Coincidentally, Alain was at that same moment thinking about Rona. Specifically, he was thinking that he ought to call her: he hadn't spoken to her in ages, and although he knew he'd see her at the gig next week he was experienced enough to also know that she would be focussing more on the music than on him, and thus probably wouldn't be in a mood to talk to him. Also, he needed to call her to find out which day the gig was on: he'd forgotten, and he couldn't ask Mal because Mal had been bunkered down all week obsessively rehearsing with his band, and had seemingly had his mobile 'phone off the whole time. Either that or he'd lost it again.

Alain couldn't understand Mal's attitude to his 'phone: Alain hardly felt like he'd be able to function without his, and yet Mal was forever leaving his at other peoples' houses, in cafés, in bars, on park benches to be suddenly remembered and retrieved five minutes later.

Perhaps it was because it was so cumbersome, thought Alain. He didn't actually think that was likely, but if he followed that line of thought he could justify getting a new 'phone for himself which he'd been coveting for the past week - because if he did that, then he could pass on his current 'phone to Mal. After all, isn't that what friends did? And if Alain could help himself at the same time, all the better. True, his 'phone wasn't up-to-the-minute technology, but Mal wouldn't know the difference.

He passed yet another mobile 'phone shop. As he gazed longingly in through the window he decided: yes, that was what he was going to do. He smiled to himself - partly because of what he imagined to be his altruism, but also in a large part because he was looking forward more and more to the time when he'd hold that new, top-of-the-line 'phone in his hand. The one he had in mind was the definitive, most recent model, and it was sure to remain so for at least another six months.

He remembered, again, that he had to call Rona. He gritted his teeth and pulled out his 'phone - which was increasingly feeling like a dead weight in his pocket - and pulled up Rona's number. To be honest, the fact that she hadn't called him in a while worried him a little: maybe she had some grudge against him? It happened surprisingly often, he thought, and she was always terrifying when she had a grudge. He dialled the number boldly.

She picked up straight away, as was her habit. "Hello" she said, sounding a little flustered (he wasn't to know it, but her invitation to Mal's gig had just been accepted by the young man in the record store).

"Hi, mate" Alain said loudly and cheerfully, as if he'd only talked to her last a couple of days ago. "What's up?"

"Usual. Listen, it's not a good time. I'm just about to get on a tram and I don't want to be one of those arseholes who broadcasts their whole life to the rest of the world."

"Sure, whatever." Alain didn't bat an eyelid at this comment. "Listen, I just wanna find out when this gig next week is? Mal's not picking up." Rona told him. "Who's gonna be there?" asked Alain. In many ways he felt this to be an even more important question than his first one.

"Usual crowd" said Rona curtly. "Brent. Sacha -"

"Cool!"

"- Hannah" continued Rona, ignoring Alain's interjection. Alain laughed suddenly. "What is it?" asked Rona.

Alain grinned to himself. "I hear Hanna's been a naughty girl" he said conspiratorially.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Alain snickered. "Oh no" he said, "I'd better not tell you! I wouldn't want you to be one of those arseholes! Byeeee, see you next week!" and he hung up, laughing to himself because he knew something Rona didn't.