Find

Thought. There was something he had to do. Oh, yes. Phone his contact, get things sorted out. He stood up, stretched his limbs, and made a phone call.

Then he thought: why not? Worth a try.

He went back and shuffled through his sheaf of notes. Apes really had been good. And clever. No one was interested in accurate prophecies.

Paper in hand, he phoned Directory Enquiries.

"Hallo? Good afternoon. So kind. Yes. This will be a Tadfield number, I think. Or Lower Tadfield . . . ah. Or possibly Norton, I'm not sure of the precise code. Yes. Young. Name of Young. Sorry, no initial. Oh. Well, can you give me all of them? Thank you."

Back on the table, a pencil picked itself up and scribbled furiously.

At the third name it broke its point.

"Ah," said Aziraphale, his mouth suddenly running on automatic while his mind exploded. "I think that's the one. Thank you. So kind. Good day to you."

He hung up almost reverentially, took a few deep breaths, and dialed again. The last three digits gave him some trouble, because his hand was shaking.

He listened to the ringing tone. Then a voice answered. It was a middle-aged voice, not unfriendly, but probably it had been having a nap and was not feeling at its best.

It said "Tadfield Six double-six."

Aziraphale's hand started to shake.

"Hallo?" said the receiver. "Hallo."

Aziraphale got a grip on himself.

"Sorry," he said, "Right number."

He replaced the receiver.

***

Good Omens - Friday