Sharon –

‘Hello,’ He said.

‘Hello, I’m lookin for Sharon.’


‘I have somethin for her.’


‘Are you Sharon?’

‘Obviously fuckin not.’

‘Fine forget it.’

I hung up. He rang back. I said: ‘Hello?’

‘Yeah. What do you want with Sharon?’

‘I’m supposed to meet her.’


‘To give her somethin.’

‘Give her what?’

‘I’m not sure it has anythin do with you.’

‘Are you fuckin with my head?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did she get you to ring me? To make me mad?’


‘She did, didn’t she? The fuckin bitch. I’m gonna find you pal, and slit your fuckin throat….’

I hung up. Drove on. He rang back again. I said: ‘Hello?’

‘Seriously, man. Why the fuck you lookin for Sharon? It’s 11 o’clock on a Sunday mornin, did you stay at her place last night? Where’d you get this number? You think you can just ring me up and start hasslin me…?’

‘I wasn’t lookin for you at all.’

‘So why’d you ring me?’

‘This is the number I was given.’

‘For what?’

‘I have somethin for her.’

‘She’s some bitch. She thinks she can pull this shit with me?’

I hung up.

He rang back.

I rejected the call. He rang again. I rejected it. He rang again and I blocked him. He left a voicemail. It said: ‘I’m goin to track you down mate, I’m goin to find you, and track you down, and when I do, I’m goin to…’

I hung up. Drove on.

Got to the next place. It was a woman in a nice house. Nice garden. Nice car. She opened up and said: ‘Are you here with the toys?’

‘I am. Are you Linda?’

‘Yeah, you must be…Mick?’

‘Yeah. Michelle said you had some toys to swap?’

‘I do.’ She said. ‘Hang on.’

She came back with a tricycle and some rollerblades.

I gave her a V-tech computer and some teddy bears.

After she said: ‘It’s a great page, isn’t it?’


‘You never have to buy toys for the kids, we can just keep swapping them like this. And when they get bored of these, we can just swap them over with someone else…’

‘Thanks now.’


On the way back, Michelle rang, asked: ‘Did you do all the swaps?’

‘Yeah, except the number for Sharon was wrong.’

‘Hang on, I’ll check it out.’

She called back a few minutes later, said: ‘That was a number for her ex. She must have given it to me in the past…what did he say to you?’

‘Aragh…not much. I’ll talk to you when I get home.’

Days passed. Nairobi, our daughter, was happy with the toys. There’d been numerous more voicemails that usually ended in death threats.

Then I asked Michelle: ‘Heard from Sharon lately?’

‘No, not much. Except the ex went round and kicked the shit out of her. Thought she had a new fella. Got pure jealous. Other than that, not much…’

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