Write-In 2019: 'Family Business' by Sarah Mosedale

• Hello
• Who?
• David Jones?
• Incredible! David, how are you? It’s been decades.
• I don’t understand.
• Your mother’s what?
• I don’t want to be rude, David, and of course I’m sorry for your loss but I don’t really understand why you are calling...
• Excuse me?
• My father was what?
• That’s ridiculous, David. And offensive. You obviously never met my father.
• No, that’s quite enough. May God forgive you and may I suggest you seek psychiatric help. Goodbye.

-------------------------------

• Helen, I’ve just had the craziest call. From David Jones of all people. Do you remember him? From primary school.
• You don’t sound very surprised.
• What?
• Am I the last person on earth to know this?
• Why didn’t anyone tell me?
• What do you mean it’s what dad wanted?
• Dad said what?
• Mum knew!!!
• Helen, you are tearing my family apart right in front of my eyes…
• Yes of course I know it’s your family too, don’t be absurd. Maybe there’s something else you’d like to tell me about your family at this point?
• Are you sure now? Just one fornicating father, is that it? You sure that’s enough good news for me for one day?
• Don’t you dare lecture me about loving the sinner. You lying hypocrite. You can’t cast those words aside and pick them up again to throw them back in my face. You have no right to those words, not until you accept our Lord as your saviour. Goodbye Helen.

------------------------------

• Hi sis, she knows...
• As you’d expect...
• Angry now but hurting underneath
• Yeah, we probably did the best we could but maybe we should have pushed mum and dad more
• Yeah, they were kids really, here we are mopping up again
• Great, if you can call round today, let me know how it goes
• Love you too, bye now.

Write-In 2019: 'The Girl on the Train' by Jennifer Cousins

Oh hi! – yes it’s been ages! Sorry – what did you say? – ah – sorry - I’m on the train...Manchester – just a meeting. Sorry I missed you last night...went to the cinema with Ellie.... “The Girl on the Train” – yes – quite good…a bit spooky – about a woman looking out of the train window and she sees a crime being committed in one of the houses – but she may have imagined it. So how is everything? You OK? …OK – that’s good….oh, that’s a pity…oh I’m really sorry – he was quite nice from what you told me. But never mind, it often doesn’t work out the first few times….No you shouldn’t be embarrassed – lots of people do it. Even my Mum had a go after my dad died – well, a few years after - once she’d decided how to describe herself – god that was a nightmare! She wanted to put GSOH – can you believe it! How naff is that! She did meet some weirdos – but Gerry’s nice, steady type, so that’s OK. It’ll be the same for you – honestly – don’t worry…oh…hang on we’re going into a ………ah, are you there? – sorry about that…now we’re slowing down for some reason – oh bugger now we’ve stopped - no, nowhere near Manchester – just the backs of some houses…glad I don’t live here, with everyone looking in…So what’ve you been doing lately? - ah that’s nice…what kind? Oh my God – a Rottweiler – you must be mad!... It’ll cost you a fortune to feed – and all that walking every day in all weathers! - ….yes, I suppose so…yea, it is a big house and yea I can see what you mean - the garden’s huge – anyone could be lurking – No no no I didn’t mean to alarm you! …..hey – hang on a sec – what on earth…? … there’s a bloke on this terrace thing waving his arms really aggressive like – and he’s Oh My God! – you’ll never believe this - he’s hitting a woman! Really hitting her and she’s ducking and trying to punch him – and – just a sec…(Someone should do something – stop the train or something !!!) – can you believe it – no-one’s taking any notice! – looking at me as if I’m mad – as if I’m making the whole thing up…Sarah – are you there?....Sarah?

CLICK

Write-In 2019: 'The Delivery' by Summer Phillips

Yes, the order was for sixteen, that’s correct. It’s very encouraging to know your company employs this high level of customer service.

I’m sorry?

No, I was not informed. The text message said they’d be delivered between 3-7pm.

I’m not thrilled but I guess they’ll be alright until I get home.

What do you mean you don’t trust leaving them there? I can assure you I live in a very discerning neighbourhood.

Well you’ve delivered them. I would say that’s your responsibility.

I did not.

I can assure you it’s not my signature.

I’d like to take your name. Robert? Well young man, I did not sign off your order and if it’s Janice’s signature from nextdoor that you’ve procured, then it’s not worth the paper it’s written on. Janice and I haven’t spoken for twenty years and I shan’t acknowledge such an underhand collaboration.

I don’t rightly care about your paperwork.

They’d better not be.

What’s that noise?

What do you mean they’re alive? They’re vegetables.

No, I am not being offensive.

Now look here. I am coming towards the end of an afternoon date and it transpired well, never mind that the pie at lunch was somewhat deflated, at our age we can’t be fussy.

Do you think I’m concerned that you haven’t got the time to listen to my life story?

Listen to me Robert, I ordered my vegetables from you in good faith. You have delivered them early and they shall have to wait until I am home. It’s very likely they won’t go anywhere.

What’s that smashing noise?

What vegetables?

Well, the okra’s, of course. Very difficult to get hold of in my rural village here.

Okras, that’s right. O-K-R-A-S

O-G-R-E-S. No my dear Robert. Okra is not spelt...

Robert?

Robert?

Write-In 2019: 'Twenty Years Late' by Stuart Atkinson

The ring from the wall phone echoed down the hall. The lost souls edged past their front doors and eyed the disruption. It seldom rang. The residents of Jury Hall had few acquaintances and even fewer friends.

