Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 28

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  The lights were on when I arrived home, so I knew Roger had gotten back from his night with the boys. I didn’t see him when I got inside, so I assumed he’d gone to bed. I walked into the kitchen and after switching on the light, I noticed that the answering machine message counter was rapidly flashing. The machine informed me I had fifty-five messages. I tentatively hit the play button.

  “Hello dear, it’s Mother…”

  Fast forward.

  “Suzie, are you there?”

  Fast forward.

  “Hel…”

  Fast forward.

  “Suz…”

  Fast forward again and again. All from Mother. I erased them all. I could feel the beginnings of a severe headache coming on. I grabbed two Paracetamols from the packet in my handbag. After grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I poured myself some water from the kitchen tap. That’s when I noticed that the garage lights were on. I thought Roger must still be awake and might have brought some mates back for another beer. Or he could be alone and working on his sports car, a restoration which was his current project and his hobby. Since it was a long weekend as well as a Friday, I wasn’t surprised that he was still up, even after a day at work.

  I walked out the back door. The security light came on, illuminating the back garden. As I got closer to the garage, I could hear the sound of an AC/DC song, ‘Highway to Hell.’ I smiled. AC/DC was Roger’s favourite group. I was just going to let him know I was back, then I was going to head straight to bed. I didn’t spot Roger immediately but when I did, my jaw dropped. I felt my knees buckle beneath me. Roger was swinging leisurely by a rope from a steel rafter. There was a cardboard sign hanging from his neck.

  “I’ve come to collect Roger, couldn’t wait any longer.”

  How had this happened? Had Mother whispered into Roger’s ear to get him to take that final step? Had she done this because I continually ignored her? My horror and disbelief was coupled with the knowledge that my darling Roger was dead because of me. I wished with all my heart that I could turn the clock back, to have never agreed to have had lunch with Mother that day.