Roachville

As I sipped hot green tea, my eyes struggled to focus on the laptop screen. The night before I had dreamt something that filled reality with doubts. I touched the wall to make sure it wouldn’t stick to my finger and stretch like chewing-gum. I had no idea what the dream meant: something about a dark jungle with translucent insects wider than my hands. I pinched my left arm hard, so my body would snap back in line. After blinking a couple of times, I clicked on the inbox. A job offer waited for me: how much to translate a website about pet products from English into French? Contemplating what to charge, I debated whether to have:

Just as I was about to reach a conclusion, the phone rang. I considered ignoring it, but the ring tone sounded especially insistent. I would have loved to say ‘moshi moshi’ into the receiver, but I stuck to a conventional ‘Hell-O!’ The call display showed a mobile number that I didn’t recognize.

A man’s voice came through, in choppy accented English.

‘Is this Annika Roy?’

‘Speaking!’ I replied with fake cheerfulness.

‘I found you in the Yellow Pages. I need a French interpreter. Would you be able to help me?’

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but would you mind telling me what the assignment is?’

‘I’ll be honest with you, Miss Roy, I would prefer not to discuss this over the phone. But I can assure you that there won’t be anything complicated. However the matter is very urgent. You will be paid generously for your work.’

‘I see,’ I answered. ‘I charge thirty-five pounds per hour, plus travelling time and…’

‘Let me repeat myself, money is absolutely not an issue here,’ he interrupted, ‘but time is of the essence.’

This sounded comical with his accent. I suppressed nervous laughter.

‘Where and when?’ I asked, all businesslike.

‘Do you know the Hotel Blue in the centre of town?’

‘Near Baldwin Bridge?’

‘Yes. I have a very important meeting and it would be extremely helpful if you could get there in one hour or earlier?’

Apart from the recent pet products enquiry, my order list was bleak. Still, I pretended to check my schedule, turning my empty diary pages very loudly.

‘Well, yes, that’s fine. I’ll have to rearrange things somewhat, but I can fit you in this morning.’

‘That is excellent, Miss Roy, I’m looking forward to meeting you. Just wait for me in the lobby, if you don’t mind?’

‘Well, okay then… But could you give me your name?’

‘Of course, how silly of me to forget such important information! You’re speaking to Kenneth Tann.’

At the mention of his name, a painful icy twitch went through my right foot.

‘And one last thing,’ I carried on, feeling perplexed and staring at my foot, ‘who else will be at this meeting?’

‘It will just be me and one of my…’ He hesitated. ‘An old Laotian lady I’ve been doing… business with for a long time.’

‘Okay, Mr Tann,’ I replied. ‘I’ll see you at the Hotel Blue shortly.’

I kept the phone pressed to my ear, but I couldn’t say for sure if he had heard me as suddenly the line went dead. I listened for a couple of seconds to the malevolent vacuum coming from the other end and I put the phone back down with great care.

I should have felt pleased about getting some work. After all, the last few weeks had been the quietest since I quit my office job to set out as a freelance translator three years ago. My regular customers had sent me just enough work to keep my head above water. I didn’t mind all the time off, though, which was mostly spent in my house, reading, and not doing much according to a very strict schedule. I was hibernating. And now, two new clients had materialized out of thin air.

In the turquoise bathroom, I stared at the mirror. Like an automaton, I went through the motions and applied an assortment of hydrating lotions. Looking sideways for wrinkles, I spotted tiny lines forming from the corners of my eyes. I shrugged and added a bit more cream. I didn’t bother with makeup but, as an afterthought, I ruffled my brown hair with its blonde tips just so.

To me ironing is the most tedious thing in the world but, like a brave little horse, I eliminated every single crease out of my smart white shirt. So, someone had replied to my advert in the Yellow Pages. Maybe I would find out why he had picked me, but I had the feeling I wouldn’t get the chance to ask this kind of question. And even though Kenneth Tann’s accent had sounded delicious, I grabbed my mini pepper-spray can and tucked it inside the secret pocket of my beige cord jacket.