Phone Home

I asked a zombie with a clipboard if I could borrow her phone. I’d guessed she was an organiser and not a random wearing a dead-office-worker costume. She also had the thin lips of someone who enjoyed data entry.

‘Why?’

For once in America I tried honesty. Well, partial, at least. I smiled an asking-the-teacher-if-I-could-go-to-the-toilet-mid-lesson smile.

‘I need to call home.’

Her forehead wrinkled. ‘Are you Irish?’ she asked.

I couldn’t deny my heritage. Dad would go crazy. (And it was a change from Australian.)

‘English,’ I said, hoping this was a good thing.

‘Have you ever been to Brighton? I’ve got friends in Brighton. The Haydens.’

‘Brighton is nice,’ I said. She looked like she wanted me to continue. ‘But I’ve never been.’ She continued to look like she wanted me to continue. ‘And I’ve never met anyone called Hayden.’

Her face crumpled in disappointment. I kind of wished I’d lied.

‘Well, there’s probably a payphone in reception. Sorry I can’t be of more assistance.’ She pointed across the field. ‘Right now, I’ve a coach load of Boy Scouts missing in the Osage reservation. You’d think they’d be good at map reading.’

I hurried in the direction she indicated, trying to not think about where Jennifer might be heading, the interrogation rooms with single naked light bulbs. Instead I practised what I’d say to whoever picked up the phone back home.

‘Don’t be angry because I’ve not done anything wrong. I’m still on my way to Hollywood but I don’t have my phone or my wallet. Could you ring the studio, please? I’m worried I’m going to miss my scene. Like, if I’m really unlucky. And it’s totally not my fault. Maybe they could send a car or something? I was helping out a friend. Thanks, then.’

I pulled at the reception door. It was locked. I felt a bit teary again and tried to ignore the images of Jennifer’s face that kept appearing in my thoughts like a weird, broken Netflix stream played in my mind.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

‘What you after, junior?’

A man in blue trousers, a blue jacket and a blue baseball cap stood with his hands on his hips. Each item of clothing held the school’s crest.

‘A payphone,’ I said.

‘You Australian?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t know you could get Australian zombies.’ I couldn’t be bothered to correct him, so I shrugged. ‘Reception’s locked down today on account of security. The school doesn’t want the undead wandering around its insides, you know what I mean? Who does? And, anyway, the phone’s not worked since 2012. Vandals. The closest payphone is down McNabb Field Road,’ he said. ‘Straight out of here. There’s a Hampton Inn. Won’t take you five minutes.’

I said, ‘Thanks.’ He said, ‘You’re welcome.’ Neither of us meant it.

Despite its name, the Hampton Inn wasn’t a pub. It was a hotel and my breathing relaxed when I realised this. There’d be no drunken Americans shouting at me. Or fewer, at least. From the outside the building looked fairly new, the ground floor clad in interlinked slabs of stone, like caveman Lego, and the rest of the tall structure was a stark white. It sat off the main road like a shipwrecked ferry.

Shoulders slumped, I walked in, hoping my undead appearance wouldn’t upset anybody. Because, I told myself, this was the correct decision. I. Was. Doing. The. Right. Thing. Clapping emoji.

The man at reception didn’t blink. He turned from his desk computer and said that his name was Henry and he was looking forward to helping me. He had a voice like a mosquito whine.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘My name is Jacob. And I’m looking for a payphone.’

‘Absolutely no problem at all,’ he said. ‘If you care to turn round, you’ll see there’s one behind you, sir.’

He wasn’t wrong. It was attached to the wall in a darkened corner. A thin plastic shield arched over its boxlike body.

I lifted the handset and fed my musical-theatre-bus coins into the grey plastic. Taking a deep breath, I dialled home, not forgetting the international code. Had I ever used a payphone before? I’m not sure I’d even seen one outside of TV.

Mum answered. Her voice was as clear as if she’d been standing next to me.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Mum, it’s Jacob!’

‘Jay! Where are you?’

She didn’t sound that excited. I was expecting more excitement. Rehearsed lines ran through my mind.

‘Great. Oklahoma, I think. Anyway …’ There sounded a distant beeping sound. ‘I’ve lost my phone.’

‘You’re not in Hollywood? What’s the problem? Are you okay?’

‘The bus.’

Mum sighed. The beeping grew in volume. The LCD screen on the payphone said ‘add more credit’.

‘What about the bus?’

‘It wasn’t as fast as the plane. And America is so big.’

‘Jacob? Is everything okay? Don’t panic me.’

‘I’m safe. It’s like an adventure.’

‘Mothers don’t like adventures. Why aren’t you in Hollywood already? Is it still snowing? Are you going to arrive in time? Imagine if you … your dad … are you eating, Jacob? Are you keeping hydrated?’

‘Everything’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ve lost my phone, that’s all.’

‘Jacob? What’s the meaning of this?’

It was Dad. And I’d been full ready to admit everything, to explain how scared I felt, how alone, in the middle of the middle of America, surrounded by musical-theatre-loving zombies and strangers who thought I was Australian. I was on the edge of confession. Of asking what I should do. But I couldn’t shake the feeling, a pulling sense somewhere near my heart, that I’d let Jennifer down. That it was my fault she’d been caught.

And, honestly, I think her wrist really was troubling her.

‘Hi,’ a new me said. ‘Just ringing to say hi. That’s all.’

And the beeping stopped. And the phone’s screen flashed CALL TERMINATED. I’d run out of cash.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘What now?’

But there was no answer in the phone’s droning tone. I’d have to decide for myself.