Outside the window, dusk gathered, yet Mother still hadn’t returned. Julia, twisting the wheels of her chair, rolled to the table, grabbed the mobile, and dialled her mother’s number.
“The number you have dialled is switched off or out of service,” announced an unfamiliar metallic voice.
Confused, Julia stared at the phone, remembered it had little credit left, and switched it off.
Mother had gone to the shops and hadn’t come back. She never stayed out long; her daughter, born unable to walk and reliant on the chair, had no other family left. Julia was seven and didn’t mind being alone, but Mother always said when she’d return. What had happened?
“She went to that cheaper supermarket further away today,” Julia thought, glancing at the clock. “Though it’s ‘further,’ it’s not far really – only an hour there and back. Four hours have gone… I’m hungry.”
She wheeled herself to the kitchen. Boiled the kettle, fetched a pork pie from the fridge, ate, and drank her tea.
Still no Mother. Unable to bear it, Julia dialled again.
“The number you have dialled is switched off or out of service,” came the same recorded voice.
She moved herself onto her bed, tucked the phone under her pillow, and left the light on. It felt frightening without Mum.
She lay awake a long while before finally drifting off.
***
She awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. Mother’s bed was neatly made.
“Mum!” she called towards the hallway.
Silence answered. She grabbed the phone, dialled. Only the familiar metallic reply met her.
Fear surged; tears welled in her eyes.
***
Colin was returning from the bakery café where he bought fresh rolls each morning. It was their routine: Mother cooked breakfast while he fetched the pastries.
At thirty, Colin remained unmarried. Girls didn’t take notice: plain, thin, perpetually unwell since birth, needing expensive treatments his single mother struggled to afford. Then the final blow as an adult – discovering he couldn’t father children. Marriage seemed a distant dream.
Something caught his eye in the grass – a broken mobile. Phones fascinated Colin; he repaired them for a living and ran a tech blog. He had the latest models himself, but curiosity made him pick this smashed piece up. It looked run over, flung aside.
“Something happened?” he wondered aloud, slipping it into his pocket. “Sort it out at home.”
***
After breakfast, he extracted the SIM card and inserted it into one of his own phones. The contacts were mostly pension offices, council numbers, and hospitals. But the top entry was labelled “Daughter”.
He hesitated, then dialled it.
“Mum!” a bright, childlike voice cried.
“I’m… not Mum,” Colin stammered.
“Where’s Mum?”
“Don’t know. Found a broken phone. Used the SIM card… called.”
“My Mum’s gone,” came the voice, now thick with tears. “She went to the shops yesterday and never came back.”
“What about your Dad? Grandparents?”
“No Dad. No Gran. Just Mum.”
“What’s your name?” Colin knew he must help.
“Julia.”
“I’m Colin. Julia, go tell the neighbours you’re alone.”
“I can’t go out. My legs don’t work. No one lives next door.”
“How… how do you move?” Colin was bewildered.
“I was born like it. Mum says we save up money for an operation.”
“Julia, your address? Can you tell me?”
“Yes. Kensington Street, number seven, flat eighteen.”
“Stay put. I’m coming. We’ll find your Mum.” He hung up.
Evelyn entered his room. “Colin? What’s the matter?”
“Found a broken phone, Mum. Put the SIM in mine… called. There’s a little girl alone now. Disabled. No family. Got the address. Going to see.”
“Come along,” Evelyn replied, already fetching her coat. A single mother who’d raised a frequently ill son, Evelyn knew well the burden of caring for a sick child alone. Now retired, Colin earned well.
They called a taxi and set off.
***
They buzzed the entry phone.
“Who?” a small, sad voice answered.
“Julia? It’s Colin.”
“Come in!”
The door to flat eighteen was slightly ajar. Inside, a frail girl sat in a mobility chair, eyes saddening.
“Will you find my Mum?”
Colin crouched. “What’s her name?”
“Lily.”
“Her surname?”
“Perry.”
“Hold on.” Evelyn gently stepped forward. “Julia, are you hungry?”
“Yes. There was a pork pie yesterday. I ate it.”
“Right. Colin – dash to our usual shop. Get bread rolls, biscuits… milk. Hurry.”
“Yes!” Colin flew out the door.
