It turns out that when she launched her phone across the room, it gained an ominous-looking crack across the screen protector and completely battered the daisy-print hard case. It’s on, but the screen barely lights up, murky like oil on water. So much for using the train ticket app she diligently installed.
Refusing to subject anyone in the ticket office to her mildly hysterical demeanour, she buys a ticket from the machine, wincing at the price. The next train isn’t for a good forty-five minutes, either.
A few people mill around, including a group of fashionable teenagers.
Typically, the Pumpkin Café on the platform is closed, a sign on the door saying they’ll be back in half an hour. Enough time for her to get a coffee and some sympathy chocolate before she gets on the train.
‘Hey, Siri,’ she sniffles, hoping the microphone isn’t broken. Magically, the little ding that says it’s working sounds. ‘Call Ambrose.’
Somehow, it does.
‘Hey, stinker.’
She’s about to reply, but just hearing Ambrose’s voice makes her bursts into tears again.
‘Wait, are you crying? Haf? What the fuck? Turn video on.’
‘I can’t,’ she sobs. ‘My phone is fucked.’
She sits down heavily on the bench in the station, wincing at the cold metal on her still snow-wet bum. If only Esther had given her time to change clothes before she threw her out.
‘Oh, shit. What happened?’
Somehow, Haf manages to relay the whole mess in between heaving bouts of tears.
A packet of tissue appears in the air in front of her and she looks up to see one of the teenagers holding it out to her. She takes it and whispers a thank-you.
‘I hope your day gets better,’ they say, before scampering back to their friends.
‘Are you being comforted by strangers?’
‘Pretty much,’ she says, balancing the phone between chin and shoulder as she blows her nose.
‘What did you do to your phone, anyway?’
‘Threw it against the wall because I saw Freddie and Jennifer’s engagement announcement.’
‘No!’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hang on a second.’ It sounds like Ambrose moves rooms, followed by a very muffled conversation where Ambrose demands one of the teenagers in the house hands over their laptop.
‘If you don’t give me that laptop,’ they hiss. ‘I will send that girl you like all the videos I took of you doing karaoke. What’s her name? Carmela? I bet she’d love to see your take on Celine Dion.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
There’s a pause where presumably Ambrose is giving them a ‘try me’ look before the teenager relents.
‘Hey, I’m back,’ they say.
‘Are you blackmailing your cousin for me?’ Haf sniffs.
‘Only a little. Look, by the time you get to Paddington, I should be able to get into London with all my stuff. Meet me at St Pancras so we can get some decent coffee, and then we can either come back here, or I’ll take you home to York. Your choice. Does that sound... ? Oh, you’re crying again.’
‘In a good way,’ Haf wails. ‘Because I love you. Thank you. You don’t have to do this.’
‘I know, but I feel responsible. I should have locked you up or something. We could have avoided this whole mess.’
