Mpasi, please hold.

Vivaldi blares from the kitchen counter top as the scent of fresh coffee fills my nose. The mug sits untouched on the other end of the work surface. Cold milk drips down my chin and I barely catch it with the tip of my spoon whilst inwardly celebrating the cat-like reflexes.

“It’s been almost 25 minutes now, I thought this place was prized on its customer service”

“Don’t be such a grump, it could be a lot worse”. Isabelle has always been an optimist, one of these days it will rub off on me.

“You are now number 8 in the queue, please hold and an operator will be with you shortly”.

The cold automated voice is lost in the background of my mind, it must be the tenth time I've heard it in the last five minutes. I wonder if Isabelle will be home before her flowers arrive. I’d selected the time slot for after she finishes work so she can answer the door to them, but every night this week she’s had to stay late. Today she promises it will be different. For the sake of her and those flowers I hope so.

“I’m off now, I’ll see you later.” She plants a quick kiss on my mouth and squeezes my arm. “And don’t worry, I’m going to make sure I’m out the door sharpish tonight, can’t be late for our cute anniversary dinner”

I playfully sigh, feigning displeasure at the prospect of having a candle lit meal in our claustrophobic kitchen; cheap wine included. In reality it was all I wanted, money had been tight for us and the time together was worth far more to me than any fancy dinner.

“See ya, I’ll be timing you!”

Isabelle’s chuckle fades as she pulls the door behind her and enters the outside world. In my mind I follow her down the front steps and imagine her strolling along the pot-holed street, the sun kissing her dark skin. A screech of violins brings me back to my reality and I reach over to pick up the phone. The call timer says 29 minutes and 22 seconds.

23 seconds.

24 seconds.

If this thing reaches 30 minutes I’m just going to hang up. No way am I spending my day off stuck in a queue.

“You are now number 1 in the queue, please hold and an operator will be with you shortly”.

It’s as if they can sense my impatience and have bumped me up accordingly, or at least that’s what I like to think. My coffee stares at me, the steam has stopped rising off it now and I hope it’s no longer too hot to drink. Just as I reach to grab the handle I hear a click punch out from the phone and a friendly northern voice fills the airwaves.

“Hello there this is Graham speaking, how can I assist you this morning?”

“Oh yeah hi, I needed some help with a payment into my account, please tell me I’m speaking to the right department, I can’t go back in that waiting queue.”

A customer service laugh bounces back at me as I sneak in a sip of the coffee.

“Yes of course we can help with that, could I just please confirm your full name, and first line of your address please?”

“Yep so Winston Mpasi and Flat 12, Varsity Drive”

“Thats great and what account is this regarding?”

“My graduate current account, account number ending 4816”

“Wonderful thank you very much, so we’ve got it up on screen now, what seems to be the payment in question then?”

“So yeah, it’s the most recent one I received today, this morning. I have no idea what it is or who its from, and well it's not what I expected to wake up to” I anxiously laugh, questioning why I’m getting so nervous. I suppose I’m half hoping that I can keep the money, I mean it must be a mistake after all?

“It’s the payment of £20,000 at 07:26. I’m just wondering who it's from basically, and if there’s any reference or something I’m not seeing?”

“Yes right then, not a problem. Let me just have a look at that now for you.”

A few silent seconds pass. I take another sip of the coffee, now eyeing up the remainder of my cereal.

“So it says here that it's from an account with the reference VOC, but there is no payment reference attached. Would you recognise that at all?”

“Hmm, it doesn’t ring any bells I’m afraid, and it doesn’t have any reference with it?”

“No reference, all we’ve got on our end is their account reference code. VOC. If you don’t mind hanging on for a few moments I can look at what bank the payment is sent from through the system, you might be able to figure out if any friends or family use the same banks."

“Okay yeah great, thanks.”

"One moment please.”

I expect the high pitch wine of highly compressed and distorted classical music to fill my ears again but instead I am met with a dull electronic hum and the sound of my breath. Who could have sent so much money to me? I run this question over in my mind, like I have done all morning, and come to the same conclusion. I don’t know.

I gulp down the last of my coffee, and put the half eaten bowl of cereal next to the sink. The phone’s call timer says 34 minutes 57 seconds

58 seconds

59 seconds

“Hello there, I’ve just tried having a look at the bank it could have come from but it’s coming back blank. Which is…” He stretches out this last word. “odd”.

“Right, um, so no reference and no bank?”

“Sorry to say, but yes that’s how it seems. Have you had any email confirmations recently, or any idea where a payment such as this could have come from?”

“Not at all, that’s what I was hoping you could help with but it seems you’re equally as stumped as me.”

We both laugh, but I’m not sure whose is the more fake of the two.

“All I can suggest right now is to not use any of the funds just yet, as if it is a mistaken payment then the sender’s bank can still recall it within a few days whilst it’s processing. Other than that, there’s nothing else we can do on our end I'm afraid.”

So twenty grand sitting in my account for a few days and if I don’t touch it then it's mine, yeah I think I can do that. It seems too good to be true, and I still have a bad feeling that it’s going to be taken away from me by the time the new week starts in a few days. Or perhaps maybe now would be the time to draw upon Isabelle’s optimism.

“Well in that case I guess all I can do is wait. So if no one asks for it back, I basically get to keep it? Like I’m not going to have to pay anything back in the future if it turns out something’s wrong?”

“Essentially yes, you wouldn’t be held accountable, but the chances are it wasn’t a mistake, not with an amount this substantial. It certainly is a mystery, but I’ll have to leave you with that one!”

“Yes”, I pause thinking about how surreal my situation is, “yes, certainly a mystery. Well thanks for all your help, I appreciate you trying to find out.”

“It’s a pleasure, is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, no that’s all. Thank you.”

“Okay then, have a great day.”

“Cheers, and you, bye.”

A clack at the door grabs my attention just as I’m hitting the red end call button in the centre of my phone. I slip it in my pocket and head down the hallway out of the kitchen. My breath tastes of the smooth Colombian blend I’d consumed this morning and I’m starting to regret leaving half of my cereal to soak and turn to a soggy slush. I see various white envelopes pocking through the letter box and a thin brown parcel on our tired looking doormat. It was a little early for the post to arrive and it was certainly too early to be opening bills. I scoop everything up and head back to the kitchen and my cereal slurry waiting for me. Skimming the post I notice the brown parcel is addressed to me, perhaps a little gift from Isabelle to start the anniversary celebrations? I grab the scissors from inside the drawer and in one stroke slice a neat line through the top of the brown paper. I am met with black leather. Turning it upside down, a small black notebook slips out and lands with a gentle thud onto the kitchen table. Not what I was expecting. Perplexed I open up the front page and see a hand written note addressed to me.

‘Winston, I hope you enjoyed your gift, now we have work to do. A.’