While You Wait

At eleven forty-three on Saturday, a woman brought a dead phone into Daniel’s shop and said she had done nothing to it.

Customers usually began with this. Sometimes the phone was still wet.

“No water?” he asked.

“No.”

“Dropped it?”

“No.”

“New charger?”

“Nothing. I was looking at a photograph.”

He pressed the side button.

Behind her, a man entered carrying another phone.

“Mine has just died.”

Then Daniel’s own phone became warm in his shirt pocket.

He took it out. His sister had sent the beginning of a message.

Just checking you are still coming on Sun

The screen went black.

He pressed the button.

The man watched him.

“Is yours broken too?”

Daniel tried again.

“This has never happened before.”

“That is what they said about my boiler.”

* * *

By midday, seventeen people were inside the shop.

Three had brought chargers. One had brought the original box, as though the phone might be persuaded to work if reminded of its background.

A delivery rider arrived with two dead phones and a large insulated bag.

“Both of them,” he said.

“Why have you got two?”

“In case one breaks.”

Nobody said anything.

The rider put them on the counter.

“I can see that now.”

A man in a suit pushed forward.

“I need to borrow your landline.”

“There is no landline.”

“What sort of business has no telephone?”

Daniel pointed to the sign above the counter.

PHONE REPAIRS

The man read it without appearing satisfied.

Outside, a bus stopped at the lights. Every visible passenger was staring at a black screen. One woman held hers against the window.

The lights changed. The bus moved.

At least that still worked.

* * *

Mr Patel came from the newsagent carrying a battery radio.

“I found it under the Christmas stock.”

“It is June.”

“I put it there in January. Nobody has touched that shelf since.”

They placed the radio beside the wireless chargers.

The first bulletin concerned Britain. By the next, reports were arriving from France, India and Japan. Smartphones had stopped functioning. Emergency services were asking people to use fixed telephones where possible.

“There,” said the man in the suit.

Daniel ignored him.

Nobody on the radio knew what had caused it.

“Cyberattack,” someone said.

“Solar flare,” said someone else.

“My husband updated his last night,” the first woman said.

“Probably not him,” Daniel said.

“I would not rule it out.”

The delivery rider opened his bag.

“Does anybody know a Chloe who ordered two chicken wraps?”

Four people looked interested.

“One has no mayonnaise,” he added.

Two lost interest.

* * *

Daniel wrote a notice for the door.

I CANNOT FIX THIS YET.

He considered it, then added:

SHAKING IT WILL NOT HELP.

A man outside stopped shaking his phone.

Underneath, Daniel wrote:

RADIO ON INSIDE.

People began arriving with problems he could do something about.

A woman knew her daughter’s school had changed sites, but the new address was on her phone. Daniel found it on his computer and printed directions.

A student needed to reach Leicester.

Mr Patel returned with a road atlas.

“It is from 2008.”

The student looked doubtful.

“Leicester was there,” Daniel said.

The man in the suit tried to write his wife’s number from memory. He managed nine digits, then stared at the paper.

“Try drawing the pattern on the keypad,” someone suggested.

He did.

“That is my PIN.”

He folded the paper very small.

* * *

At one fifteen, a young woman in a green supermarket fleece approached the counter.

“Can I sit here?”

There were already people sitting on the floor.

“Anywhere you can find.”

“I mean behind there.”

She pointed to the repair stool.

“No, sorry. Customers cannot come behind the counter.”

“All right.”

She turned away.

Her right hand was shaking.

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

She paused.

“Possibly.”

Daniel moved the stool.

Her name was Nia. Her shift had ended at noon. Usually her support worker rang when she reached the bus stop.

“I know the route,” she said. “I just need to know I can ring someone.”

Daniel fetched a glass of water.

“We have practised what to do. I am supposed to name five things I can see.”

He looked around.

“Would five makes of charger count?”

“It has to help.”

“Right.”

She put her palms between her knees.

“Counter. Stool. Window. Radio.”

She looked at him.

“Man who wishes everyone would leave.”

“That one is very visible.”

She smiled.

He left her with the water.

* * *

The shop normally closed at one on Saturdays.

At two, Daniel turned the sign over.

A woman knocked on the glass and held up a phone.

He pointed to the notice.

She pointed to the phone.

He pointed more firmly.

She cupped her free hand to her ear.

Daniel unlocked the door.

