The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea. Jaimie Admans

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      ‘I remember that. It was always so annoying when you’d ask someone and they’d tell you the way, and you’d follow their directions and you were clearly in the wrong place, so you’d ask someone else and they’d tell you completely the opposite direction from what the first lot had told you, and then you’d have to drive back past the first lot and wonder if you could casually push them over a bridge or something.’

      He groans. ‘I better not tell you that one of my favourite pastimes growing up was trolling people who asked for directions. They’d ask if I knew where a place was, and I act all authoritative and say, “Oh, yes, I live right near there; it’s this way, take a left and turn down the lane.” I’d direct them to, like, the middle of the nearest cow field. It was great!’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I don’t know. I grew up in a tiny village and life was boring.’ He pauses. ‘From the tone of your voice, I take it the correct answer is “because I was young, cruel, and incredibly immature, and got my jollies off by making other people’s lives a misery”?’

      ‘That’s better,’ I say, unable to contain my laughter. He’s naturally funny but none of it seems forced. He seems like an old friend I’ve known for years.

      A really hot old friend, obviously.

      ‘I nearly had to go full-on retro and call the speaking clock to find out the time.’

      ‘With what?’

      ‘I hadn’t even thought of that!’ He laughs. ‘See? That’s how weird it is not to have a phone on you. I suppose I’d have had to find a relic of an old telephone box. Anything would be better than having to ask a stranger again. Starting conversations with strangers once in a day is more than enough.’

      ‘So what phone are you on now? Did you have to borrow one?’

      ‘No, I bought this ancient pay-as-you-go thing for fifteen quid. It’s one of the old clamshell flip phones, if you can remember them. Colour screens had barely been invented and there’s so much glare that you can’t see it in daylight. Most people haven’t seen one since 2003 but they like to keep up with the times around here.’

      ‘And you managed to get that in Pearlholme? From what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound modern enough for a phone like that.’

      ‘Flipping ’eck, no. There’s a slightly bigger village about five miles away. I got the bus there and found it in the chemist of all places. And when I got on the bus, the bus driver said, “You’re the bloke doing up the carousel on the beach, aren’t you?” and he refused a fare because the carousel will be good for the area. That’s how archaic it is round here. I’d only been in town long enough to collect my key and dump my bags at the cottage.’

      ‘I grew up in a village like that. I used to hate it, but sometimes the crowds of London make me miss it.’

      ‘Me too. I’m from a village in South Yorkshire. I haven’t lived there for a long time though.’

      ‘Yeah, your accent kind of gives that away.’ I try not to sound as spellbound by his accent as I am. I could quite happily sit here and listen to him read the phone book. ‘I’m from Nottingham but it reminds me of home.’

      ‘I hate London. You never really escape the feeling of loneliness there despite the fact you’re constantly surrounded by people. I love going on jobs like this where I can get away for a while.’

      ‘I’m so jealous. My office is a cubicle the size of a matchbox, and my choice of view is a white wall or a white wall with the scars of a thousand drawing pins being stuck in it over the years. Your job sounds like heaven.’

      ‘I’m really lucky,’ he says. ‘If you ever want to get away, you should come up here. It’s beautiful.’

      ‘I’ll add it to my list of destinations for holidays I’ll never take,’ I say, feeling more desolate than is normal when talking about holidays.

      He sighs and the line goes quiet, but it doesn’t feel awkward. I used to talk about nonsense to fill up uncomfortable silences with ‘poor Andrew’, but I feel content just listening to him breathe down the line.

      It is a bit weird though.

      ‘So how am I going to get this phone back to you then?’ I say eventually. I don’t want this conversation to end, but it seems stupid not to mention anything about it. ‘I can keep—’

      ‘Why don’t you come and find me? It’s kind of your fault that I lost it in the first place because I was distracted by you—’

      ‘Oi! You can’t blame me.’

      He starts laughing, letting me know it was just a joke. ‘Well, you want to give it back so badly, come up to Pearlholme and give it back. It’s the most gorgeous village – you’d love it here.’

      ‘I can’t, Nathan, I’d never get the time off work and it’s a long way and …’ I trail off, feeling like I’m scrabbling for excuses. In reality, my heart has leapt into my throat and is hammering like a pneumatic drill. The idea of getting away, of going to a beach, a vintage carousel, and … him. The idea that he might actually want to see me …

      ‘Yeah, of course. Sorry. It’s been a long day of travelling. I’ve lost my grip on how funny my jokes are. I didn’t mean owt by it.’

      ‘I mean, I would, but …’

      ‘No, no, I was just messing about. No one would be that much of an idiot. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll look after it for me.’

      ‘Of course, but—’

      ‘I’d better go before I make an even bigger fool of myself. It’s getting late and I’ve got to start work at first light tomorrow. I need to strip the carousel to pieces and assess exactly what kind of condition it’s in and what needs doing, and that macaroni cheese is bubbling away, ready to come out of the oven.’

      ‘Thanks for ringing.’ I try not to think about how jealous I am of his quiet cottage, homemade meal, garden, tea, and sea view. Nothing has ever sounded more appealing. I squeeze the phone tighter, hoping that I can somehow cling on to him a bit longer. ‘I’m really glad you did.’

      ‘Me too,’ he says softly, and I can hear that smile in his voice again.

      He doesn’t say anything else and I get a sudden flutter that maybe he’s doing the same thing as I am, hanging on that little bit longer.

      This is all too weird. I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone so easily. It’s like something from a film, like those first exciting emails between Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail, and I’m sure I’ve got the same sappy smile on my face.

      ‘I suppose I’d better say goodnight,’ I say, feeling abrupt, but the longer I hang on to this call, the more real it seems, and this … whatever this is … how can it be real? Life doesn’t happen like this. You don’t smile at a stranger on a train and then they turn out to be the perfect match.

      ‘Yeah, me too,’ he says. Am I imagining how sad he sounds?

      I could so easily ask СКАЧАТЬ