One Kiss... (Completed)

The Voicemail That Changed Everything (Nelson)

Have you ever heard of the saying: ‘everything’ll be alright after a good night’s sleep”?

This was what my mother used to say to me after a hard day at school. This is what my dad said after I was beaten up in year ten after I flirted with some guy’s ex-girlfriend. I can tell you now that it’s a load of crap.

I forced my eyes open as I manoeuvred the car through the snow caked streets in the dark. It was almost dawn, and it had been one hell of a long day. Sarah was still at the hospital. The doctors wanted to keep her in make sure she wouldn’t go into hypovolemic shock after the miscarriage, and they said that she needed time to calm down and come to terms with what had happened. She had moderate concussion from her head wounds and she was considerably distressed, which was understandable after everything that had happened.

I stamped on the brakes as a lorry swept past me, mounting the kerb and just missing a bus shelter.

“Bloody idiot,” I hissed between my teeth, wrenching the car out into the road again, and turning on the wipers. It had started to snow again. The car was eerily quiet without Sarah’s chatter, so I switched on the radio. “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea started playing, and I suddenly realized the date. It was 20th December. I realized how little of a Christmas I was going to have this year, especially with the rate that my marriage was breaking down.

I pulled over to the side of the road and burst into tears. I had never been so exhausted in my life. I thought things were going well for Sarah and I. I thought we were happy. I loved Sarah with all my heart, and I knew as soon as I clapped eyes on her on that first day in the staffroom three years ago that she was the one. What had changed?

Pulling myself together, I switched the radio off and continued the drive home in silence.

I unlocked the door to our marital home, the key of which I still had, even after moving out. I was surprised that Sarah hadn’t changed the locks. Her iPhone was on the corner table by the door next to the landline phone. She must have left it yesterday in a rush. I picked it up, about to put it in my pocket, when I noticed a little notification on the screen:

Toby White: 11 Missed Calls

Curiously, I unlocked the phone and dialled the answering machine.

“You have seven new messages,” said the mechanical operator.

“Sarah, why are you ignoring my calls?” In an instant, I recognised the voice, though I couldn’t place where I’d heard it before. “I’ve been going insane here. You’re even ignoring me in class. Please call me back as soon as you get this. I need to know what’s wrong.”

The call cut off, and the operator’s voice took over. The world seemed to stop.

Toby White.

That boy who was there today. The boy who was there when Sarah fell down the stairs. It was him.

The phone slipped from my fingers and tumbled to the floor, making a resounding crash on the floorboards.

I grabbed my keys and made a beeline for the door.

I had to find that boy.