Dead phone

DEAD PHONE

"Grandpa, grandpa, nana, open the door please"

The girl's screams through the letterbox, accompanied by her frantic
banging on the knocker, startled the old couple and they both rushed to
open the front door. The sobbing girl stumbled in, first throwing
herself into her grandpa's arms then burying her face in her nana's
neck.

"Oh nana, nana, he was horrible. He took my phone"

"Who did? What happened?"

"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I was coming to see you. I was walking across the park and he just
came out from behind a tree and took my mobile"

Although she'd stopped crying the girl was still trembling.

"Come on Kathy" grandpa was taking charge, "come into the kitchen, sit
down and nana'll make us all a nice cup of tea and you tell us all
about it and we'll decide what to do"

Seated at the table in the large, comfortable kitchen, sipping from a
hot, strong cup of tea, Kathy told her story. It was much the same as
she'd said when she'd first tumbled through the front door.

Walking through the park, she'd been confronted by a menacing figure
that had just stepped out from behind a tree. He'd been wearing gloves,
and a woolly hat, which he'd pulled down over his face revealing two
eyeholes. She couldn't tell whether he was black, white or anything
else.

"Did he speak to you? Did he say anything or did he just grab your
phone?"

"It was in my coat pocket. He said 'give me your mobile' I said 'I
haven't got one' and he said 'give me your mobile or I'll rip all your
clothes off and find it myself' so I gave it to him"

"But he didn't actually touch you? You're not hurt at all?"

"No, I'm all right thank you grandpa, I'm just glad to be here. I'm
sorry about the phone, it's the one you and nana got me for my
birthday"

"You're more precious to us than any mobile phone, so don't worry about
that"

"Thanks grandpa. You know, nana" she smiled at the old woman, "you make
a lovely cup of tea"

"Alright my darling, you just relax; grandpa will phone the
police"

The police constable who came to take Kathy's statement was very
sympathetic but didn't hold out much hope of getting the phone back or
of apprehending the criminal.

"We've had several reports of phones being taken by a person fitting
the description that you've just given me. He pulls his woolly hat down
over his face and gets the phone by threatening violence. He picks his
victims carefully, usually young girls or elderly people that he knows
he can terrify and who won't put up a fight"

"If you know all this" grandpa was getting indignant "why don't you
stake out the park and catch him?"

"How? With what? With who? My coming to see you and take the young
lady's statement has taken over an hour all together. But when I get
back to the station the paperwork alone will take about three hours and
this isn't the only case I'm working on. I'm sorry sir" he seemed
genuinely apologetic, "I shouldn't be saying this but the fact is,
we're not police officers any more, we're filing clerks. All I can do
is give you a crime number for your insurance and file a report"

"So you're going to do nothing?" asked grandpa.

"There's nothing I can do except file a report. I'm very sorry but it
could have been worse. She could have been injured, or worse"

"And if you did catch him, what would the courts do?"

"I can't comment on that, sir. I'm very sorry for what happened to you
miss. I must be going; by the way, madam, you make a lovely cup of
tea"

After a while the girl's father was phoned and he came to fetch her. He
was furious and was all for scouring the park for the villain, but
grandpa calmed him down.

"It's dark and he'll be long gone now"

"But we can't just do nothing"

"We won't, but let's get a good night's rest first then decide what to
do in the morning"

Grandpa went into the living room, turned on the television and sat in
his favourite armchair. After having washed up the cups and saucers
nana joined him, sitting on the sofa. For a while neither of them said
a word.

"What's the matter?"

"Mmm? What? Pardon?"

"What're you thinking? I know you're upset about Kathy but you're
plotting something"

"What on earth are you talking about? I'm sitting here watching the
telly"

"Don't give me that, that's a quiz show and you hate quiz shows.
Something's on your mind. What is it?"

He took a deep breath and let out a long, sad sigh.

"Our Kathy's a good girl, isn't she?"

