Maureen Jennings’s “The Journey” is the third of three exclusive crime fiction stories presented by Sun Media, appearing in serial form in this blog, following William Deverell’s “The Bust” and Rick Mofina’s The Day of The Bone Thief.
The car ashtray was full to overflowing and her mouth tasted foul from too many cigarettes.
As of Sunday last, she’d resolved to cut back, skip the morning pick-up and keep to 10 a day, max. She’d been OK for almost two days until the phone call. It was six in the morning and the ringing had jolted her out of sleep, her heart pounding, her brain struggling to understand what was happening. The phone! It was the phone. What the hell.
At first she couldn’t understand who was speaking and why. She took in the words “social worker” but missed the woman’s name. The voice on the other end was soft and placating but the words were formal, out of a textbook.
“I regret to tell you, your father, Francis Newey, is seriously ill. We recommend that you come at once if you wish to see him.”
She had a soft lilting accent that touched her words like a perfume, but Liz couldn’t identify what it was. East Indian? English?
“Miss Newey? Are you there?”
“Hold on a minute. I’m not quite awake. What do you mean seriously ill? He was fine when I saw him last?”
“Er, when was that Miss Newey?”
Suddenly Liz was embarrassed. She hadn’t seen her father for four years but she wasn’t about to go into all that sad story with a stranger.
“That’s neither here nor there, is it? You’re phoning me out of the blue to say I should get there at once. Are you telling me that he’s dying?”
A slight clearing of the throat from the woman. “Yes, I am sorry to say that his condition is considered terminal.”
“In layman’s language. He’s dying. You can use the word. I’ve heard it before.”
She was being rude to this poor woman and she knew it but she was suddenly flooded with anger. It was just like Frank to make her life as difficult as possible.
“I’ve just started a new job. I don’t know if I can drop everything just like that”
“Well …”
“How long’s he got? What sort of time are we talking about?”
The woman’s voice dropped even lower. Liz knew she couldn’t possibly be calling from the death bed but it almost sounded like that.
“The doctor thinks he might not last the night.”
“Is he conscious? No point in coming if he’s not conscious.”
“He is under sedation but he can communicate.”
“What is it, cancer?”
“Yes. Of the lungs.”
Liz had been about to reach for a cigarette but she stopped. Frank had always been a heavy smoker. Just like her.
“That you for letting me know, Miss …?”
“Davis, Susan Davis. And I’m sorry to give you such a shock but we had difficulty in locating you.”
“What hospital is he in?”
“St Michael’s.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
**
Somewhat to her surprise, the manager of the restaurant where she was working was sympathetic. Liz had only been there for three weeks and she was afraid they’d fire her if she asked for time off so soon.
“Of course you’ve got to go. We’ll hold the job. You’re an excellent worker … you and your father, were you close?”
“No,” said Liz.
Watch for Part 2 tomorrow at Whodunit, and follow @whodunitblog on Twitter for reminders about each chapter!
Tags: canadian, cancer, crime, death, fiction, Maureen Jennings, murder, mystery, short story, whodunit
great start, looking forward to more. i’ve made too many phonecalls like that, it doesn’t get any easier after many years