I kept watching the motel door as I turned on the power of the mobile, hit the PIN and eventually keyed in three digits. An operator answered.
'Yes, please,' I said.
'North Carolina, Century Twenty-one Realtors, on Skibo Road, Fayetteville.'
Century 21 was a family-owned estate agency franchise, letting out apartments. I'd gone there once when I was in the Regiment, when a couple of us were staying in Fayetteville for six weeks. We spent one week in Moon Hall, a military hotel on the base, which was fine enough, but with the allowances we'd been given we decided to treat ourselves to an apartment.
The only reason I could remember the name was that the 'Ski' in 'Skibo' was pronounced 'Sky' and I always got it wrong.
I kept the engine running so the window wouldn't fog, and my eyes on the trigger. As I waited, I hit the wiper arm to clear the windshield. The number was given to me and I dialed.
The call was quickly answered by a female voice in turbo mode.
'Century Twenty-one, Mary Kirschbaum and Jim Hoeland Property Management Inc. How may I help you?'
I switched to my bad American.
'Hi, I'm looking for an apartment to rent--three bedrooms, maybe.' The bigger it was, the more chance there was of the kitchen having the facilities I was going to need.
I heard the sound of a keyboard being tapped at warp speed, and within a nanosecond she replied, 'I have only one or two bedrooms available.
Do you require furnished or unfurnished?' She gave me the feeling this wasn't her first day on the job.
'Two bed, furnished, would be fine.'
'OK, how long do you require the property for? I need a day's notice for weekly rentals and a week's notice for monthly rentals.'
She had obviously decided that for someone like me, who didn't seem to have a clue what he wanted, it would be better to explain right away instead of wasting her time.
'Two weeks, but could I get it today?'
There was a pause. I'd fucked up the procedure, but she recovered with style.
'Right now I have a two-bedroom apartment available to rent for one seventy-five a week or five fifty a month, plus electric and tax. If you decide to stay longer the monthly rental rate would start on month two.'
Once I'd heard the first nine or ten words I didn't even listen to the rest.
'OK, that sounds great. What's the kitchen like? Does it have a freezer?'
I thought she was going to ask if I'd just arrived from Mars.
'Yes, they all have a full kitchen. Freezer, dishwasher, range--' I cut in before I got the whole list.
'And I can definitely have it today?'
There was another pause.
'Sure.' The computer keys were going into meltdown.
'You need to come into the office today before five thirty so I can book you in. It will be a two-hundred dollar deposit in cash, plus one week's rental, plus tax in advance, cash or card only. Can I have your name?'
The keyboard was given another brief respite as I slowed the process down by talking at a normal speed.
'Snell. Nick Snell.'
By the time I'd finished, it was on the hard disk.
'OK, I'm Velvet, the rental assistant. I'll see you here before five thirty.'
I came off the phone feeling dizzy. I had to hit the wipers again as I kept both eyes on the motel door. I looked at the half washed-out 'K' on my wrist, then at my watch. It wasn't too early I dialed call number two and got the answer, 'Hello, lower school office.'
'Hello, Mr. Stone here. I'm sorry to call outside of social hours, but is it possible to talk to Kelly? I'm working and I ' Before I'd even finished a very prim and proper voice, straight out of a 1950s black and white film, said, 'That's perfectly all right, Mr. Stone.
One moment.'
I was treated to an electronic version of 'Greensleeves.' I'd thought that had been banned by the music police years ago.
I knew it wasn't 'perfectly all right.' The secretary would have to drag her out of class, or whatever goes on in boarding schools at that time of the evening. Him calling again, the wrong line, wrong day and always with excuses but I paid the bills, and on time. It must piss her off. I made a mental note to find out who this woman was and what she looked like next time I visited. I imagined a cross between Joyce Grenfell and Miss Jean Brodie.
She came back on the line.
'Can you ring back in a quarter of an hour?'
'Of course.'
'Not bad news, I hope. She's been so excited today, because they sang a belated 'Happy Birthday' in assembly. She's feeling a very special young lady indeed.'
I turned off the power with fifteen minutes to kill, while keeping my eye on the motel and listening to the radio, feeling really pleased that I'd got it together to call. It would surprise her. I was cut out of the daydream by a news headline.
'.. . the deadly gun battle only minutes away from vacationing families.
We'll bring you more from the scene after these messages .. .'
Once I'd listened to an important announcement about this week's sportswear specials at Sears, a very serious voice tried to give weight to the popcorn-style report he was presenting. They had found bodies at the house, and they were thought to be Middle Eastern. However, police were not yet releasing further details. His voice dropped an octave for extra gravitas. Unconfirmed reports suggested that the dead men could be terrorists.
At least there was no mention of any dead police, which meant no pissed-off cops hunting for the Bonnie and Clyde who'd murdered their best mates. I sat and listened to the rest of the news, very aware of the uncomfortable dampness of my jeans.
It was about seventeen minutes past twelve. I powered up the phone and called the U.K. again, nicking my eyes between the keypad and the motel door. I got the ringing tone and turned off the radio.
Our conversations when she was at school were normally quite strained, because she was in the office and people were listening in, and, like the grandparents, they still didn't understand how someone as erratic as me could be in charge of a child's welfare.
It rang, she answered.
'Hello?'
'Hi, how are you today!' I always tried to sound really happy to put her at ease.
'Fine. Where are you?'
I could hear phones ringing and Miss Grenfell-Brodie fussing around in the background.
'I'm in London, still working. How's school?'
'Fine.'
'And Granny and Grandad? Did you have a good time?'
'It was OK.' Her tone suddenly shifted.
'Hey, Nick, it's really cool you called!'
It was great to hear her voice as well.
'See, I promised I'd ring you, and I have, haven't I? You see, a normal person's promise. Are you impressed, or what?'
She started to spark up.
'Yes, and do you know what? The whole school sang 'Happy Birthday' to me today in assembly. Well, Louise, Catherine and me. They had birthdays in the holidays, too. Are you impressed, or what?'
I imagined Miss Grenfell-Brodie giving Kelly a disapproving look.
'We don't say 'or what,' remember? Anyway, was it embarrassing?'
'No! My class has bought a present for me. A book of amazing facts;
