Three: A Phonecall or Two

I had been waiting at the luggage carousel for half an hour when my suitcase finally arrived. It seemed strange that I had managed to fit my whole life into two bags; an old rucksack that had seen better days and a brand new suitcase, a token from my mother in apology for not being able to bring me here herself. My father, in the same way, had got me a new laptop, which was safely in my rucksack. Both had planned to bring me, we were going to be a family for a day, just like old times. But, true to form, things had come crashing down. Both had become dragged under by work, partners and children, but no matter how  much they said they wanted to be here, our trip was cancelled and I was here alone.

Grabbing my suitcase and heading towards the terminal exit, I pulled my phone from the front  of my bag and dialed my mother's number. It took a while but she eventually answered.
“Hi. Josh!” She sounded, as always, flustered.. “Yes Steve, I'm coming!”
“Hi mum. I was just won-”
“Are you there yet love?”
“Just got off the plane. But what I really wanted to know was-”
“Yes, Steve, I've got the tickets! ...Sorry love, I'm in a bit of a- Yes Steve, I know the babysitter isn't here yet! Sorry Josh, like I said, in a bit of a-”
“Rush? It's okay. I just wondered if you could mail me my copy of The Catcher in the Rye? I left it on the table.”
“The table? Yes, I'll make a note and sort it tomor- I'M COMING! I'M JUST ON THE PHONE TO JOSH! ...Sorry love, I really have to go. Talk soon. Love you, have fun.”
“Bye mum.” I mumbled, but the line was already gone. Short and hectic, an average phone conversation with my mother. At least she was going to send me the book.

By now I had arrived outside, and I just about to gesture for a taxi when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, startled. There he was again, the artist.
“You dropped this.” He held out a bundle of papers, bound with a green paper clip. “Your university papers? You dropped them when you got your phone out. I recognised the logo.”
“Thank you.” I was very surprised. Most people would have just left them on the floor and carried on. Why hadn't he?
“I'm heading there now. We could share a taxi.” A statement, not a question. His accent , the marking of what I could only presume was a high-end London upbringing, was a contrast to the Bristolian twang I  was used to, but thankfully didn't have myself. I wondered what had brought him here, or to Bristol, where we had just arrived from.
“Well?” Shit. I'd zoned out and now he was staring at me quizzically.
“Um, sure.” I wasn't really sure, I just felt rude not to say yes.

The journey to the student accommodation office was, mercifully, short. He didn't say a word all the way there, continuing to draw in his book. He had clearly moved on from his portrait of me. I wanted to say something, but didn't. What could I say?After a few minutes we arrived outside the red brick building. He immediately got out.
“Bye”. And he was gone. It was only after I'd been through all my details with the receptionist, who had a fake and 'welcoming' smile on her face, and had received my room key that I realised I had never found out his name. No matter. I would probably never see him again. And, for now, I just wanted to get inside and call Katherine.

Katherine and I had met three years previously, and become a couple about sixth months after this. She was two years junior to myself, but leagues ahead of other girls her age in terms of maturity, so in all honesty she was more of an adult than I was.

We realised after becoming friends that we had been attending the same school for years, but had managed to never cross paths until one rainy day in early September of 2009, during which I, being my clumsy and awkward self, had tripped and fallen into her and she dropped her book in a muddy puddle. I proceeded to apologise profusely, offering to replace it. She said that wasn't necessary, but graciously accepted the offer of a cup of coffee, which I had surpassed my own expectations by even offering.

And there it was. I had gained a friend, a best friend, in that one moment. We gelled really well, and our friends mixed seamlessly. We took the step to boyfriend and girlfriend, as I said, sixth months later, when, on a group outing to the cinema, I slipped my hand nervously into hers during the opening titles. I don't remember what film we had seen, or who was there, but I do remember the gentle squeeze of agreement that she gave me as our fingers interlocked.

Katherine was my first serious girlfriend, my first love, my first time. She was beautiful, intelligent, funny, but most of all, she didn't change whilst we were together. Nor did I. There was no need, we already fit together.

I wedged my phone between my shoulder and listened to the tuneless rings whilst I pushed open the off-white door and threw my bags down and myself onto the bed, kicking the door closed as I went, not bothering to take in my new surroundings. "You have reached the PhoneGo answerphone for 0-7-7..." Busy. This surprised me. Katherine was always busy, but she never failed to answer her phone. She worked so hard at so much for so many people, and there were times that I resented the lack of time we spent together, but it was at these times that I couldn't help seeing her dedication as the almightily redeeming part of the situation. But not answering her phone? This was something entirely new. In the back of my mind I could feel something nagging at me, something strange about this, but I was too tired to figure out what it was. Her phone was probably on silent. Yes, that was it.

With that thought of reassurance repeating in my brain, I closed my eyes and fell asleep, exhausted from my day. I would call her tomorrow and everything would be fine.