".

"Oh hold your horses, you've always been the same, so impatient", she retorted. "Good coffee, like fine wine, cannot be rushed. You should know that by now. Anyway who was on the phone?"

Michael Fish was completely wrong. Rain now lashed onto Michael's windscreen. His tiny decrepit wipers battled in vain to clear the water but it was relentless. Again, his hands were gripped to the steering wheel, sinking into the same imprints he'd made weeks previously. His face, similar to this windscreen, was awash with moisture, only his were the sickening tears of failure, sorrow and embarrassment. His hands tried in vain to quell the flow. He had made his mind up once and for all. 

"I tried shouting to them but the line went dead- no caller ID either? Not your stalker again?" said the man. 

"Ha ha, chance would be a fine thing- anyway I'm with Michael now and I'll have you know I'm very happy... for the first time in ages actually", replied Bryce. 

"I was wondering how that was going on, my little sister, in love... how embarrassing", replied the man imitating a vomit gesture. 

"Oh belt up David- imagine me, Bryce Chatterley, in love and has a grown up mature brother... no I knew it was too good to be true... anyway drink your coffee, it's time to pay Mum a visit"

The same mountains that had observed the mountaineer now saw a Mini Metro approach a T junction. Two big signs in reflective lettering stood before him. Manchester... London... He hesitated, indicating right towards Manchester. An old habit. He picked up his mobile in disgust, searched for 'Bryce C', then hit BLOCK, threw his phone on the seat and screeched off for London.