The Late-Night Caller

THE LATE-NIGHT CALLER

by Del Gibson

‘Jake, the phone’s ringing,’ I shove him hard with my elbow into his side.

‘Jake, answer the god damn phone!’

My eyes stray to the luminescent sick, green, digital-clock, it’s 2:30 a.m.

Phone still ringing…

‘What the hell? Who would be calling at this time?’ he says, reaching over and snatching the landline from its cradle.

‘Hello,’ Jake’s voice hoarse; having been ripped from his sleep, almost hesitant, as he realises the time on the digital clock.

‘Hello, sorry to call at such a late hour. But may I please speak with Miss Harris?’ the late-night caller asked.

‘Who is this?’

‘This is Sergeant Griggs, from the Auckland Central Police station. It’s an important matter and I need to speak with her please.’

The cordless sleek black handset is passed into my shaking hands. Instantly, I fear the worst.

‘Hello. Eve speaking,’ I croak.

I know in my heart this isn’t going to be good news. Images of my family flash through my mind. Which one? Dad, mum, my brother Logan, or Lilly my sister? My parents have been divorced for three years now and I still wonder how dad managed to stay with her for so many years; where others would have left much sooner.

‘I’m afraid I have bad news. Your mother has passed away,’ a pregnant pause follows.

‘How?’ is all I can manage to say.

‘Well at this stage, it would seem she had a heart attack.’

Well, I suppose the years of smoking, drinking and drugs have finally taken its toll.

‘Her boyfriend…,’ a rustling of papers, ‘Drew, Andrew McCarthy, found her deceased when he arrived home from work this evening.’

My breath clogs in my throat. Her boyfriend? She usually has many of those around…but that isn’t important to me. I can’t speak, shocked in the moment, and although I have many questions stuck on my tongue – they won’t come out. How? Where? Why? What happened?

‘Miss Harris, are you ok?’

‘Yes.’ I lie.

‘Miss Harris, I called because you live in Wellington and I didn’t think you would appreciate a visit from the police, it can be traumatic; having police deliver the news face-to-face.’

‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’

I sigh, it’s late, and I need more sleep.

‘Are you sure it is my mum?’

‘Yes, Mr. McCarthy positively identified her.’

I am not sure how to react. This is a surreal conversation, am I dreaming? My heart hurts and my head is full of cotton wool.

‘Miss Harris…’ I interrupt him then, telling him to call me Eve.

‘Sorry – Eve, would you like me to contact a victim’s support adviser? I can locate one in your area, tell you the ins and outs, and what will happen from here?’ he sounds as if he genuinely cares, but of course, it is part of his job.

‘No thanks.’

I didn’t need a busy-body telling me what to do with my grief.

‘Ok then, Miss…I mean Eve, my condolences. I wish you all the best. Goodbye for now,’ his voice sounding grey.

‘Thank you Sergeant for informing me. Bye.’

‘Wow babes, I don’t know what to say,’ Jake reaches over and brings me into his arms, smothering me against his chest.

‘Me neither,’ I mumble against his body.

‘You seemed so distant and disconnected while you were talking to the cop.’

Why is Jake always so perceptive?

‘I’m ok honey,’ I lie, again.

More uninvited images flash through my mind.

‘She would beat me, you know…’

‘She would lock me in a cupboard for hours and leave me there when she went out with her mates. Is it any wonder my dad divorced her?’ anger raises its ugly head, I feel it wriggling inside me, like a dirty giant earthworm.

‘Once, when I was five years old, she left me in a supermarket – just left me there in the cold meat department belted into the trolley,’ a quick sharp sob escapes my mouth as I remember.

‘Babes, I thought you had covered this in your therapy sessions? And we were there at Christmas. You both seemed to be getting along better,’ he gently strokes my face as we lay in complete darkness.

I pull away from the safety of his arms. Lying back and staring at the nothingness of the ceiling, except there are shadows from the street lamp outside, leaking through the blinds, dancing around the room.

‘I have to go to Auckland tomorrow, to be with my siblings,’ I sigh into my pain. ‘I have no idea what to do or what to expect. I would appreciate your support. Can you come with me?’ He readily agrees.

‘Should we get up and have coffee. I don’t think either of us can sleep after that call.’

He takes my hand and gently pulls me out of bed. The kitchen is warm, the heat-pump makes it so. Jake makes two coffee’s, instant, bitter, and brings them to the kitchen table. I wrap my hands around my favourite orange mug with pictures of cats surrounding it, I grip it tightly.

‘Ok, so we need to organise plane tickets, and hire a car. I’ll just grab the laptop,’ he says, making his way to the study desk.

Planting it in front of us, on the table, he begins to peruse the flight centres for cheap deals. He is good like that, instant solutions, like instant coffee.

‘Stay calm, stay calm,’ I chant through my head. An old mantra used whenever mum caused chaos in the home – which was on a regular basis.

I feel alone with my thoughts, even with Jake sitting beside me. Alone inside my aching head remembering memories I would rather forget. A collision of thoughts and images, smashing into each other. A deep, dark, bottomless pit of emotions. I am shaken back to reality, from my reverie. I hadn’t noticed that Jake had left the room, until his voice floated into my ears as he made his way back into the kitchen.

‘Here babes, I got you your sleeping pills, thought you would need them. We are booked on the 11:30 a.m. flight. You need sleep,’ handing me two little blue miracles.

I washed them down with my now cold coffee. They start to take effect as I stand, rinse my mug and together we make our way back to the bedroom. The lamp on my side of the bed is switched on, and the room is warm and cosy. For some reason it reminds me of mum. She would always sleep with her bed-side lamp on – casting a calming yellow glow across the room.

‘There babes, get into bed. We have a long few days ahead of us.’

We both climb into bed. I turn off the lamp, once again plunging us into darkness.

‘Sleep now, I love you babes and I’ll be here if you need anything,’ he cradles me in his arms; they are strong and protective – solid, stable. He is my rock.

‘Thank you,’ I turn into him, snuggle into a ball as he tenderly strokes my face.

Then they come, hard and strong; pain, sorrow, grief, guilt and foreboding memories. Tears – slowly make their journey down the sides of my face, pooling beneath my neck. Maybe I will drown in them? I’m staring at the shadows on the ceiling, tasting the tears and pills in the back of my throat. They taste disgusting – however – the pain is slowly easing. They are doing their job, maybe too well...

‘Can you see that?’ I slur, pointing towards the ceiling.

But of course Jake doesn’t see what I am looking at. There she is, hovering, floating near the ceiling looking down at us – mum. She is smiling, looking happy and new, younger and vibrant again – before the alcohol became her B.F.F. She looks clean from the drugs and changed – a healthier version of herself.

‘I’m sorry, my child. I’m so sorry for everything I have ever done to you,’ she whispers.

Am I seeing things? Crazy things from the pills? Hallucinating? A brain-tumour – aneurism?

‘Please, forgive me,’ she urges.

Her voice is soft, like the velvet dresses she used to wear when I was young, and velvet was in fashion. My eyes are beginning to close, the pills taking full effect. I am shattered, drained and emotionally exhausted.

‘Mother, go in peace. I forgive you, for everything.’

Jake, snuggled against me, snoring softly in his sleep. I close my eyes and drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. My very last thought as I drift away is why? Why didn’t you tell me this, when you were alive?

THE END