Megan lowers the phone and rests it back on her desk.
Leaning deeply into her ergonomic chair, she reflects on how many years it has been since she last spoke to her mother.
Nine years.
Nine years of silence, and Megan has still not forgiven her.
Even now, as she listens to what her mother is saying, nothing changes.
Mum knew, yet still allowed it to happen. She was culpable.
Opening a new file, Megan smiles and types out ‘Ron GREEN’, pressing the keys just a little too firmly.
She takes a deep breath and picks the phone back up.
“Sorry about that interruption, Mrs Green. Yes, of course, we will organise everything. Rest assured, we will handle every aspect professionally.”
Megan parroted the company’s spiel, gathered the necessary personal information and booked a home visit for the end of the week.
She clicks Ron GREEN’s file closed and watches as it vanishes from the screen, well aware that it is still there somewhere. Just like her mother: invisible but never fully disappeared. Haunting.
Her dark thoughts are abruptly interrupted when the phone rings again.
Megan answers in her professional voice.
“Good morning, you are through to reception at ‘Foster’s Funeral Care Directors’. We appreciate you calling.”
(Published, Winner of the Fusilli Award, January 2025).
