A roller-coaster relationship reaches the time of judgement; which direction does it take? Why not all?
When she switched on her phone Maggie couldn't believe her ears; the beeps followed each other like sheep through a gate. Eight messages, nine. She stood over the phone; waiting till the noise stopped, then picked it up to see if it was Paul. All from him, the sorriest man on the planet - or so he said. There were fifteen sorry-s, four forgive-me-s, ten I love you-s but no I'm stupid - forget me.
43 missed calls. Did he think she was a government office? Hang up and re-dial, hang up and re-dial. This man wouldn't walk a plank right to the end; he'd have some excuse for falling off too soon or back-pedalling. She didn't dare count how many times he'd let her down - this was it. If she had the equipment and the confidence she'd paint the words THE END IS NIGH on a sandwich board and parade outside his flat, but he'd charm it off her and change her mind - he was toxic. She was addicted to noxious substances/men.
Her finger hovered over the green button but she allowed the light of his number to fade, blink out while her mind roamed the corridors of sense and sensibility. That song from the eighties ran in her head, 'Don't worry, be happy,' and she closed her eyes to it. What was she worrying about? He didn't abuse her - he abused himself!
Last week a psychic told her that she'd marry him and be sorry. He'd cheat on her. He was weak, but she needed him and had been sent to save him. So if life was inevitable ,why struggle? She pressed the green call symbol again, and again, listening to the ring singing of his number in her ears.