***
He returned laden. Evelyn had laid the table. After they’d eaten, Colin started his search.
He pulled up the local news website, scanning yesterday’s incidents.
“Driver… hit-and-run… High Street… pedestrian… hospitalised… critical condition.”
He grabbed his phone, dialing persistently until someone answered the third call.
“Yes, victim admitted yesterday from High Street. Still critical, unconscious.”
“Is her surname Perry?”
“No ID found on her. No mobile. Are you family?”
“Well… not exactly…”
“Visit the hospital, then…”
“I know where it is. Coming straightaway.”
He hung up and approached Julia softly. “Is there a photo of Mum?”
Julia manoeuvred to a drawer, pulling out an album. “Here. Taken last month.”
“She’s lovely,” Colin murmured. He took a picture with his phone, smiling reassuringly. “Going to find her now.”
***
Eyes opened. White ceiling. Memory trickled back… headlights speeding…
She shifted; pain radiated. A matron leaned in softly.
“Awake?”
Suddenly Lily remembered. Terror widened her eyes.
“How long? How long?”
“Two days.”
“My daughter! Alone at home…”
“Shush now!” The matron placed a gentle hand. “A young man came yesterday. Left his number. Says your mobile was crushed.”
“Let me…”
The matron tapped a saved contact labelled “Daughter”, holding the phone.
“*Mum!*”
“Julie? Sweetheart! Are you?”
“Fine! Gran Evelyn’s here. Uncle Colin comes too.”
“Uncle Colin?” Lily whispered weakly.
“Patient! No fretting!” The doctor’s stern voice interrupted. “Else, no calls. Examination time.”
“I’ll ring back, sweetheart!” Lily cried before the matron took the phone.
After the exam, the matron began pocketing the phone.
“Please… a minute?” Lily pleaded weakly.
“Doctor’s orders… no upset,” the matron sighed, but redialled.
“Sweetheart…”
“This is Evelyn Perry,” a gentle woman’s voice came on. “Listen dear. My son found your broken phone. Tracked Julie… then you. I’m retired. I’ll watch Julie while you heal. Don’t fret!” Her tone softened. “Here’s your girl.”
“Mum, get better quick! Don’t be sad!”
“Sweetheart… mind Gran Evelyn!” Lily clung to the words like a lifeline.
“Patient! Phone *off*!” commanded the matron.
***
Next day Lily moved to a general ward. Evening visiting hours brought a knock.
“Perry? Visitor.”
Before surprise registered, a man entered – plain, thin
Darkness gathered beyond the windowpane, yet Mother had not returned. Daisy, turning the wheels of her chair, rolled to the table, lifted the telephone, and dialled Mother’s number. “The person you are calling is unavailable,” intoned an impersonal voice. The girl stared at the handset, then remembering its low credit, switched it off. Mother had gone to the supermarket—further away but cheaper—and never come back, something wholly unthinkable since Daisy, disabled from birth and reliant on the wheelchair, depended utterly on her; they had no other family, just each other. Now seven, Daisy wasn’t frightened alone, but Mother always said where she went and when she’d return. Weariness settled over her: “It’s been four hours. I’m so hungry.” Guiding the chair to the kitchen, she warmed the kettle, fetched a cutlet from the ice box. After eating, she sipped weak tea. Still, no Mother. Unable to bear it, she rang again, hearing only the same robotic refusal. She transferred to her bed, tucked the phone beneath her pillow, and left the light burning—no one should feel this afraid. Though she lay awake endlessly, slumber finally took her.
***
She woke to sunlight streaming in. Mother’s bed stood neatly made. “Mum?” she called towards the hallway. Silence answered. She grabbed the phone, dialled, and heard that same cold voice. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
***
Kevin was returning from the bakery, a daily ritual since childhood: Mother made breakfast while he fetched scones. At thirty, he remained unmarried. Girls hardly glanced at his gaunt, sickly frame—illness had plagued him since birth, demanding costly treatments his widowed mother struggled to afford. Grown now, he’d accepted the doctor’s
As they approached the school gates, Julia felt Christina’s gentle hand squeeze hers, her new father’s quiet strength beside her, banishing the last shadows of fear as she bravely stepped forward into the bright promise of this new dawn.
