Twenty-Five
Guthrie's mobile had started to buzz in his jacket pocket while he was still standing, staring at the wall above the urinal.
"Ach!"
He quickly finished up and washed his hands. The phone had stopped buzzing a full minute before he could retrieve it. He clicked the screen into life before walking into the corridor.
The number was Jacquie's. He touched the number to call back.
"Jacquie Macintosh."
"Jacquie. Tom Guthrie."
"Tom, hello. How are you?"
Over the phone, her west highland accent seemed more pronounced than when face-to-face. Guthrie liked it. It was a far cry from the east coast sounds he had grown up with.
"I'm well, thanks. You?"
"Fine, yes."
"I'm sorry I missed your call. I was a bit busy,"
"You don't have to apologise, Tom. I know you're busy."
"All the
