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There was no one to keep Sharon company. No one but the dead. Sometimes, when she was alone in the museum like this, she thought of the collection as something she could hear. Most of the artifacts were made to be vessels for some ancient god or spirit, after all, so the building should be crawling with the sounds of old ghosts and gods. If she listened carefully enough, would she hear the ancient priests touching the possessions they were buried with or caressing the outlines of their own mummified bodies? Would she hear them ask what became of their sacred tombs? Would she hear their prayers? She took her glasses off and pinched the brow of her nose. God, I’ve been working here too long, she thought. She drank her cold coffee and looked around the cluttered office. I should go home. It’s too late to be here. Too late to be surrounded by all these dead people and their dead things. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the job, bigger museums had offered her jobs with better money and more. Even if we never saw each other again, today has been something else. I felt like a man again, a new man. ‘I was beginning to worry.’ She said as I arrived at her table. ‘I kept looking at the phone and wishing it to ring, just to let me know that you were not a figment of my imagination who somehow lent me his phone.’ She handed it back to me. ‘I think that you should give me your phone number, just in case I need someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on.’ ‘I will if you will.’ She held her hand out for my phone. I have never seen anyone text so fast before. Within seconds she handed it back to me. I glanced at the screen. ‘Thank you Rachel Becket, I’ll treasure this. Now what looks interesting?’ I looked at the menu card that was standing in this holder thing, along with those long skinny tubes of sugar and condiments. ‘I’m starving, I’ve just realised that I left home without breakfast. I’ll have the spicy chicken foccacia with salad, a slice of the disgustingly fattening double.
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