36
My mobile rang as I got out of the shower. Cursing, I answered it. I always felt a need to answer my mobile come what may, just in case there was something that genuinely couldn’t wait, such as a medical emergency involving the kids.
The voice at the other end was unfamiliar and sinister. It was obviously altered by some form of technical wizardry and had a synthetic quality to it.
“Mr Sharpe, is that you?” The voice asked.
“Yes, this is me, Bradley Sharpe,” I replied.
A silence lasted for a few seconds, then:
“Bradley Sharpe, Newspaper Columnist?”
“Yes. What do you want?” I asked impatiently.
Water was dripping from my wet body onto the bedroom carpet. I hadn’t had the chance even to give myself a perfunctory dry with the towel before taking the call.
Another silence.
“Mr Sha
