Magpie Tales#80

Thanks to Tess Kincaid whose photo by Christopher Shay suggested this week's Magpie, and many more. 

"Hale Watter" 

  I logged out and turned the monitor off, left the Computing Suite and went down to the atrium. And stopped.  Outside you could barely see through the rain. Inside, folk were gathered, waiting for it to stop, and it looked like any day now it would oblige.

  My Gran had an expression for rain like this. "It's dingin' doon hale watter, Lucy," she'd say, her Scottish roots peeping. Too right! Gusts of wind sent hale watter lashing against the atrium's block-glass walls and running down in curtains. The deluge bounced off the forecourt paving. Vehicles on the driveway leading to the Main Gate threw up bow-waves like boats.

  Problem. It was very sincerely and determinedly pissing down. I had my little umbrella, more a fashion accessory than a piece of wet weather kit. Forget it, Luce. It's no contest. This rain would kill my umbrella in seconds. Instead, I went to the cafeteria and threaded through the yellow "Caution. Wet floor" cones, joined the queue, sat down with a latté and a danish pastry and texted Zack at the flat to say I was marooned at the Uni until Mr. Sunshine put his hat on again.  "Where?" he replied. "Computing Suite snack bar. For the duration by the look of it." "Don't move, Luce. You could drown! I'll send help." "Bless you, Z."  The sort of texts that new lovers do when both have mobes and 200 free texts if we top-up before sometime-next-month.

  I'd finished the pastry and was wondering about another latté and what form his help would take. A teleport back to the flat would be nice, even though it was two streets, seven minutes walk max., but seven minutes in this would turn my umbrella inside out and soak me to the skin. A teleport and a bath and Zack.

  My phone pinged again. "Those guys in your Product Design and Development should work on this!"

  Zack gets to the point like water gets down the plughole - tangentially.

  I knew I was going to regret my . .  "Work on what, Z?" but this is the way young love humours itself, yes?

 I sent the text. I waited. My phone sounded again. It's one of those smartphones. Sends and receives pictures, videos, sound files. It will Twitter and Facebook and do searches, and if you want, you can squint your way through whole books on its little screen.  I selected "Show Message."

   Just "HOHOHO!" and a picture . . .

but before the first "Grrrr!" had died on my lips and my fingers begun "Very Funny" onto the keys, the tannoy ding-donged and announced "Taxi for Ms. Westenra.  Lucy Westenra to the atrium, please." - the way young love . . er . . loves, yes?