I STOPPED BY THE COMMON room on the way to dinner to call Matt. I was bursting to tell him that I’d overcome my fear of the forklift. There was no answer on the home line, so I tried his mobile. That went through to voicemail. I hung up. If I could triumph over the forklift, surely I could talk to an answering machine. I dialled again, licking my dry lips when the beep finally came.
“Ah. Hi, Matt. It’s me. I mean it’s Macie. I’m, ah, just calling to say hi. You must be dancing already. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Bye.”
***
