The Message by Dave Rigby

The phone hasn’t rung.

Five twenty. Couldn’t sleep. Up and about, radio on. Toast under the grill, tea brewing. Stare at the phone, willing it to ring.

……Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher……

Butter the toast. It’s hard to swallow. Sip the tea. Another sugar. The dog’s at my feet.

I turn things over and over. Why did it have to happen to her? Why did it have to happen to us? All our years together, then clear blue sky to utter darkness in seconds.

I read their text yet again, re-check their final deadline - 5:30 a.m. my time. For them, far away in that debilitating heat, it’s noon. If the money reaches them in time, they’ll call. If not that’s it.

Here, too ill to leave the house, waiting, waiting for that ring.

The phone stays silent.

…..Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland…..

Another bite of toast. Add some marmalade. Rays of sunlight. Normal things happening on a normal day, except there’s nothing normal about today for me or for her.  

If only I could stretch it out, make the next few minutes last long enough for it all to be resolved. But each movement of the second hand on the mantelpiece clock is taking her away from me.

…..Biscay, Trafalgar, FitzRoy …..

I picture each name as it flows through the air, carrying a part of me across the sea, like it used to on those early mornings years ago. Distant places, unvisited, yet so familiar.

Today the words feel like a tidal surge sweeping her away from me.

Ring, damn you, ring!

The neighbour’s pick-up starts noisily and trundles away unseen. Birds hover over the feeder, waiting for the cat to move on. More tea from the pot.

…..Irish Sea, Shannon, Rockall…..

The disembodied voice moves on relentlessly, the far northwest is looming, their deadline a minute or two away.

Only silence.

A dog barks in the garden beyond. The gutter creaks in the warming early sun. My cup is empty.

….Malin, Hebrides, Bailey…….

It’s not going to happen. There’ll be no last minute reprieve. After all we’ve been through, there’ll be nothing left.

….Fair Isle, Faroes……

I walk slowly towards the back door to let the dog out.

The phone rings. I pick it up.

….South East Iceland.

The Shipping Forecast is broadcast at 5:20 each morning