"Of course she is. What a thing to ask. She's a lovely girl. She's a
credit to all of us"

"No, no, that's not what I mean. I mean, she's a good person"

"What are you driving at?"

"I mean, that thief didn't just take her phone. He reached into her
life and took part of it without a second's consideration for her
feelings. For stealing the phone he deserves to be caught and punished
but when he stepped out from behind that tree, when he deliberately
terrorized her, when he left her distraught like that he did more than
just steal a piece of kit. Stealing shows a lack of respect for the
rights of others to enjoy their own property but when that thug did
what he did to our Kathy he didn't just show lack of respect for her
property, he displayed total contempt for her right to exist. To him
she was just a worthless creature without feelings, without a soul. If
she hadn't handed over her phone, or, if she didn't even have one, he'd
have ripped the clothes off her to look for it without pity and you
heard that copper, he specializes in young girls and elderly people. He
isn't just a common thief, he's evil"
"So, what is it you're saying?"

"I'm saying" he paused for a moment, "that that thug doesn't deserve to
live, that someone who could do that to another person does not belong
in the human race"

"So, what are you going to do? Go looking for him? And what if you find
him, what then? Will you beat him to death? I hate to remind you, but
you're not a young man any more; it's a long time since you were in the
army and even then you weren't a fighting man; you were an
engineer"

"I know, I know" he got up; "I'm going to bed. I want to get an early
night, I'm going to the shopping centre tomorrow, I need a couple of
things"

"Oh good, I'll come with you, we'll have lunch in Pearson's"

"No, not tomorrow, there's something I have to do. I'll be home by
lunchtime. We'll go out some other time"

It was just after lunch the following day that grandpa came in the
front door carrying a small package, gave his wife a peck on the cheek
and went straight through the house out to his workshop where he then
busied himself at his bench.

After an hour or so, nana knocked gently on the door of the large shed.
She knew better than to just barge in to what was essentially the man's
inner sanctum, his private place. She was also just a little nervous of
all the gadgetry around the place for, unlike most sheds, this
contained no gardening implements or woodworking tools but was where he
pursued his hobby of taking anything electrical or mechanical to bits
and putting it back together again differently.

"I've brought you a cup of tea, do you want any lunch?"

"No thanks, just the tea will be fine for now"

She left him alone. He came in for his evening meal but hardly spoke a
word all evening. Next morning, straight after breakfast he was back in
his shed,
staying there all day, consuming several cups of tea but not stopping
to eat the plate of sandwiches that she'd made for him.
The following evening, after his meal, he announced that he was going
for a walk.

"You're not going over the park, are you?" nana asked, alarmed.

"No, no. Just going for a stroll to the town centre and back. Just to
get my circulation moving"

The old man shuffled across the park, warmly dressed for the evening
air in a heavy overcoat, large woollen scarf and trilby hat. With his
back-bent posture and his slow gate there was nothing to distinguish
him from any other old man taking an evening walk through the park.
Except that as he walked he kept up a continuous conversation on a
mobile phone. The talk was of nothing consequensual, the weather, the
latest sports reports or news about the grandchildren.

He walked halfway around the park, a distance of about a quarter of a
mile, sat down to rest for a few minutes, then continued the circuit
back to his starting point. All the while keeping up the telephone
chat.
The same thing happened the following evening and the evening after
that.

On the fourth evening of the old man's walking, talking perambulation
of the park he got about half way round when he was suddenly confronted
by a figure stepping out from behind a tree. The large, black anorak
with the collar up, the black, leather gloves were imposing enough but
the woollen hat pulled down over the whole head leaving two eye slits
was intended to be frightening and intimidating.

"Just give me the phone and you won't get hurt"

"What this thing?" The old man croaked "But it doesn't work. It doesn't
have any batteries"

"Don't give that, you stupid old git, I heard you talking on it"

"I was talking to myself"

"You were what?"