“The phones have stopped working.”

“I know. Can I borrow a pen?”

He gave her one.

She began writing messages on the backs of receipts and sticking them in Mr Patel’s window.

The first read:

HANNAH - I HAVE GONE TO THE CAR. STEVE.

Ten minutes later, another appeared beneath it.

WHICH CAR PARK, STEVE?

* * *

Daniel’s own phone lay beneath the counter on a clean repair cloth.

His sister would be expecting an answer about Sunday lunch. He had cancelled the last three, each time promising the next. Last Sunday he had told her there was work to finish, then spent the afternoon at home.

He had tried three chargers and the bench supply. It drew no current.

He removed the screen.

Nia watched him.

“Is that yours?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you can fix it?”

“I can try.”

“What are you trying to get back?” Nia asked.

“Something.”

“Banking?”

“No.”

“That is good. Mine would not cheer you up.”

He disconnected the battery.

“Photographs?” she asked.

“A message.”

She waited.

Daniel removed the board and placed it beneath the magnifier.

He had told hundreds of customers never to keep the only copy of anything important on a phone.

He had been particularly firm with an accountant in March.

The accountant had listened.

* * *

At half past two, Mr Patel brought sandwiches.

“You can pay me when money works properly.”

“My card machine works. People can still use actual cards.”

“Then you can pay me now.”

Nia took an egg sandwich.

Outside, two men were arguing with a parking meter. One had begun reading its instructions aloud.

Daniel examined the board.

No visible damage. No reason for it to be dead.

That did not make it less dead.

“Who was the message from?” Nia asked.

“My son.”

“Is he away?”

“He died.”

She lowered her sandwich.

“I am sorry.”

“His name was Ben.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-two.”

For a while, they listened to the radio.

“What did he say?” Nia asked after the weather forecast.

“He wanted to borrow a drill.”

Nia looked at the dismantled phone.

“Was that the whole message?”

“More or less.”

“Did you have one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you lend it to him?”

“I said I would bring it on Sunday.”

Daniel moved the lamp.

“He was putting up shelves.”

Six weeks after that message, Daniel had collected the shelves from Ben’s flat. They were still in their packaging.

Nia folded the edge of her sandwich wrapper.

“I would be careful with that, then.”

He looked at the power leads in his hands.

After a moment, he put them down.

* * *

At three, customers were still arriving.

Nia stood behind the counter with a notebook from the newsagent. People told her what they needed. She wrote it down and asked them to wait.

She proved better at this than Daniel.

“You cannot all be next,” she told a group by the door. “That is the main thing about next.”

Daniel printed maps and addresses.

A passenger signed into her email on Daniel’s computer with a password she knew by heart and printed a train ticket. At the station, she said, the queue for the ticket office had reached the taxi rank. The staff were finding bookings one at a time.

“The train is still running,” she said. “I would quite like to be on it.”

The next customer could not get into his account. A verification code had been sent to his phone.

“Can you get it another way?” he asked.

Daniel checked the options on the screen. Each one required the phone.

“I am sorry. I cannot.”

The man looked at the ticket still in the printer tray.

“Worked for her, though.”

He left before Daniel could answer.

The man in the suit discovered his wife’s office number on her company website. Mr Patel let him use the telephone behind the newsagent’s counter.

He returned looking much younger.

“My daughter is collecting her,” he said. “They are both fine.”

He bought a packet of screen wipes, then remained to help a man find a bus route to the hospital.

The delivery rider came back without his insulated bag.

“Restaurant took the food back. They are giving it away before it spoils.”

“What happened to Chloe?” Daniel asked.

“She came to the restaurant. Wanted a refund. Now she is organising deliveries.”

“Did she get her wraps?”

“Made them herself. Said it was quicker.”

He had borrowed a bicycle pump and wanted to know whether anybody needed a message delivered nearby.

Nia tore a page from her notebook.

“Do you charge?”

He considered this.

“Probably should.”

“Decide before you go. Otherwise it will be awkward at the door.”

He sat down to work out a price.

A woman from the home-care agency farther along the road came looking for him. Their office computer still worked, but the carers could no longer see their next visits on their phones. She needed someone to carry printed rounds to the staff already out.

The rider listened, then put his price list aside.

“I can do the town centre,” he said. “Who is going farthest?”

Nia turned to a fresh page.

At four, the printer ran out of paper.

Mr Patel brought a ream.

