Page 4 of Night and Day
The receptionist’s mouth twisted in half-hearted sympathy. “Maybe you can get your bank to send you a new card?”
“Yes, but how do I contact them? I have no money for the internet cafe.”
“What about your accommodation? Can’t they help you?”
Mia’s forehead creased. “I haven’t checked into the hotel yet. I don’t know if they’ll let me do that without a credit card. I don’t think they’ve even charged me yet.”
The receptionist’s lips puckered reproachingly, as if this was all very poor planning on Mia’s part. “So, you have nowhere to stay? And no money on your person?”
Mia shook her head, feeling utterly worthless. She clutched her guitar case, wondering if the cruel woman would suggest she go busking outside the supermarket. The thought filled her with dread. She’d never played live for anyone and only used the old guitar to play with song ideas that seemed to drift in whenever her mind was idle. Mikko had called her song writing ‘meditative ideation’, comparing it to his own bathroom breaks. Apparently, he got his best ideas on the can. Mia accepted the premise, trying to dismiss the fact that she’d never had a useful business idea when strumming her guitar. At least her boyfriend was kind of supportive of her musical hobby. Maybe one day, she’d have a stroke of genius when humming a new melody.
Mia hadn’t told Mikko she’d packed the guitar on this trip. She wouldn’t have been able to tell him why – it was cumbersome and problematic on flights. She’d made her own way to the airport with hersoftguitar case (Mikko would have ridiculed it to no end), awkwardly bumping into doorframes and other travellers. Right now, she was grateful for the little Landola, though. It had survived the flights, mostly in overhead bins along with hand luggage because the crew took pity on her, and was still in one piece for her to hold. The idea of selling the guitar made her feel a little sick.
The receptionist turned to catch the attention of her colleague. Mia couldn’t hear every word, but guessed from the tone this was about bending the rules. After a moment, the lady turned back to her, adjusting her glasses. “You can come around and use the phone or the computer.”
After a moment, the side door flung open and Mia stepped in. The receptionist gestured at the phone on her desk, then at an unoccupied PC in the corner. An easy choice. The only phone number Mia could remember by heart was her own. She sat down and propped her guitar case against the desk.
The receptionist handed her a pen and a blank notebook. “If you need to take notes.”
“Thank you.”
She’d already reported her passport stolen, but she had to get it replaced with an emergency travel document to get on her last flight in five days. A quick Google search made Mia’s stomach plummet. The Finnish Embassy of New Zealand was in Yarralumla, Australia. That couldn’t be right. After a bit of searching, she found the contact details of a local consulate. Her stomach dropped further. The Dutch embassy handling emergency passports for Finnish citizens was in Wellington. Based on her limited knowledge, that was at the other end of North Island. But at least she could travel there without a passport.
The next order of business – contacting someone back home to get money. Maybe she could find Mikko’s phone number in her email. He hated speaking on the phone, so it wouldn’t be on the website. As Mia navigated to the Gmail home page, her whole body seized in terror. What was her password? She’d changed it at some point last year, but her laptop logged in automatically, never asking her to type it in. Before leaving Finland, she’d resigned from her job and the company had promptly disabled her work email account. All she had was Gmail, but if she couldn’t get in, then what?
Steeling her nerves, Mia launched her fingers on the keyboard and punched in several possibilities. Soon enough, Gmail warned her about disabling the account. Five minutes later, she’d tried all her social media accounts. Instagram told her the password she’d typed in was an old one. Facebook wanted her to verify her sign-in by logging into her email. For crying out loud!
Mia took a deep breath, her hands falling into her lap. Was there any website she could log into? Before leaving, she’d helped Mikko set up a mailing list for his start-up. If she could get into that account, she could send an email campaign. It was a cheaper service, not one with layers of security like Mailchimp. It was a long shot, but worth trying. To her surprise, the password worked.
Dread quickly replaced the relief of gaining access. Who should she try to message? Her parents’ English wasn’t great, so they wouldn’t be of any help with overseas money transfers or other complicated manoeuvres. Her sister was in her eighth month of a high-risk pregnancy, a reason she’d booked her return for less than a week, to make sure she was back home to help her through the first weeks and months. Kati didn’t need any extra stress. She’d have to message Mikko.
Mia created a new email template and typed a short message, asking Mikko to respond by creating another draft email campaign.
Please don’t change this password! This is the only account I can log into at the moment.
Mia pressed ‘send’, the hopelessness of her quest hitting her. The email wouldn’t land in Mikko’s primary inbox. It’d be lost amongst other newsletters from motivational speakers, pitch deck tutorials, and whatever else he subscribed to. Staring at the campaign confirmation on the screen, a fresh wave of hopelessness coursed through her. When had she ever seen Mikko browsing the promotional tab on Gmail? She had to get into his inbox some other way.
Mia turned back to the receptionist. “Excuse me?”
The woman swivelled her chair. “Yes? Did you get your business sorted?”
Mia bit her lip. “Not, really. I can’t remember my email password. But if you could send an email from your email account to this address...” she wrote Mikko’s email address on the notebook. “And if you could let him know what happened, and ask him to check his promotional messages for an email campaign with my name in the subject line?”
“You can’t access your email, but you sent him an emailcampaign?” The receptionist cast her a suspicious look.
Mia sucked in her lips. “I know it sounds weird but yes. I got into his newsletter account.” She extended her hand, desperately dangling the piece of paper with an email address at the suspicious woman.
The receptionist picked up the note with two fingers like a used napkin and turned back to her computer, shaking her head in disbelief. She opened her email, painstakingly typed in Mikko’s email, then spent a good five minutes composing a one-line message. Finally, she sent the message and turned back to Mia. “So, you really have nowhere to go?”
Mia shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed. This is where tears might have actually helped. She could tell the receptionist doubted her story. Anyone else in her situation would have been crying. Mia fought to fill her lungs against the pressure that had sat in her chest since the robbery. Why couldn’t it morph into a proper heart attack? That would at least get her a hospital bed.
The receptionist released a heavy breath. “I can call a couple of women’s shelters to see if they have room for tonight?”
Please, no.
“And if that doesn’t work,” she continued, “there might be a holding cell available.”
No, no, no.
