Bit of a rush today – lots to do before more lovely visitors arrive this afternoon, so I’ll keep it brief. The Friday fiction bus is driven by Rochelle and has stopped this week at a pay phone belonging to Danny Bowman. I welcome all kinds of feedback on my story.
When we were little, we made a string telephone. She, being the eldest, had the talking end and I the listening. That’s how I thought they worked. It was the same when we got older, she called to talk, I to listen.
So now what?
Is she talking in her head? Or does she expect me to take over? The doctor says she may be able to hear; that a favourite song or a beloved voice could bring her back. I want to believe it, but mine’s not a beloved voice, is it? I mean, would she even recognise it?