A Random Call
Mr. Paul Harris? the voice on the other end of the phone is crisp and formal.
Yes, I’m Paul Harris. Who am I speaking to?
This is the manager of the local nursery. In a week, your daughter turns three, and well have to transfer her to another institution. Youre really not planning to take her home?
Hold on a second, what nursery? Whose daughter? I have a son, Charlie I mutter, completely stunned.
Hope Pauline Simmons. Isnt she your daughter?
No, not mine. Im Harris. Paul Harris.
My apologies, the voice sighs, clearly theres been some kind of mix-up.
Frequent beeps follow, ringing in my ears like a church bell.
What the devil! I grumble. Some daughter, nursery, honestly! Whats going on with their paperwork over there?!
But the call sticks in my heart like a thorn. For some reason, I cant stop thinking about children living without a proper home, without a loving mum or caring dad, without doting grandparents. Even Charlie has the whole family aunts, uncles, cousins from both sides
Claire immediately notices my distracted mood, my absent-minded answers nothing escapes the sharp eye of a wife Ive lived with for almost ten years, and known since we sat together in reception class.
She waits until evening, then at dinner asks outright whats going on.
Whats the little girls name then? she says.
Who? I reply in confusion (how did she know about the girl? Maybe someone called her too?).
Hope, I answer. Little Hope.
Ah, Little Hope, is it Im your Claire, and shes your Little Hope?! my wifes voice climbs.
Yes I reply. Hope Pauline Simmons.
Why dont you tell me her passport number! Claire shouts.
She doesnt have a passport. Why would she need one?
Is she a refugee, then? Claire shrills, a bit quieter now.
Whos a refugee? Im completely lost.
Your Hope, is she a refugee? Wants to move in, does she? Go on, you scoundrel!
What am I supposed to say? I stare, dumbfounded, forgetting about dinner.
Then Claire starts crying. Not dramatically, not for show, just angry tears rolling down onto her apron.
Ill leave for Mums tomorrow. Just know, you wont get Charlie she says between sobs.
Claire, whats happened to you? Why Mums?
You thought Id sit here playing handmaid to you and your mistress, your Hope? she bursts out.
At last, I begin to realise how crazy the situation is.
I sit Claire down on the little kitchen sofa and explain everything about the mornings call.
Now Claire cries out of sympathy for the little girl. Honestly, women have endless tears, and for every reason and at any time! I cant stand womens tears, especially Claires; they unsettle me.
Eating after all this feels impossible I barely pick at my food.
I wake up in the night to find Claire beside me, rummaging through my phone! In nearly ten years, shes never done that. Clearly, she doesnt trust me looking for evidence of secret messages. The dishonesty hurts deeply. Then she whispers, Paaul, Paaul, nudging me gently.
I pretend to have just woken up.
Paul, was it this landline number that called you?
Yes, I answer automatically that one.
Sleep, then. Claire leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She takes my phone with her.
Easy for her to say sleep. As if I could! I hear the computer click on. I lie there a bit longer, then quietly get up and head to the living room.
Claires moving the mouse frantically, so immersed she doesnt notice me behind her.
Shes typed: Nursery and our town into the search bar.
The computer hums and pulls up everything official website, address, phone number, even pictures of the building. Claire checks the screen against my phone.
Paul, the number matches!
What matches?
The phone number! Its the nurserys!
Thats what I said. And youre checking me out?
Claire swivels on her chair.
Not checking clarifying.
Why??
Paul, this nursery isnt far at all, she says, lost in thought.
Lets go there, shall we? How did they get your phone number if you have nothing to do with them?
Hadnt occurred to me. Perhaps we really should visit, get answers. Otherwise, perhaps theyll assign random children to me forever.
I barely sleep that night. Just as Im finally about to drift off, Claire pokes me in the side again.
Pauul Pauul
What now?
Are you absolutely sure nothing ever happened with anyone? What if just once maybe your first love? Maybe you met again after all those years, feelings returned, and she never told you, just left the girl at the hospital? Well, Paul? Pauul!
