Her hand covers her mouth as she gasps. “It’s his, isn’t it?”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t know, but I need to get in touch with him.”
“Do you have his personal email?”
“No, I only ever had his work email on the company server. Do you know his personal one?” My stomach flutters with hope.
She scrolls through her phone. “I’m sure it was something like[emailprotected]”
“That makes sense.” I smile, remembering his map of Middle Earth.
She searches her email list. “Or maybe that other geezer? What’s his name?”
“Precious? Gollum?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that.”
“Bilbo Baggins.”
“Nope. It could still be one of those. I just don’t have it on my contacts. I’ve probably never emailed his personal address.”
I slump back in my chair. I thought we were onto something there.
“HR should have his next of kin details. Although if it’s Priya, you’re probably screwed, seeing as she’s no longer here either. I can ask for you.”
“Kelly, thank you so much.”
She disappears, and I call the doctors to book an appointment with the midwife and book an early scan.
Kelly returns with a sheet of paper in her hand. “His next of kin is his mother. I have her address and phone number.” She hands it to me, and I relax my shoulders.
“That’s great. I really appreciate that.”
“No worries, just don’t tell anyone I gave it to you, as it’s confidential. They have an old email too, but I’m sure he doesn’t use this one anymore. I don’t even think this company is still going.”
I try the email address, but get a bounce back. He’s worked here for so long he probably hasn’t updated his details since he started. I fire off a few more emails using characters from his favourite book. With each new address I try, I get a bounce back. Will I ever be able to reach him?
* * *
When I leave work,I drive to the address Kelly gave me. A modest home, but the front garden is beautiful with pink roses in full bloom. I knock on the door before wringing my sweaty hands together as I wait.
The door opens, and I’m met with a much older woman than I remember.
“Can I help you, dear?”
“Hi, Mrs Richards. It’s me, Stephanie.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “Steph? What are you doing here?”
“I need to get hold of Cal.”
“He doesn’t live here. He’s moved to Australia with his family.”
“I know. I just need his number.” While chewing on the inside of my cheek, I pick at my purple nail varnish. This woman makes me feel like I’m a teenager again, calling for her boy, although she was more friendly back then.
“I can’t give out his details willy-nilly. You’re practically a stranger. What do you want him for?”
“It’s private. Please, I need to talk to him. It’s important.” I don’t understand why she’s being so difficult.