The Wrong Number

Perry was cooking dinner on Friday when his phone buzzed. The message said: “Hi Dad! Are you coming on Sunday? Mum made your favourite cake.” Perry did not have any children. He was twenty-six.

He wrote back: “Sorry, I think you have the wrong number.” A minute later, the reply arrived: “Oh no! I typed my dad’s number wrong. I’m so sorry!” Perry felt sorry for her. He typed: “Don’t worry. But now I want to know about the cake.”

The girl, Alice, told Perry about the cake. It was a lemon cake, her grandmother’s cake, and Alice didn’t know how to make it. Perry made a joke. He could be her dad, just for the cake. She sent him three laughing faces.

They talked for a week. They did not talk about anything important: music, burnt toast, the neighbour’s noisy parrot. Perry didn’t say it, but he checked his phone more often every day.

On Sunday evening, Alice wrote again: “We finished the cake. Dad didn’t believe me at first, but he knows about you now.” A photo arrived. A smiling man was holding a plate and a piece of paper: “Come for a piece next Sunday, stranger.” Perry did not answer at once. Then he typed: “What time?”