"Talking to myself. I don't know anyone to talk to so I just talk to
myself on the phone whilst I take my walk. It's company for me"

"You stupid old fart, give me that phone. Hey, this is a top of the
range Nokia"

"Is it? I just bought it so I could have something to talk to"

"Where are the batteries?"

"Oh I don't have them, it kept making a funny noise so I took them out.
Do you still want it? It really doesn't work, you know"

"Shut up you stupid old git. Have you got any money?"

"Money? Oh, I've lots of money. They gave me some before they let me go
out. Here you are"

At that the old man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a
handful of coins.

"See? I've got lots of money. Do you want some?"

The hooded figure knocked the hand contemptuously aside, scattering the
coins over the grass; turned and walked away. He seemed to vanish as
easily as he had materialized.

The old man walked over to a nearby bench and sat down. Suddenly the
stoop disappeared as the back straightened. The scarf was loosened, the
hat removed and the coat undone as he took a deep breath of the cool
evening air. He glanced at his watch.

"I'll give it fifteen minutes" he thought. He sat there not moving
except to nod a greeting to the occasional dog-walker or to glance at
his watch. After fifteen minutes he reached into an inside pocket of
his coat and drew out a mobile phone, the same model as the one that
had just been stolen. He dialled a number, it was unobtainable; he
counted ten seconds then dialled it again, it was still unobtainable.
He continuously dialled the same number leaving a ten second interval
between each attempt.

Twenty minutes after the incident in the park the arrogant, swaggering
figure got off the bus, bumping into an elderly woman in the queue as
he did so.

"Excuse me," she protested.

"Watch where you're going you old bag" he barked at her as he strode
away.
A couple of minutes walk and he was in his own front door.

"Hey mum, how about a cup of tea" he yelled as he dropped off his coat,
the woolly hat safely in the pocket.

"I'm not you're servant" came the reply "I'll start making you tea when
you get a job and start bringing in some money"

He ignored her and ran up to his bedroom. Once there he examined his
booty.

"Brill' this is the business, should be worth a few quid. Fancy walking
around talking to a dead phone. That's what happens to these old gits,
their brain cells die off and they go ga-ga. I saw it on the telly
once"

He snapped a couple of batteries into place and closed the lid. At that
moment the phone rang. Suddenly a thought struck me. I went back to the kitchen, determined
not to admit defeat.
She was doing something noisy with loud saucepans, although I did
notice a delicious smell coming from the oven, but I did not allow this
to divert me from my purpose.

"If my shed is my shed why do you put your stuff in there?"

She then put on her haughty attitude. "I never go into your shed. What
goes on in there has nothing to do with me."

"Aha" I exclaimed, knowing I'd just caught her out. "If you never go in
there how come there's a lawn mower, spades, garden forks and other
gardening implements in there cluttering up the place getting in my
way. I never use any of that stuff. You know very well that I lay
paths, build walls and dig large holes. Apart from that my contribution
to the garden is to sit in a deck chair on a sunny day and mind my own
business. I leave the plants to their own devices. They don't interfere
with me and I don't interfere with them. I never poke at them with
sharp implements and I never, ever mow the lawn."

"I know you don't, that's why we have to have Donald every two weeks to
keep it straight, otherwise it would be a jungle. He has to keep the
equipment somewhere and your shed is the only place for it, but I never
go in there myself.

"Oh don't you" I smaned, "Then what about your basket thingy?"

"What basket thingy?"

"That basket thingy with the wheels on, It's right in front of the
cupboard where I keep all my screwy bits."

"I use that to go shopping to buy us food to eat."

At that she opened the oven door to see what was going on in there and
I got the full blast of delicious aroma. That was it. Case over. I
lost. She hit me where I'm at my most vulnerable, in the stomach.

She bought her dishwasher and to add insult to injury she didn't even
ask me to plumb it in but insisted on calling a proper man in. Of
course I watched him carefully whilst he worked, making it crystal
clear from my arms-folded attitude and snarling features that I did not
approve of his presence. He ignored me. No doubt she had pre warned
him. So there it sits taking up valuable space in a not over-large
kitchen.

