Writing for Fun
April 2015
The Cold Call - Maureen Rampersaud
'Hello, who's there? Answer, damn you!'
Ann slammed down the 'phone. Since her husband died a year ago, these calls just kept on coming. She had thought about reporting them, but had decided it was best not to, on reflection. They upset her most in the middle of the night when her imagination ran wild with crazy theories . . . like that it was Gerald breathing into the receiver . . . quite ironic really, when she thought about how he'd died. In the logical light of day, she knew she was being ridiculous. She had been there when he drew his last breath . . . however in the shadows of the night, anything was possible.
The 'phone rang.
'Hello. Who is this? Answer, for God's sake!'
She hadn't planned to let him die. It was just that when he couldn't breathe and needed his inhaler, her life without him flashed before her. She could go on holiday where she liked; take up bridge again . . . and there was always Colonel Pickering, who was always so attentive to her. She thought she had delayed fetching the inhaler for a matter of seconds, but it must have been longer. When she looked at Gerald, he wasn't breathing anymore.
Ann poured a whiskey, her hands shaking, as the 'phone rang.
'All right, Gerald, I've got the message loud and clear.'
She sighed as she took handfuls of tablets, washed down with Gerald's favourite whiskey.