Faster Than the Speed of Silence (1/5) By Leah Scarpati

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

The phone's ringing again - the second time today. Its shrill chime echoes around the house, reverberating through the hall and into my warm little cocoon of a living room. It makes me nervous. It's like a foreign body, stealthily making its way through the house, looking for me- preparing to bump me off, to throw something at me when I least expect it. It annoys me though. I can't bear interruptions. I wonder whether or not I should even bother picking it up. Who do I really need to talk to today anyway? I can have nothing but conversation twenty-four hours a day if I want and that's all in me 'ead.

The last thing I want now is to pick up the phone to yet another Indian based call centre employee trying to flog me a time share or life insurance-I mean, at my age! Anyway, it takes me all me time to get out of the chair these days, it's not worth the hassle. If it's not a call centre, it'll probably be bad news. If I had the money, I could get myself one of those moving chairs that her out of those 'Carry On' films advertises in an afternoon. God, she 'aint half aged! It makes me laugh 'cause they'll put one of her films on in an afternoon from years ago and she's all young and skinny, just like I remember her and the next thing- the adverts come on and it's back to reality, there she is thirty years later advertising stair lifts and those baths you sit up in.

Anyway, if I got one of her chairs I could be up and about as often as I like. Not necessarily to answer the phone mind you, but perhaps to have more than just a couple of cups of tea a day. I ask my spirit guide Hans, (in my mind) if it's anyone important. "You won't know until you pick it up," he says in my ear, his German accent thick like porridge. He's a bugger, he is! He won't give anything away, you know? He won't let me be lazy by actually answering a simple question for a change.

Oh-no, I always have to find everything out for myself. I should invest in one of those new fangled answering machine thingys. Then I won't have to talk to anyone and I still won't miss a trick. The phone's still ringing.

Hans is silent in my ear. It can't be my daughter, she rings on Thursdays and today's Tuesday. I growl in annoyance that whoever it is, is interrupting 'Countdown'. I just got my first eight letter word an' all! My arthritic knees creak in complaint as I slowly clamber out of the chair, but eventually I get to the telephone stand, puffing a bit mind you, and stand in front of the seat.

This conversation won't be lasting long enough to warrant sitting down. "Hello?" I snap into the receiver. "Hello, is that Marjorie Storey?" She sounds English. Hans tuts in my ear at my racism.

Continued .... Next Page (2/5)

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