The woman drives past the bottle store. She is on the look out for signs of Bob. His steely smile was meant to be looking out across the lights. Bob had told her so, said he’d signed for the shipment from Rotorua. But all she could see was Air-to-There and the outline of the sun behind the island. It made her head hurt. Bob, what’s the deal with the signs? I’ve been looking everywhere. Bob. Mate. Bob. You there? Beryl retraced her steps. Bob had said he would be at the lights. She scans left and right, foot hovering over the brake. Her Honda purrs onward but as the light turns she comes to a smooth standstill. She tries to message Bob, but her phone turns ‘no sign’ into ‘nosing’ and she drops the handset. Bob is at the computer, tapping with two fingers: Dear Ken, We’re still waiting. Please advise. Bob. Mate. Bob. You there? Yes, Beryl. I’m here. Yes. I hear you. Yes, Beryl. I’ve pushed the button. They know we’re urgent.
Kirsten Le Harivel
1 August 2016