Rain rattled against the window like rice on a drum skin, and the house groaned as the wind wheezed through gaps around the old doors. Emily tried again to convince herself she was not scared; the old Emily would not have been, but the old Emily had gone and the new one was stumbling in the dark. This weekend was supposed to be another step on her road to recovery, but she'd fallen at the first hurdle.
She'd gone to bed early, but the storm made it difficult to sleep in the guest bedroom of her parent's home, so she went down to the living room just before midnight. She'd been living with them for the last three months. It was now more than a year since it had happened. They were great, and she was thankful for all their help, but now she needed to do more for herself to regain her confidence. Her father could see it and knew she needed a break from them; her mother was a different matter.
"Emily is a big girl, Jean; she needs to make her own way again," he'd said.
"Big girl or not, she will always be our child Jack," she'd replied.
It had taken their combined efforts to persuade her mum she'd be okay alone while they visited her aunt in Cardiff for the weekend. Emily had been fine when the storm started, but when the power failed, her confidence ebbed away. She was on her own in the dark, in a storm, in an isolated farmhouse. Emily shivered, as much in fear as with the cold. She felt her way on hands and knees to the fireplace and found the ignition lever on the side. She clicked twice and refused to panic when nothing happened. On the third press, the gas burst into life, pushing back the cold and the dark at the same time. Warmth and confidence returning, she made her way to the kitchen, to the fuse cupboard her dad had shown her during her first week. He was old school about things like that, and now she was grateful for it. She found the candles and matches and a card with the emergency contact number for Caledonian Power.
Emily made her way back to the living room and lit a candle. The flickering light threw ghostly shadows on the wall, giving her imagination something new to fret about. She lit two more, and they banished the ghosts to the corners of the room. Her dead mobile phone mocked her on the coffee table. Her dad had a routine when he came into the house; keys and wallet in the old fruit bowl on the hall table and phone in the charger. He was a bit OCD about it. Now she wished she had been more like him. Emily picked up the house phone, surprised the line was still live, but who would she ring at 1 am? Certainly not her parents, even though her dad had left her aunt's number on a post-it note stuck to the handset. The little telephone directory next to it had the numbers of her parent's friends and a few relatives, all in her mum's neat handwriting. She realised her parents' distrust of technology; preferring candles, landlines, paper phone books etc, was sensible, and resolved to be less dependent on her £30 per month paper weight.
An enormous crack of lightening brought her musings about generational differences to an abrupt end. Emily's heart was racing. "Fuck that, I've had enough of this," she told the cowering ghosts. She dialled the Caledonian Power emergency number, desperate to hear another person's voice. But first she would give them a piece of her mind about the bloody electricity going off. When would the service be back, I mean it's not as if they didn't pay through the nose for electricity? And how come there was electricity to make the phone work? Perhaps they should buy their electricity from the phone company? She had time to practice her outrage while on hold. She reached just the right level of righteous indignation when the music cut out and she was connected to a customer service operative.
"Caledonian Power, Andy speaking, how can I help you?" The warm Scottish voice with a slight Edinburgh burr, almost wrong-footed Emily; she had been expecting to speak to 'Kevin' from New Delhi, but she found inspiration from it.
"You may be Caledonian, but you've got no power, not where I am sitting anyway," Emily snapped.
Andy smiled to himself. He'd heard many more offensive openings, but fewer witty ones. "My apologies on behalf of Caledonian Power. The storm has disrupted supplies in several locations. If you give me your postcode, I can give you an update on plans to restore power in your area."
He'd taken the wind out of Emily's sails, not from what he said, which was all good customer service practice, but by the calm and reassuring way he said it. But she was determined to have her go. "But I don't know my postcode," she bellowed and immediately regretted it because she sounded like an idiot.
"Not to worry madam, just let me have your address," continued the patient, reasonable voice.
Emily wondered how many other calls this man had already dealt with, and her natural politeness made her apologetic. "I mean, I'm house-sitting my parents' place, I can't remember their postcode but the nearest village is Bilton," she said more evenly. She could hear his fingers on the keyboard.
"Ah yes," said Andy. "I'll know when your lights come on, because they will come on here too, we're both in the same network area."
"So, you're sitting there in the dark too, are you?" Emily felt connected to the welcoming voice at the other end of the line.
"Yes, I am. The phones get their power from a separate national network; we have batteries to keep the computers running. But I am in the dark with you, Ms..."
"Emily, my name is Emily Moss. You're not worried about the dark then?"
"It hasn't bothered me for years and I am used to working nights. There's no need for you to worry, you are not alone," said Andy.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I am here with you, aren't I?" His voice was like a comforting arm around her shoulder.
"Yes, yes you are Andy, thank you."
"Emily, I will have to answer some other calls in a minute, but if you would like I could call you back later, to give you an update on the situation."
"That would be very nice, Andy. I'll look forward to your update."
Andy rang off a minute later, and Emily sat in the candlelight pondering what just happened. She checked the last number dialled to make sure she had been speaking to the power company. She was blushing. Like he'd just chatted her up in a wine bar. His voice was too good for that job. He sounded like he should be on the radio, on a phone-in programme. What did he look like? Did he have a wife or girlfriend?
The storm blew on, but it did not register anymore. She had not thought about a man that way since it had happened. A man was a complication Emily did not need at the moment. The thought of a man rejecting her because of the way she was now; or worse still, finding one who was only interested because of the way she was now was too much. Her counsellor mentioned that possibility in one of their sessions. Anyway, here in the dark as a disembodied voice on the phone she could be who she wanted to be. She could be perfect. She wondered again about Andy and his smooth, seductive voice. Why was he wasting it on the night shift at customer services? No, she was being unfair, who was she to criticise, it was none of her business; he was only trying to be kind, and she was grateful for his care. An hour passed, and just as she convinced herself it was all flannel, the phone rang.
"Hello Emily, Andy here, just letting you know what is happening."
It surprised Emily, how relieved she felt to hear his voice. "Yes, Andy, thank you."
"You're sound surprised I called back?"
"Well, I was thinking it was just a way to manage complaints."
"That's not very kind. Because of your parent's age, we list them as vulnerable people, so we give them priority in emergency situations."
"Is that true?" said Emily, not quite believing that a private business would have such a conscience.
"It is true, and it is also a wonderful excuse for my other reason for calling."
"Which is?"
"I like the sound of your voice and I want to hear more of it."
