Faster Than the Speed of Silence (2/5) By Leah Scarpati

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

"Yes?" I emphasise my impatience. Carol Vorderman's just shown everybody up doing them fast sums the way she does and I've just realised that I've left my cup of tea by the chair. "Marjorie Storey the clairvoyant?" Oh! So that's what's she's after, a reading. Well I'll just have to put her straight. "Look, I'm sorry love, I don't do readings any-"

"I have a message for you." She interrupted. "Sorry?" "I'm Angela, a clairvoyant like you. I thought if anyone would be open to having a reading it would be you. I have a message for you."

Suddenly, I feel really hot and my heart's playing hop-scotch in me chest. But all I can focus on is the complicated flowery pattern of the telephone chair, though I've looked at it a thousand times before. I've never noticed just how delicate the stitching is and I feel like I'm seeing it for the first time. "Marjorie?" She rouses me from my hypnotic stance. "It's from George. Your husband?" All of a sudden I'm experiencing a familiar feeling, one not felt in years. Within a split second, the fury has exploded in my chest and rises out of me with gusto, like a firework.

My feeling of heat gives way to one of nausea, like I'm physically going to be sick. "You what? Now just you listen here - I don't know who you think you are or how you got this number Missy - but I don't appreciate jokes. My husband's dead. He doesn't give messages to anyone any more!" I slammed the phone down so hard, the bell inside it chimed like it was ringing all over again.

Tears prick at my eyes and I can't see clearly. Easing myself down into the chair at the telephone table, I rest my head in my hands, the severity of my own reaction has scared me. "What did you do that for?" Hans asks simply. There were no accusations in his voice, but the banks had burst and before I could form the words in my brain, they were spewing out of my mouth like volcanic lava. "Shut up!" I shouted out loud. "Just shut up! If he was going to give a message to anyone it should be me! Me!

I was the one who looked after him all those months; I was the one who wiped his brow and watched his mind and body rot around him. It was me! He should talk to me, not some stranger!"

Hans doesn't say any more and after my sudden shouting episode I actually think for a split second I've gone deaf. I can't even hear Carol or Des in the background cracking bad jokes, just the noise of my own blood rushing through my head. The house I now realise, is so quiet. In my rush to slam down the receiver, our wedding photograph that has stood beside the phone for as long as I can remember has fallen on its face. I turn it up to see George and his cheeky grin through the sepia tones laughing back at me and my own happy eyes that were full of youth and optimism. I smiled wryly at the irony; I bet her out of the 'Carry On' films would laugh at the comparison between me, then and now.

I suppose it happens to the best of us.

Continued .... Next Page (3/5)

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