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, mak...