The Phone Call...

The phone was ringing. Paul was lying in bed, it was only 1pm, what the fuck is someone waking me up for in the middle of the night he thought to himself and lent over to the mobile placed precariously on the edge of his bed.

It was an unknown number, not international but a mobile no he didn't recognise. He adjusted his bollocks in his boxers now twisted from leaning over and picked up his mobile. It was still ringing. Thoughts went through his head about who it could be.  

Some debt collector, a doctor or even worse an automated call centre voice asking him whether he had been in an accident that wasn't his fault. He had already blocked 20+ numbers from the same company but somehow they just kept coming back with more. He debated as it continued to ring, the noise was already enough that he was awake so he decided to answer it.

“Hello”, Paul said, there was a long delay, no-one on the other end said anything, “Hello, anybody there?” he repeated. Then a soft female voice came over the line. “Hi Paul, it's Holly”, “Holly?”, Paul replied, he had no recollection of anyone called Holly. He picked up an empty Vodka bottle lying on the duvet and put it on the ground and felt the gut rot in his stomach rumble. He picked up a pack of chewy Rennies as he waited for the girl to speak and started unwrapping one.

“Yes, Holly, don't you remember, you met me last month in Camberley”. Paul had little recollection of most things, booze and drugs had addled his memory to the point of empty space. His mind was a void, full of dark matter or some other weird scientific elements. He could probably get paid to let Scientists experiment on his mind his memory was so blank. He put the Rennie in his mouth and started to chew on it.

“Camberley, yeah and?” he replied nonchalantly, he had been to Camberley almost every night for the last year or two on the pop. Always getting hammered, sometimes waking up in strange beds and often sneaking out before his bed partner woke or if she did give her a false name and phone no. What had gone wrong here, why did this lass have his real digits.

“Don't you remember, I was the new barmaid at the Wetherspoons, we went back to your place afterwards” Holly explained. Oh shit, memories were forming in his empty head of pulling a barmaid one night and having drunken sex, not that there was any other kind for him. Fuck what she did want and why did he bring her back to his pad or give her his real number? 

He had hoped it was just a dumpster fuck down the alley behind the pub. His place was a state and when the pubs shut the bar staff have to clear up the mess people like him left around. He really hoped Holly didn't remember the way to his place, the last thing he needed was her turning up at his.

“Yes it was great Paul, but I have to tell you something”, there was a long pause as Paul put the Rennie in his mouth and started to chew it.  

“I'm pregnant”. Fuck, he spat the Rennie out by reflex across the room and it stuck to the far side wall. This wasn't the sort of news he wanted to wake up to and hear from a stranger danger fuck. He had to play it dumb, he couldn't even look after himself let alone a kid.

His father wasn't exactly the best role model and he didn't exactly have any desire to pass the latch key kid approach to parenting on to another generation. Not this generation for sure, bringing a kid into the world nowadays is damn right irresponsible. 

They are only going to get loaded up with debt as soon as the Banksters can get student grants into them and then they will probably all fry in a nuclear holocaust when China finally grew balls and decided to dump the trillions of US debt it held and fire a few nukes over the Pacific. It certainly wasn't the baby boomer years kids born after the war enjoyed anymore.

“And...what does it have to do with me?” he asked Holly, hoping that she would reply that it was from engaging in risky sex with another patron of her establishment, and she just wanted advice on cheap abortion techniques. Bath, vodka and a coat hanger was the only one that came to hand. Either that or a severe beating or a fall down a flight of stairs.

“Well it's yours” Holly replied, she sounded lost and hoping for an arm to come through the phone line to wrap round her and give her a nice warm cuddle. However Paul wasn't like that, he couldn't be dealing with kids. His parental instinct was minus 100 on any scale.

“Sorry, Holly, I think you've got the wrong number, I don't live near Camberley I'm up in Hartlepool, I can see the ICI factory from my window in Middlesbrough as we speak. I think you must be mistaken.” he blagged.

“But, I've seen you drinking in the pub almost daily since I joined” she pleaded.

“I think your mistaken love, but if you find the bloke that's got you up the duff, tell me and I'll drive down the M1 and give him a slap for you.” he put the phone down and turned mute on.

Shit, he needed a new phone no now, he'd have to go and get a monthly SIM plan later. Oh and another bloody pub he couldn't go in. 

Damn barmaids, just too easy to get in trouble with. At least he wasn't banned from the White Hart in Frimley and knew a few lads down there. Oh and there was a tasty new barmaid he wouldn't mind talking to as well. He wondered what her name was as he sat dismantling his phone. He finished removing the SIM card, placed the phone on the side and rolled back over to go back to sleep. His tummy rot was finally subsiding. He might just get back to sleep.

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