Six Geese a-Laying Read Online Free PDF Page A

saying ‘OMG’ is the sign of a weak mind.) 4
    Suddenly I realize my phone is flashing, and grab it with trembling fingers. Three messages have come through, and I scroll through them in hope.
    Found it yet? Annalise xx
    Sorry babe, haven’t seen it. Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word to Magnus. C xxx
    Hi Pops! God, how awful, to lose your ring! Actually I thought I saw it…(incoming text)
    I stare at my phone, galvanized. Clare thought she saw it? Where?
    I crawl out from under the table and wave my phone around, but the rest of the text resolutely refuses to come through. The signal in here is rubbish. How can this call itself a five-star hotel? I’ll have to go outside.
    ‘Hi!’ I approach the grey-haired cleaner, raising my voice above the Hoover’s roar. ‘I’m popping out to check a text. But if you
do
find the ring, just call me, I’ve given you my mobile number, I’ll just be on the street …’
    ‘Right you are, dear,’ says the cleaner patiently.
    I hurry through the lobby, dodging groups of conference delegates, slowing slightly as I pass the concierge’s desk.
    ‘Any sign of—’
    ‘Nothing handed in yet, madam.’
    The air outside is balmy, with just a hint of summer, even though it’s only mid April. I hope the weather will still be like this in ten days’ time, because my wedding dress is backless and I’m counting on a fine day.
    There are wide shallow steps in front of the hotel and I walk up and down them, swishing my phone back and forth, trying to get a signal but with no success. At last I head down on to the actual pavement, waving my phone around more wildly, holding it over my head, then leaning into the quiet Knightsbridge street, my phone in my outstretched fingertips.
    Come on, phone
, I mentally cajole it.
You can do it. Do it for Poppy. Fetch the message. There must be a signal somewhere … you can do it …
    ‘Aaaaaaah!’ I hear my own yell of shock before I even clock what’s happened. There’s a twisting pain in my shoulder. My fingers feel scratched. A figure on a bike is pedalling swiftly towards the end of the road. I only have time to register an old grey hoodie and skinny black jeans before the bike turns the corner.
    My hand’s empty. What the hell—
    I stare at my palm in numb disbelief. It’s gone. That guy stole my phone. He bloody
stole
it.
    My phone’s my
life
. I can’t exist without it. It’s a vital organ.
    ‘Madam, are you all right?’ The doorman is hurrying down the steps. ‘Did something happen? Did he hurt you?’
    ‘I … I’ve been mugged,’ I somehow manage to stutter. ‘My phone’s been nicked.’
    The doorman clicks sympathetically. ‘Chancers, they are. Have to be so careful in an area like this …’
    I’m not listening. I’m starting to shake all over. I’ve never felt so bereft and panicky. What do I do without my phone? How do I function? My hand keeps automatically reaching for my phone in its usual place in my pocket. Every instinct in me wants to text someone, ‘OMG, I’ve lost my phone!’ but
how can I do that without a bloody phone
?
    My phone is my people. It’s my friends. It’s my family. It’s my work. It’s my world. It’s everything. I feel like someone’s wrenched my life-support system away from me.
    ‘Shall I call the police, madam?’ The doorman is peering at me anxiously.
    I’m too distracted to reply. I’m consumed with a sudden, even more terrible realization. The ring. I’ve handed out my mobile number to everyone: the cleaners, the cloakroom attendants, the Marie Curie people, everyone. What if someone finds it? What if someone’s got it and they’re trying to call me
right this minute
and there’s no answer because Hoodie Guy has already chucked my SIM card into the river?
    Oh God. 5 I need to talk to the concierge. I’ll give him my home number instead—
    No. Bad idea. If they leave a message, Magnus might hear it. 6
    OK, so … so … I’ll give my work number. Yes.
    Except