I lifted the receiver watched by numerous listless eyes. A soft voice contrasted with the clamorous sound that had suddenly ceased. It asked for my name. I hesitated, and with good reason, Jury Hall was a place where you kept your identity to yourself.

The voice was calmly insistent. The watching eyes flickered into life; they knew something was up.

‘I know you killed the old guy.’

I hugged the earpiece. Those eyes have ears and they had started to move towards me.

My heart was racing, the thumps travelled up to my dry mouth. Surely the earpiece would detect my fear. I tried to gather my thoughts, but nothing came.

Then after a long pause,

‘October 1999, that old man didn’t deserve to die.’

I turned to face the residents, who had advanced into hearing range, and yelled for them to return to their miserable bolt holes. They slunk away.

 ‘Fifty thousand for silence,’ still calm but then with a hint of menace, ‘or I spill.’



The old man had tried to be a hero. One of those busy bodies who pokes their nose in. I had put him in the recovery position before I ran.

‘Well……?’ now with full-blown menace.

My mind raced, what a fool. I should have blasted him again. Young stupid and too soft. Now twenty years later someone had acted on his dying words.

A few doors opened, and eyes appeared. Face flushed I slammed the receiver down.

‘Wrong number,’ I blurted out, to unconvinced eyes.

It was time to leave.

Write-In 2019: 'A Matter of National Security' by Amanda Jones

‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Is there anyone there?’
‘…..’
‘I got it because someone left a voicemail.  He called from this number and he said it was urgent. I was trying to ring him to tell him that he had left his message on the wrong number.


‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
‘… listen, it really did sound urgent and I think you need to call him’
‘…..’
‘I told you. This number was on my voicemail. I’m just trying to be helpful here. Don’t hang up’


‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
‘…….’
‘Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense. But how else did I get your number? Yes, fine. I won’t call again. I’m just trying to help. What do you mean, ‘national security’? No, I won’t tell you where I live. Goodbye.


I watched the news for days after that. Nothing. But I figure that some things are never reported Yes, of course I still have the number. Don’t tell anyone though.

Write-In 2019: 'Maybe I’d Better Write That Down' by Kymm Coveney

What did I say?

…

What I said was … That’s not what I meant.

…

You thought I said what? … Why would I say that? Obviously, I didn’t explain myself.

…

Okay, I didn’t explain myself well. I did not mean that.

…

Maybe you don’t listen … Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand.

…

I would never think that. I’m offended you think that of me … Would you please listen to me?

…

You are choosing to misunderstand me now. I cannot make myself any clearer.

…

Don’t be so obtuse.

…

Why won’t you listen? … I didn’t say that … What do you mean?

…

What did I say?

Write-In 2019: ‘Wider than the Forth Bridge’ by Malcolm Richardson

Hello ... who?

Oh yes, I remember, it’s been a while.

I know.

Oh I know.

Did he?

What did your Mother say?

I bet she did, mine would have gone ape!

That blue dress ... with the split?

How did you get home?

That was kind of him to give you a lift.

Again!

No!!!

Have you told Martin yet?

Probably just as well.

Tomorrow night?

Are you sure that’s a good idea?

I suppose you know what you’re doing.

They work in the same office?

I bet Jeremy will have a smile as wider than the Forth Bridge on Friday morning.

Rather you than me, dear.

Well, good luck; take care.

Bye for now.

Write-In 2019: 'Prison of the Mind' by Kate Miller

‘This call will be recorded and monitored; I have a collect call from an inmate at..’

I slam the phone down, a wave of sickness flashes over me. I don’t want to listen to his voice again, not today.

A different phone rings. Again, and again..

‘I know it was you, Helen.’ ‘It should be you here instead of me. You can’t hide from me.’

Then the phone cuts off –

How does he know? How does he know I killed her and not him? As I look outside the window; with every noise I hear, every movement, each shadow – I see an outline of what I’ve done, and I can feel him watching me. Even though he’s locked away and I’m free – it feels as though I’m in prison.

I wake up - the same routine, feeling almost like an illness I can’t shake off. And each day the phone rings, at the same time and I know it’s him; so haunting –

‘I know what you di-

So I took all the pills she had in her handbag that day – to break free.

Jail-break.




@katemillerrr

Write-In 2019: ‘Oh, No’ by Isabel Flynn

I had finished my training and been accepted as a telephone counsellor and was now sitting in the cubicle waiting for my first call.

Everything I had learned to prepare me for each type of call was running chaotically through my mind.  I had notes in front of me to refer to as well: Emergency, Suicide, Domestic Violence, Child abuse, Partnership breakdown, Death and Grief, Problem Solving process, and more.



Ring ring!  ring ring!

This is it.

Shakily I picked up the handpiece and answered in the correct manner, remembering the rhyme: ‘smile when you answer the phone, it gives your voice a softer tone’.



The caller did not respond.  I gently repeated that I was there for them, and immediately heard a large sigh.

A little gap and I tried again.  This time a moan sounded.

My thoughts were frantically racing and my heart pumping.  Oh my gosh – this caller is in trouble.  I told myself – stay calm, take some deep slow breaths.  I signalled for my supervisor to come over.

The moaning became faster and more urgent.  I looked up at my supervisor and whispered: “emergency”

She had a quick listen and then with a sneaky smile on her face wrote one word on my note-pad ‘M……ator’.



I was embarrassed and disappointed when it finally dawned on me that my first Helpline call would be classified as ‘A Nuisance Call’.