Outside the window, darkness deepens, yet Mum isn’t back. Emily, spinning the wheels on her wheelchair, manoeuvred to the table, grabbed the mobile, and dialled Mum’s number.
“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” announced an unfamiliar voice.
Confused, Emily stared at the phone, then remembered its low credit and switched it off.
Mum had gone to the supermarket but hadn’t returned. This never happened; she never stayed out long, especially with Emily disabled since childhood and unable to walk, relying solely on her wheelchair and Mum, having no other family.
Now seven, Emily wasn’t frightened alone at home, but Mum always said where she’d gone and when she’d be back. The girl couldn’t grasp what was wrong.
“She went to the bigger Sainsbury’s today because prices are cheaper. We often shop there. Though it’s further away, it’s still close, an hour there and back maximum,” she checked her watch. “It’s been four hours already. I’m hungry.”
She steered her chair towards the kitchen. She boiled the kettle, fetched a sausage roll from the fridge. She ate, drank her tea, tried to wait.
Still, no Mum. Unable to wait longer, she grabbed the mobile again and redialled.
“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” repeated the mechanical voice.
Emily transferred onto her bed, tucking the phone under her pillow. She left the light on; darkness felt too scary without Mum.
She lay awake for ages before finally sleeping.
***
Sunlight streamed through the window when she woke. Mum’s bed was neatly made.
“Mum!” she yelled towards the hall.
Silence answered. She took the phone, called again. The same cold, metallic voice replied.
Fear surged; tears started falling.
***
Oliver was returning from the bakery. He bought fresh pastries there every morning. That was their routine: his mother cooked breakfast; he fetched the buns.
At thirty, Oliver remained unmarried. Girls and women barely noticed him: unattractive, thin, sickly-looking. Illness had chased him since birth. Expensive treatments were needed, but his mother raised him alone. The final diagnosis came in adulthood: infertility. He’d resigned himself to never marrying.
Something glinted in the grass beside the pavement – a crushed mobile. Phones and computers were his passion and profession; he worked in IT. He had top models himself, but professional curiosity made him pick up this broken one. It looked like a car had driven over it and flung it aside.
“Hope nothing bad happened?” crossed his mind. He slipped the damaged device into his pocket. “Sort it at home.”
***
After breakfast, he extracted the SIM card and inserted it into one of his many mobiles. Most contacts were for the NHS, pension services, and such, but the first entry was labelled “Emily”.
He thought for a moment, then called that number.
“Mum!” answered a bright, childish voice.
“I’m not Mum,” Oliver replied, startled.
“Where’s Mum then?”
“Don’t know. I found a broken phone. I put its SIM in mine and called.”
“My Mum’s vanished,” came a sob. “She went to the shop yesterday and never came home.”
“What about your Dad? Grandparents?”
“Haven’t got a Dad or Gran. Just Mum.”
“What’s your name?” He understood this child needed help urgently.
“Emily.”
“I’m Oliver. Emily, go and tell your neighbours you’re alone.”
“I can’t go out. My legs don’t work. The flat next door’s empty.”
“Hold on, they don’t work?” Oliver was completely thrown.
“I was born this way. Mum says we’re saving up pounds for an operation.”
“How do you get around?”
“In my wheelchair.”
“Emily, do you know your address?” Oliver shifted into action.
“Yes. Seven Oak Road, Flat 18.”
“I’ll drive over now. We’ll find your Mum.”
He ended the call.
Susan walked into her son’s room:
“Oliver, what’s wrong?”
“Mum, I found a wrecked phone. Put its SIM in mine. Called. A little girl’s alone in her flat, disabled. No other relatives. I got her address. Driving over to sort it.”
“We’ll go together,” the woman stated, beginning to get ready.
Susan had raised her often-sick son alone; she knew exactly what a single mother with a disabled child faced. Now retired, her son earned extremely well.
They hailed a taxi and set off to rescue the child.
***
They buzzed the intercom.
“Who?” a sad child’s voice asked.
“Emily, it’s Oliver.”
“Come in!”
The main door clicked open. The flat door upstairs was slightly ajar.
They entered. A thin girl in a wheelchair watched them with mournful eyes:
“Will you find my Mum?”
“What’s her name?” Oliver asked immediately.
“Lydia.”
“Surname?”
“Perry.”
“Hold on, Oliver!” Susan interrupted, turning to Emily. “Emily, are you hungry?”
“Yes. There was a sausage roll in the fridge, but I ate it yesterday.”
“Right. Oliver, run to our usual Tesco, get the things we always buy.”
“Got it!” He darted out.
***
He returned to find his mother had quickly prepared something in the kitchen. She unpacked his shopping bags, laid the table.
After they ate, Oliver began the search for the girl’s Mum.
He opened the local news website, scanning yesterday’s incidents.
“Right, right. ‘On Park Street, driver of a Fiat collided with a pedestrian. Victim in critical condition transported to hospital.'”
He took his phone, started dialling. On the third try, someone answered:
“Yes, we admitted a victim from Park Street yesterday. Condition critical. Unresponsive so far.”
“What’s her surname?”
“No ID or mobile found on her. Are you a relative?”
“Well… not sure yet…”
“Come to…”
“I know the address. Coming now.”
He hung up and approached Emily:
“Have you got a photo of Mum?”
“Yes.” She wheeled to the bedside table, pulled out an album. “Here’s Mum and me recently.”
“Your Mum’s lovely!”
Oliver took his phone, snapped a picture, and smiled at the girl.
“Off to find your Mum.”
***
Her eyes opened. A white ceiling. Consciousness returned slowly. The image of a speeding car flashed before her…
She tried moving; pain shot through her body. A nurse approached quietly:
“Awake?”
Suddenly Lydia’s eyes widened in horror:
“How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
“My daughter’s alone at the flat…”
“Lydia, calm down!” The nurse gently laid a hand on the patient’s chest. “A young man visited yesterday. Left his mobile for you. Said your phone was crushed by the car.”
“Need to call…”
“Now!” The nurse tapped the contact labelled ‘Emily’ and held the phone to Lydia’s ear. A voice echoed:
“Mum!”
“Emily, darling! How are you?”
“Alright! Gran Susan and Uncle Oliver come round.”
“Uncle Oliver? Who?”
“Patient, don’t distress yourself!” ordered the doctor entering. “Or I’ll take the phone. Let me examine you!”
“Darling, I’ll call back!” Lydia cried and ended the call.
The doctor checked her over, instructed the nurse, who promptly set up a drip.
As the doctor left, the nurse took the phone, pocketing it.
“Could I just speak to my daughter a moment longer?” Lydia whispered
Julia walked proudly through the school gates, hand in hand with her parents and grandmother, her heart full of happiness and hope for the future.