A Random Call
Mr. Paul Johnson? the voice on the phone was cold and official.
Yes, Im Paul Johnson. Whos calling?
This is the director of the Little Ones Home. Next week your daughter turns three, and well have to transfer her to another establishment. Youre certain you wont be taking her home?
Hold on, what little one? Whose daughter? I have a son, Sammy, I mumbled, stunned.
Hope Pauline Simmons. Isnt she your daughter?
No, she isnt. Im Johnson. Paul Johnson.
Sorry, the tired voice in the receiver said. Seems theres been some confusion.
The dial tone that followed a moment later pounded in my ears like an alarm.
What a mess! I thought. Some daughter, a little one at a homeand youd think their paperwork would be sorted.
But the call settled in my soul like a stubborn splinter. I couldnt shake the thought of children living without a home, without a warm mother, a caring father, fussing grandparents. Sammy has all of themuncles and aunts from both sides, too.
Anne immediately noticed my absent-minded answers and distracted moodnothing gets by my wife, not after nearly ten years of living together, having known each other since the first year of primary school.
She waited till dinner, then asked outright what was going on.
Whats her name? she asked.
Whose? I replied blankly (How did she know about the girl? Had she received a call too?)
Hope, I said. Little Hope.
Oh, so Hope! Im your Annie, but shes Hope, is she? Annes voice grew sharper.
Yes, I said. Hope Pauline Simmons.
Might as well give me her passport number! Annie shouted.
She hasnt got one, what would she need it for?
Is she a refugee or something? my dear wife shrieked, a bit quieter now.
Whos a refugee? Id lost track of everything.
Your Hope, your Hopes a refugee, wants a place to stay, eh? Tell me, you rascal!
What am I supposed to say? I sat, stunned, dinner forgotten.
Anne just broke into tearsnot dramatic, just angry, bitter tears that landed in big drops on her apron.
Ill leave for Mums tomorrow, you know. And you wont get Sammy, she said through tears.
Annie, whats wrong? Why to your mum?
You think Ill play servant for you and your mistress, your Hope? she raged.
It started to dawn on me how absurd this all was.
I gently took Anne by the shoulders, sat her on the kitchen bench, and explained everything about the morning call.
Now Anne cried in sympathy for the little girl. Women seem to have unlimited tears, spilling them for any reasonespecially Anne, and I really cant bear it, it terrifies me.
Eating after such turmoil was the last thing I wantedpicked at my food, lost in thought.
I woke up to Anne standing over me, rifling through my mobile! Nearly ten years together, and never had she checked my phone. So she didnt believe me searching for signs of secret messages. Felt awful, so grim, that distrust.
Then she whispered, Paul, Paul… and poked me gently.
I pretended Id just woken up.
Paul, this is the landline number that called, right?
Yes, I replied mechanically, thats the one.
Sleep, then. Go on. And Anne left, taking my phone with her.
Easy for her to saysleep. As if! Heard the computer start up. I lay a bit longer but finally got up and quietly went to the sitting room.
Anne was so busy clicking away she didnt notice me behind her.
Typed into the search bar: Little Ones Home and our town.
The computer buzzed and gave all the detailsofficial site, address, phone number, even a picture of the building. Anne checked it against my phone.
Paul, it matches!
What matches?
The phone! The number is the same. Its the Little Ones Home phone!
Told you so. So youre checking up on me?
Anne spun round in her chair.
Not checkingjust confirming.
Why, though?
Paul, this place isnt far at all, she said, thoughtful, barely hearing me.
Shall we visit? How did they get your number anyway, if youre not connected to them?
Hadnt thought of that. Maybe we really should go and find out? Otherwise, Ill keep being mistaken for some strangers dad!
Couldnt fall asleep for ages. Just as I dozed off, Anne poked me again.
Paul Paul
What now?
Are you certain youve never had something with someone else? Maybe once with your first love, say. You met after so many years, feelings returned? She kept it secret, left the girl at the hospital? Hmm, Paul? Paul!
What first love, Anne? Since desk partners in primary school its just been you and me. Four years ago, Sammy turned three, was sick all the time, you started work again, who was home with him? Me. Had to go remoteremember? Endless medicine, pills, doctor visits. Lovers? I could barely stand upright, falling asleep before my head hit the pillow! No affairs, none, never!
But then how did your number end up there? Surely someone left it for contact Anne pressed on.
That question nagged at me, too. I mentally went through the list of women Id ever known, the sort you could expect the unexpected from. Nothing ever happened with any of them. Some were settled, some had their kids cared for by their gran, and the most lively had left England years ago.
But lifes stranger than fiction, so I made up my mind to visit that Little Ones Home the next day.
We arrived early, but someone was already waiting a thin, pale man with messy hair. He looked clean enough but was rumpled, restless. His eyes darted, hands shook clutching papersnerves or, more likely, the aftermath of last night.
Youre next, he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
Soon enough, he was called into the directors office. From inside, voices could be heard for fifteen minutes, the directors calm tones interrupted by deep rumbling.
Eventually, the man stumbled out, hair askew and hands empty, and it was our turn.
Good morning, a pleasant brunette stood by the window, chewing her glasses arm. What brings you here?
Were here about yesterday, I joked lamely.
She sat behind her desk.
I really havent time for riddles. Please state the problem, briefly if possible.
I reminded her about the phone call (I recognized the voice).
Oh, yes she smiled tiredly. Im sorry, it was a mix-up, we called the wrong Paul.
Wrong? But you had my number! Where did you get it?
You see, Mr. Johnson, I dialled a wrong digit. The number begins with 020, but I dialled 030. The fact you are also Paul Johnsonwell, thats pure coincidence. It happens He, by the way, was right before you.
Who? I asked, though I already guessed.
Paul Johnson Simmons, Hopes father.
So, again, I apologise, and wish you well. Excuse me, Im very busy.
She stood up.
Theresa Mayfield read her name tag.
Anne must have seen it, because she asked:
Mrs. Mayfield, will he take Hope home?
The director looked at us and sat back down.
No, he wont. Hopes mother passed away, and Mr. Simmons has seven children by different women. In three years, hes only visited twice, and only because we pushed him. He doesnt want Hope. Well then, any other questions? If not, goodbye.
We stepped out, shocked and silent.
The older children were outside. Some rocked on swings, some slid down the slide, two boys set up car races on a bench.
I watched them and slowly realised what was so wrong. The playground was quiet; whenever Sammy is outdoors, you get shouting, laughter, noise. These children didnt shout or laugh loudlyjust whispered to each other, like little old folks. Theyd grown up too fastno childhood, just survival, cold, hunger, no toys or clothes, neglect at best, cruelty at worst.
I turned to Anne. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Here we go againtears for every reason!
We walked slowly to the gates, when a shout broke the silence: Mummy! All the kids turned toward us. A little girl in a funny hat with a pompom sprinted straight to Anne, arms wide.
Mummy, mummy! Im here!
She crashed into Annes legs, and from down there came sobs so deep and desperate they brought tears to my own eyes.
Hope, Hope! the carer hurried over. She tried to pick Hope up, but the girl clung tightly to Annes leg.
Eventually, with the help of a chocolate bar from the carer, Hope was peeled away from Anne, and we nearly ran from the Little Ones Home.
In the car, we were silent. Anne shook all over, and I felt unsteady too. My hands trembled, just like that man outside; I pulled over to calm myself.
Anne glanced out the window and pointed to a shop sign nearby.
Without speaking, we both left the car, hand in hand, and walked into Childrens World.
For a doll and a pink dress.
Our little Hope will be the prettiest daughter.
