I found a phone on a wall in the park, which I picked up and inspected.
It was just a brick, really, easily mistaken for one that had been dislodged from the wall.
It didn’t have a lock screen, so I started using it straight away.
The first number in the contact list was for a taxi company, A2B Taxis, so I booked one to come to the park.
“What name?” the taxi operator asked.
“Er . . . Adam,” I said, having seen the name next down the list, and hung up.
Next, I rang Annabel, who didn’t pick up. I left a message anyway, pretending to be a pilot, telling her to fold her tray and put her belt on.
After that, most of the calls I made and messages I left were in the guise of the pilot, of various different accents and nationalities.
I even answered a call as the pilot, I think from New Zealand – or that’s the accent I was trying for. Someone antipodean.
“Have you activated flight mode,” I said. “After take-off, it is essent—”
The woman on the other end was talking over me, telling me they needed to speak with Malcom urgently.
I asked for the flight and seat number, and kept asking for one as she continued arguing with me.
Following that, she dressed me down using some pretty old school words first learned on the playground.
By now I’d wandered part way down the park to look out for Adam’s taxi, and that’s when the police surrounded me.
vss #68
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