He looked anxiously at the old fashioned black telephone
which sat on the worn wooden table in the tiny, leaf roofed office.
The number was in his head and he
knew all the international access codes but he
just stared at the telephone.
He thought about what she would say when he
rang the number in his head.
He continued to watch the telephone, unmoving but not unthinking.
His hand reached out involuntarily towards
the old fashioned black telephone.
It reminded him of the one his grandmother used to have
alongside the Chinese checker set with the
beautifully coloured glass marbles.
His hand absently stroked
the shiny black bakelite of the old telephone handle and he
wondered what she would say when he rang the number in his head.