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Waiting for the phone call The room is stuffy. It has a gaudy lino floor with pattern rubbed away in front of the sofa and round the table; the walls are damp and cluttered with old calendars and pictures torn from magazines. There is a rotten stench. The mantelpiece by the fireplace is filled with china ornaments: big-eyed flop-eared rabbits and beribboned kittens and flowery milkmaids and a porcelain doll wearing a Victorian dress and her long, golden hair in two neat plaits. The room is silent; except for the steady paced 'tick-tock' from the ancient Grand-father clock. It is Dorothy's birthday, 12th August. She is hunched up on her old tacky sofa on an early August morning. Dorothy is startled by birdsong echoing across the garden outside and, for a long time, she stares in confused remembrance towards where the swelling orange sun is burning the faded floral wallpaper across from her old-fashioned table. ...read more.


Even if the electricity is red and overdue - At least, they keep in touch. No longer absorbed in her letter opening task Dorothy looks at the sunlight shining blindly on her glazed, brown teapot and then she pours some lukewarm tea. She sits and thinks about birthdays back then - Cakes and drinks, songs and celebrations and her precious beloved family members spending time with her on her special day. Back when. 'Time flies,' she says. She's talking to herself most days - who else will listen? Up in the still shadowed parlour a clock chimes the hour and Dorothy rises tiredly and prepares to face the day. She stumbles into the living room and looks up to the mantelpiece. No birthday cards - Only a picture of her and her adorable grandchildren, Steven and Carol. Her eyes close. She becomes delirious with dreaming... Carol skipping up the lawn with a small straw basket, picking up little daisies and carefully placing them in the basket. ...read more.


Back when. She is startled by the sharp ringing of the phone. Her heart is pounding - could this be the phone call she has been waiting for all day? Is this her treasured family? She reaches over and clasps the phone. 'Hello?' she asks waiting urgently for answer. 'Hello. My name is Abigail Taylor calling on behalf of...' the woman replied. Dorothy slowly lowers the handset and replaces it back in the holder. She stands there paralysed. A tiny tear drop trickles down her wrinkly skin. She felt so much pain it was as if someone had stabbed her millions of times in the heart. What is the point of living if there is nobody who even knows you exist? The Grandfather clock strikes six in the evening. She strolls back to the photo of her with her grandchildren. Dorothy bursts out in tears - her eyes sore and red and waterfalls of tears flowing down her face. She picks up the photo and holds it against her broken heart. Dorothy still hopes to get that special phone call from her much-loved grandchildren. ...read more.

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