"I'll tell you where I am if you'll tell me what your lucky number is."

"My lucky number is e."

"That's not a number. That's a letter."

"It is a number. It's a transcendental number: 2.718 —»

"That's cheating. I meant an integer."

"You should have been more specific," I said, then sighed as the pips sounded and Eric eventually put more money in. "Do you want me to call you back?"

"Ho-ho. You aren't getting it out of me that easy. How are you, anyway?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Mad, of course," he said, quite indignantly. I had to smile.

"Look, I'm assuming you're coming back here. If you are, please don't burn any dogs or anything, OK?"

"What are you talking about? It's me. Eric. I don't burn dogs!" He started to shout. "I don't burn fucking dogs! What the hell do you think I am? Don't accuse me of burning fucking dogs, you little bastard! Bastard!"

"All right, Eric, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said as quickly as I could. "I just want you to be OK; be careful. Don't do anything to antagonise people, you know? People can be awful sensitive…"

"Well…," I could hear him say. I listened to him breathing, then his voice changed. "Yeah, I'm coming back home. Just for a short while, to see how you both are. I suppose it's just you and the old man?"

"Yes, just the two of us. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

"Oh, good." There was a pause. "Why don't you ever come to visit me?"

"I… I thought Father was down to see you at Christmas."

"Was he? Well… but why don't you ever come?" He sounded plaintive. I shifted my weight on to my other foot, looked around the landing and up the stairs, half-expecting to see my father leaning over the banister rail, or to see his shadow on the wall of the landing above, where he thought he could hide and listen to my phone calls without me knowing.