What first love, Claire? As soon as I partnered with you in reception class, thats it Ive been with you ever since. Four years ago remember, Charlie had just turned three, started nursery, was sick all the time, youd gone back to work, who stayed home with him? Me. Had to switch to remote working, remember? Endless cough mixtures, tablets, meal plans, doctors visits. Mistresses? I could barely stand up, fell asleep before my head hit the pillow! Never had anyone else, dont have and never will!
How then did your number end up with them? Someone mustve left it!
That question plagues me too. I run through all my old contacts in my head, but none of them fits. Some moved on, some had grandmas minding the kids, the most energetic left for Australia five years ago.
But since life can always surprise you, I decide firmly to visit the nursery the very next day.
We arrive early but arent first a thin, pale man with blond hair sits waiting outside the managers door. Neatly dressed, but somehow scruffy, unkempt. His eyes dart around, hands clutching papers, trembling faintly. Nervously or perhaps still shaken from last nights drinking.
Youre after me, he says unexpectedly in a deep bass.
The door opens and hes called inside. For about fifteen minutes, we hear an even voice interspersed with his deep rumble.
At last, the scruffy man rushes out, now empty-handed, and we are invited in.
Good morning, a pleasant brunette stands by the window, nibbling her glasses edge. What can I help you with?
We’re here about yesterday, I try to joke.
The woman takes her seat.
Look, I dont have time for riddles. Kindly explain your problem clearly and briefly.
I remind her about yesterdays call (the voice is unmistakable).
Oh, that she smiles wearily. Sorry, there was a mistake, the call wasnt meant for you.
Not for me? But you had my number! How did you get it?
You see, Mr Harris, I dialled a wrong digit. The real number starts with 027, but I dialled 037. That youre also Paul Harris is pure coincidence. Happens sometimes He was just in before you.
Who? I ask, though I already know.
Paul Harris Simmons, father of the girl.
So I apologise again and take my leave. Sorry, I have a busy day ahead.
She stands.
Theresa Smith Manager reads her nametag.
Claire clearly reads this too, because she asks:
Ms Smith, will that Paul Harris take the girl?
The manager looks at us and sits again.
No, he wont. The girls mother has passed away, and Paul Harris has seven children by different women. Hes only been here twice in three years, both times because we pressured him. Hope isnt wanted. Any more questions? No? Goodbye then.
We leave, shell-shocked by what we’ve heard and seen.
The older children are just outside enjoying some fresh air. Ones swinging, another slides down the little slide, two boys are racing toy cars on a bench.
Looking at these kids, it slowly dawns on me whats wrong.
In the yard, its quiet. As soon as Charlie steps outside, you get shouts, squeals, noisy chatter. These children are silent, they dont laugh out loud, only whisper to each other. They seem more like little old people. These children grew up too soon they never had a childhood. Just survival cold, hunger, no toys, no clothes, adults indifference, sometimes even cruelty.
I turn to Claire: her eyes are full of tears.
And here come those tears again! Always, for any reason.
We walk slowly towards the gates, and suddenly a shriek cuts through the silence: Mummy! All the kids turn simultaneously. A little girl, arms outstretched, runs to us in a funny bobble hat.
Mummy, mummy!!! she cries. Im right here!!!
She crashes into Claires legs, sobbing so bitterly, so heart-breakingly, that tears well up in my own eyes.
Hope, Hope! down the path comes a childcare worker. She tries to lift the girl, but little Hope clings tightly to Claires leg.
With great difficulty, they manage to coax her off (the staff had a bar of chocolate which did the trick), and we quickly leave the nursery grounds.
In the car, were silent. Claire is trembling, and I feel shaken too. My hands tremble, just like my namesake earlier, so I pull over to collect myself.
Claire glances out the window, nodding toward the sign for the nearest shop, only a few steps away.
Without a word and in complete silence, we step out together, hand in hand, and head into Childrens World.
Looking for a doll and a pink dress.
Our little girl, Hope, will be the prettiest of them all.