Daniel looked at him.

“Normal price,” Mr Patel said. “We have not reached that stage.”

* * *

The first woman returned carrying a framed photograph.

“I found the original.”

A small boy sat in a paddling pool wearing a woollen hat. Beside him, a man in swimming trunks held a garden hose.

“My father and my brother,” she said. “Dad is eighty tomorrow. My brother keeps saying he has never worn a hat.”

Daniel put down his screwdriver.

“That should settle it.”

“He is in Vancouver. I was going to send it before he rings Dad.”

She touched the frame.

“Can you put it onto your computer?”

“Yes.”

“Then email it?”

“If you know his address.”

“I have it in my Christmas card book.”

She smiled.

“My husband says that book is obsolete.”

She looked towards the dead phones on the counter.

“He also bought a smart fridge.”

Daniel scanned the photograph, checked the email address with her and sent it. She waited until the attachment had gone before taking the frame home.

After she left, he opened his inbox and searched Ben’s name.

There were forwarded football tickets, receipts and a photograph of a damp patch on his kitchen ceiling.

Ben had captioned it:

Landlord says condensation. Must be very heavy condensation in the upstairs bath.

Daniel read it twice.

He searched for the voice message.

Nothing.

He knew it would not be there.

He searched again.

* * *

At five, Nia approached with a page from the notebook.

“I have written my route.”

Her address was at the top. Below it were the bus number, her stop and the turns afterwards.

“I know where I live,” she said. “I just like having it.”

“That seems sensible.”

“Mr Patel is walking to the stop with me.”

Daniel began fitting his phone back together.

Nia remained beside him.

“What did Ben say about the drill?”

“Nothing much.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He set down the screwdriver.

“‘Dad, have you still got that drill? The blue one. I have bought some shelves.’”

He could hear Ben’s breathing after shelves. He had been walking somewhere.

“Then he said, ‘They reckon everything is included, but apparently that does not mean the wall.’”

Nia laughed.

“He sounds funny.”

“He thought he was.”

“What else?” she asked.

“‘Give me a ring when you get this.’”

Daniel waited.

There was something after that.

He had played the message on Ben’s birthday. At Christmas. During an ordinary Tuesday when rain had kept the shop empty.

He knew the scrape of the microphone against Ben’s jacket.

The last words would not come.

“Never mind,” he said.

Nia placed the notebook beside him.

“You could write down that bit.”

“I will remember it.”

She glanced at the phone.

He saw her decide against answering.

Daniel tightened the last screw and left his phone in a repair tray.

At the door, Mr Patel was putting on his jacket.

“Ready?”

Nia nodded.

Then she turned back.

“Your sign needs changing.”

“Which bit?”

“The shaking. It sounds like a challenge.”

* * *

By six, the pavement was almost empty.

The radio reported that engineers were working on the problem. The council would open the library on Sunday so people could use its computers. Volunteers were being asked to report there in the morning. A minister advised people to remain calm. Since the advice offered no particular method, Daniel switched it off.

He locked the door.

For several minutes he sat beneath the lamp and tried to remember the end of Ben’s message.

Perhaps it had been Thanks, Dad.

Perhaps See you Sunday.

He wanted the right one so badly that both began to sound possible.

At last he opened Nia’s notebook.

He wrote Ben’s name and the words about the shelves.

Below them he added:

Outside. Walking. Wind against the microphone.

He left space for the rest.

Then he wrote:

The wall.

He had forgotten how pleased Ben had sounded with that joke.

Daniel read it aloud. The timing was wrong, so he tried again.

Before leaving, he changed the notice on the door.

I CANNOT FIX THE PHONES YET.

OPEN TOMORROW, TEN O’CLOCK.

PRINTED DIRECTIONS AND LOCAL MESSAGES.

He slipped the notebook into his shirt pocket, washed his hands and took his jacket.

As he locked the shop, a man stopped beside him.

“Do you know what time you open tomorrow?”

Daniel looked at the man, then at the notice beside his shoulder.

“Ten.”

The man thanked him and walked away.

At the crossing, Daniel’s hand went automatically to his shirt pocket. He felt the edge of the notebook.

When the light changed, he crossed and turned towards his sister’s street.

Twenty minutes later, he knocked on her door.

She opened it with a tea towel in her hand.

“Daniel?”

“What shall I bring tomorrow?” he asked.