He could see his father lying by the telephone in the hall at his parents’ house, alone, though it would be odd for his mother to be out at this time of night. Perhaps it was her, too distraught to talk.

‘Mummy? Is that you?’

He heard a click, silence and then the dialling tone. No. It was a prank call. Perhaps one of his pupils had found his number in the telephone book, rung him for a dare. He put the receiver back on its cradle. His hands were clammy and his heart racing. Calm down. How stupid to get so agitated. Or it was a wrong number? That happened. He climbed the stairs again, two at a time. The linoleum was worn and the backing was showing through in places. The landlord should replace it. The phone rang again. John hesitated. There was another tenant on the floor below. Perhaps he could answer it. It could be for him. John peered over the bannister. There was no sound coming from his neighbour’s, no light beneath the door. Nothing for it. It could be serious.

He walked down the stairs this time. No hurry. If the prankster was going to do this all night, he’d have to take the phone off the hook. Perhaps they’d give up. He lifted the receiver. There was silence again, echoing, as if the caller were on a party line or this was a trunk call from a thousand miles away.

‘Hello?’ John said. ‘Hello?’ He tapped the cradle a couple of times, in case the connection had broken. ‘Anyone there?’

Perhaps it was Betty after all. She’d run out of pennies. He rang her usual number. Counted. Twenty rings in all. No one was there to answer. It couldn’t have been her. He put the receiver down again and returned upstairs.