Dont Answer The Phone – Miranda Rijks

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‘Me too,’ Lucas adds. ‘Time to grab a bite?’ I send Grant a message telling him where we’re going for lunch, and we find Grant outside the restaurant, leaning against a wall, his face slanted towards the sun. ‘Hey,’ Lucas says. ‘Feeling happier about skiing?’ ‘I certainly am. You’re not getting me on that board again.’ Grant pats his pair of orange and white rental skis, and both men laugh. As we lean my skis and their snowboards up against a stand, Lucas’s phone rings.

Strangely, he doesn’t answer the phone, but then it rings again just a few seconds later. He sighs. This time, he tugs off his gloves and pulls out his phone, his forehead creasing when he sees who’s calling. ‘What’s up?’ he answers the phone curtly. ‘Really? Hospital?’ Now he looks worried. ‘Right, keep me posted.’ ‘Is everything alright?’ I ask as he shoves his phone back into his jacket pocket.

‘Mom’s not feeling well. We’ll see.’ A flash of worry goes through me. I would hate for something to happen to Peggy. INSIDE, the restaurant is heaving with people, and the line for food is long. It takes a while for us to buy our hamburgers and drinks and find a table. But as we start munching, Lucas’s phone rings yet again. He scowls as he removes it from his pocket.

‘What now?’ His face pales, and he stands up, pushing his chair backwards with a scraping motion, and he steps away before turning his back on us and striding quickly out of the restaurant. ‘What’s all that about?’ Grant says. ‘I think his mother is unwell.’ I don’t say anything about Peggy, about the fact that the woman I’ve been helping out is, in fact, Lucas’s mother.

That Peggy who came for Sunday lunch is Lucas’s mother. I’ve left it too long. I should have said something when Peggy came for lunch, and I most definitely should have said something the moment Lucas walked into our kitchen. Except I was so dumbstruck, so consumed with guilt, I clammed up. And now? I’ve dug myself such a deep hole I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to climb out of it.

I’m so stupid. This awful situation is one hundred percent of my own making, and it consumes me with guilt and worry. Lucas doesn’t return, which is weird. Curiosity getting the better of me, I tell my family I’m heading for the toilets. I weave through the tables, avoiding helmets and poles, stray gloves and puddles of melted snow.

I spot him standing outside. I hesitate for a moment, but then he swivels around and sees me. He stomps back inside. ‘Is everything alright?’

DON’T ANSWER THE PHONE is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

OceanofPDF.com CONTENTS Inkubator Books Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Free Short Story Offer ONE LITTLE MISTAKE A LETTER FROM MIRANDA Also By Miranda Rijks OceanofPDF.com For Pippa Bugby, who made our house a home.

I couldn’t have got through the past year without you! OceanofPDF.com JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3dOTSW2 OceanofPDF.com PROLOGUE THEN ‘Mom, what’s that on your arm?’ I tug my sleeve down over my wrist to cover the livid bruise, even though it’s much too hot to be wearing a long-sleeved dress.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘The iron fell on me earlier.’ We think we can kid our children, but we can’t. Not really. Sometimes I wonder whether mine were born with an innate wisdom, because they know things I’ve never taught them. I gaze at my family—my perfect family. My husband sits in his deckchair, reading The Boston Globe, his starched white shirt open to expose his hairy stomach. My three cherubic children, two of them playing contentedly in our secluded garden, one fast asleep in her bassinet, shaded under an umbrella.

The fairytale treehouse in the middle of the lawn, constructed around the beech tree, with its turrets and little windows and narrow steps that wind up and around the trunk, so high above the ground. I am lucky, I tell myself. So very lucky. I need to remind myself of that. ‘Mommy, will you play with us?’ I smile at my eight-year-old daughter with her cherubic smile and creamy porcelain skin. At least she is never marked with bruises.

‘Play with your brother, darling.’ My husband lowers the newspaper and scowls at me, opening his mouth as if to say something. Except then the phone rings. ‘Don’t answer the phone,’ he mutters. ‘Concentrate on the cooking. I’m starving.’ I hurry inside, and I do answer the phone. Except all I hear is static. ‘Who’s there?’ I ask. No one answers. I’m about to ask again when there’s a scream. A terrible, ear-piercing scream. Coming from our garden. I drop the phone, leaving it to dangle, and race through the house into the garden.

My scream mingles with theirs.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

  • Unique ID: 6fd12d56fff21e1f
  • File Extension: .pdf
  • File Size: 2,868,261 bytes (2.735 MB)
  • Title:
  • Author: Unknown
  • ISBN: 9781837567157, 9781837567164, 9781837567171
  • Pages: 226
  • Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

  • Estimated Reading Time: 384.16 minutes
  • Total Words: 76,832
  • Total Characters: 413,204
  • Average Words per Page: 339.96
  • Average Characters per Page: 1828.34

Most Frequent Words

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