Post, Papers and Coffee

Like many, I am a creature of habit. Sunday mornings I always lie in till about 10.30. Throw on some old clothes, put the coffee on and take a stroll to the corner shop, still half asleep for my reserved copy of the Observer. Some mumbled and quickly forgotten man banter with Ahmed. Usually sports related. And back to pour the coffee and settled down on the sofa and read.

Today was now thrown all out of kilter. 9.35 the clock said and I was wide awake. My head was spinning with questions and thoughts. I tried throwing my head into and under the pillow to get back to that sleepy, dreamy bed warmth. I couldn't just lie there under the duvet any more. Like a child with a monster or dragon under the bed I had to get up now and going downstairs to the adult world. The world of dreams was gone. At least 'til tonight.

“Morning Ahmed, saw your lot yesterday, luck to get the draw” I throw at him

“Should've had that penalty though, man” Ahmed defended back

Ahmed pulls out my paper from under the counter and laids it in front of me.

“Hang on, man. What time is it. Your a bit early aren't you” See creature of habit me and known for it.

For some reason I opened up more that I usually did. Of guard, unsettled by the call.

“Couldn't sleep. Got woke up by the weirdest phone call. Some woman from Brussels asking me what book she should buy” I offered.

“Weird. Spoke like she knew me. As if she was my girlfriend” I added.

She might be good looking, man. You might be missing something special.

“No, no, no Ahmed. She definitely sounded bossy. I hate bossy”

I had been out all day Saturday and not got back till late. So when I got in just after midnight I had just pick up the post from the floor and placed it on the breakfast counter in the kitchen. Grabbed a glass of water, brushed my teeth and crashed into my bed.

I returned to the kitchen counter and picked up the small pile of post and sieved through. Mobile phone bill! Electric bill! Bank statement! Nothing special or interesting there.

Hang on! I looked again at the Mobile phone bill. It was my address under the shiny semitransparent envelope window. My address, but not my name. Alicia Morgan.

I put my post in one pile and this other envelope separately back on the counter. A fourth letter was an Easter card from my Mum.

Who was this Alicia Morgan? I had moved into the flat 18 months ago and for a time had receive other peoples post. Mainly, a Barry Jeffers who appeared to have left some debts, because I also got some phone calls and a visit from a very wide and tall debt collector looking like you wouldn't want to meet him in that dark alley. He had been surprising nice but still I could imagine he could handle himself in the alley.

I decided to try to put the whole thing out of my mind, so I poured the coffee which had been bubble away asking to be poured. Grabbed the paper and tap the on and play buttons on the CD player as I passed by. Settled on the sofa just as the melancholic sounds of Things the Grandchildren Should Know by the Eels came on. It's wasn't a usual morning choice but I had been playing yesterday afternoon and hadn't changed it. I was tempted to get up and change it for something else, something more Sunday morning. I couldn't bothered so 'E' carried on his slightly anti-social song.

A few months earlier I had completed a piece on the Postal service and the Law so I knew that opening post was against the law if it was addressed to some one else. But for some reason it didn't feel to be a big crime or even a crime at all. Anyway the top of the envelope was quickly sliced open with the brass letter opener that had belong to my step father. Just about the only thing that I had inherited from anyone. I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for until I found it.

Yes, here it was. My number? Not just once but I counted up 27 instances and the length of calls ranging from 12 seconds to 15 ½ minutes. What was going on here. Who was this Alicia Morgan?