What I find totally puzzling, perplexing and annoying all at the same
time is this: our two children are all grown up, in fact they're both
older than me now and they both have husbands and children of their
own. When the rampaging hordes invade us on a Sunday afternoon the
house is filled with laughing, screaming, fighting children, arguing
mothers and daughters and sports mad sons-in-law. All this is very well
and the truth is, I love every minute of it. After they've gone all the
leftover rubble is collected and deposited on the unit above THAT
MACHINE, all ready to be stacked by the management. I'm not actually
allowed to touch it unsupervised. The machine is filled to it's
capacity and I must grudgingly admit, does it's job.

But, and this is the big but! On an ordinary, normal, every day-day in
the existence of your normal, ordinary, every day grandparents, there
are only two of us living in our joint-ownership house.

So why is that bloody machine on almost all day, every day? Why is it
that every morning as I'm trying to have my breakfast and read the
paper is it moaning away in the corner starting my day off with a
headache? And why is there always a loose teaspoon rattling around in
there?

I work at home and all day as I'm upstairs in my office trying to earn
a crust I can hear it's innards whirling away.

During dinner I can see the monster with it's mouth slightly open
waiting to devour the plates as soon as we've finished eating.
In the evening whilst I'm trying to relax in front of the telly I can
hear it grumbling away through two closed doors and a brick wall, and
you wouldn't believe the catastrophic effect it has had on my electric
bill.

Why? That's all I want to know. Why? Where is all that dirty crockery
coming from? As I said, there are only two of us. Are we taking in
dirty washing up? Are people from all over London sending us their
dirty dinner plates?
And another thing, I can never find anything in the cupboard. Whenever
I want my favorite mug it's never where it's supposed to be. I have to
open the door of the infernal machine, that stops the motor, oh blessed
relief, reach into that box of steaming fog and retrieve it.

I then have to wash it out under the running tap, as I don't trust
those chemicals that the management puts into that little sliding
drawer thingy in the corner. I'm o.k. with Fairy liquid, I've lived
with it for a long time and the kids seem to be alright but how do I
know that strange looking stuff isn't carcinogenic? I don't want to die
of washing-up liquid poisoning.

And that's another thing. Why do I have to open the door to stop it?
Why is it that these multi-functional control panels are so designed
that they can be operated only by women? Allow a man to touch one of
these computerized knobs and the poor thing goes into a decline, and
don't tell me that's not possible; if they can make medicine bottles
that can only be opened by children then they can make women-only knobs
and buttons.

I had thought of staging a phony burglary, but what burglar would break
into a house, shut off the water supply, turn off the electricity and
disconnect the plastic waste pipes? And that wouldn't be the end of it.
He (I've no doubt there are women burglars but lets not confuse the
issue) would then have to maneuver the confounded thing through two
doors, drag it over a hundred feet of unkempt garden, over a fence and
then hoist it on to a van. A car boot wouldn't be large enough. I
suppose there must be, somewhere, a burglar who desperately wants a
dishwasher but whilst he was here why would he ignore three television
sets, two computers and various, assorted radios and C.D players?

No, that won't work. I suppose I could learn to live with it except
that something very odd is happening. As much as I hate the damn thing
and resent it's presence, I have the strangest feeling that it hates me
right back. Whenever I enter the kitchen it seems to get noticeably
louder, as if objecting to my presence, and as I approach it, it
actually starts to shake as if it's about to have a seizure. I swear it
knows it's me. It never reacts like that to her. It has reached the
stage that when the wife is out I actually feel uncomfortable just
going into the kitchen.

I wonder if that's the point of the whole exercise, first get the
kitchen designated as a male-free area by frightening me off, then get
to work on the rest of the house.
I'll tell you this; they'll never get me to give up my shed.