Harry kept dialing his mothers number over and over, only to hear the same cold message: This number is no longer in service. He hadnt spoken to her in two years. His wife had forced him to choose: her or his mum. He chose his wife.
This number is no longer in service
A cold sweat gathered beneath Harrys crisp white shirt. A gaggle of laughing teenagers drifted past the park bench where he sat. He stared at them, feeling like a bewildered animal, unsure of who he was, where he was, or why any of it matteredlife, laughter, joy, carefree moments A letter lay on his lap. In bold block letters on the envelope was his name: Harry. Period. Mum always put a full stop at the end of everything. Harry had already printed it out. The envelope was still sealed, so his sister hadnt read it. Mum had filled two pages with immaculate, blocky handwritingno flourish, just the kind of neat script youd see from a topclass pupil at a grammar school. The letter began: Dear Harry, son. If youre reading this, Im no longer there
Harry let out a guttural snort. He tried to hold back tears, but the words kept coming and his resolve crumbled.
He wasnt thinking about his mother that day. He headed out for lunch, craving a kebab: juicy, spiced meat tucked into warm flatbread with cabbage, tomato, cucumber and a generous drizzle of that tangy garlic sauce his favourite streetvendor swore by. As he reached the revolving doors of the Westfield shopping centre, he thought he saw his mother stepping out onto the street. She was dressed in a brown coat, her dark hair just brushing her shoulders, moving with the tired gait of a woman worn down by work and household chores. Exactly the mother hed imagined for the past three monthssometimes appearing in his dreams, sometimes in fleeting glimpses, sometimes packing bags as if she were about to leave, sometimes looking forlorn and detached, as if shed given up trying to protect her son. The image made his chest tighten with the panic of being alone in a world without her steady shield.
Three months earlier, a small, battered creaturehalfferret, halfmousehad crawled into his bed. It shivered against his cheek, its halfshaved fur making Harry cringe, yet pity overrode disgust. He let it curl into a tiny ball on his pillow, right next to his head, breathing weakly. Then, in the dark, he realised there were no rodents or ferrets in the flat. When he thought about it, the creature vanished, leaving only a warm indentation on the pillow. He swore it hadnt been a dream. That night, with his wife already asleep, Harry scrolled through his phone until a photo album popped up: pictures of him and his mother, smiling together, a genuine familyno fights, no grudges. He didnt know what to make of it.
Stumbling toward the exit, he tried to catch the woman who seemed his mother, but a couriers voice cut through: Which floors the appliances? Ive got a delivery. Third floor, the guard replied. I work there, Harry interjected, eyes glued to the revolving doors, whos the delivery for? Could it be me?
The courier, skeptical, read the label on the parcel: For Harry S.Murray. Thats me, Harry said, extending his hand. ID, please. He patted his chest, retrieved his passport from the inside pocket, signed the receipt, and stepped back onto the bustling street. Cars honked, pedestrians chattered, and he tore open the package. Inside was a note from his sister.
Mum died on 12June. She asked me to give you this letter. Dont call me I wont answer. Youve always been a traitor to me.
12June! And today was 15September! Hed been left in the dark for three whole months.
A wave of nausea hit him, his stomach knotting as he leaned against the dusty, reddish wall of the centre. His mother the woman whod given him endless love, loyalty and protectionwas gone. The very woman hed once shouted to his wife, Im no longer your son! over, now lay silent.
The thought of kebab, cappuccino and the gnawing hunger of the last two hours vanished. He didnt dare open the letter there; he walked, halfblinded, to the park, sat on the bench and finally slit the envelope.
so Im no longer here. I have stagefour cancer. Today I felt an unexpected surge of strength and decided to write before my hand gave out. They say such a sudden burst often means the end is near.
Harry, dont blame yourself. How many times did I dial your number and hang up before the ring? Pride has held us both hostage. Even now, as I write, pride stops me from calling. And you dont call. Maybe you dont think of me, maybe you dont care, but youre still my son, and I cant stop loving you.
Im sorry I never got on with your wife; I was wrong in places, but she isnt a saint either. Forgive the gaps in your upbringingI raised you alone as best I could. Perhaps I was a bad mother, given how easily you turned away. Youve punished me enough, son. Thats enough. Forgive me.
I would have loved, before I died, to hear your voice one last time
Harrys cheeks were wet with tears he clutched in his fist. Hed never felt unloved or ignored. Mum always found time to talk, to soothe, to advise. She guarded him and his sister like a wolfess. When two classmates tried to bully him in Year5, she caught one on the street and held a pocketknife to his ear: Touch Harry again and Ill cut off your ear, understood? Shed signed him up for karate, teaching him to stand his ground, show no weakness, and fight with courage, even desperation if needed.
He pressed his phone to his ear, imagined the ring, and whispered, Im calling you, Mum, please pick up. Im sorry for being weak. Let this letter be a joke! The silence on the other end was crushing, like a tomb, then
This number is no longer in service.
No! No! I cant believe it! Harry screamed, dialing again and again, the automated voice repeating, Number not in service. Number not in service.
Defeated, he tried his sister, who barked, Go to hell, you idiot! and slammed the handset.
He called in sick from work and trudged home, standing at the doorway like a statue, shoes still on, coat still on. His wife, Alice, was on maternity leave, caring for their baby. Whats the matter, love? Did something happen? she asked, clutching her chest in a feigned gasp that made Harry cringe.
Mother died, he said.
Alices eyes widened. What? Did your sister call? Whens the funeral?
It happened three months ago.
And they never told you? Lovely family! No wonder
Shut up! Harry snapped. Dont bring my family into this.
After a brief calm, they decided to drive to his sisters flat in Bristol, the town where his mother had lived. They sped off, Harrys frustration morphing into a frantic rage aimed at everyonehimself, his wife, his relatives, especially his sister. They burst through the door of the flat, where his sister, Emma, now lived. Harrys voice trembled with fury.
You shouldve told me! You shouldve said Mum was ill! Youre a…!
I owe you what? Emma retorted, cheeks flushing. I owe you nothing! You should have spoken to her yourself! Youre a a spineless wimp who swapped his own mother for this this witch!
Alice tried to intervene, Dont
Enough! Harry cut her off. This is different! You should have said something!
Whats it to you? You shouted youre no longer her son! Look at Alice, how pitiful she is, always crying, always upset! Youve turned this place into a circus! Emma ranted.
Harry remembered the old family squabble: his mother had refused a loan for his wedding, forcing him and Alice to marry on a shoestring budget while both sets of parents argued over who should pay. Alice, a quiet sort, had barely spoken to his mother, retreating to her room after work, never helping with the baby, claiming postnatal depression and snapping at Harry behind closed doors. Their mother would sneak into the nursery to steal the infant for a cuddle, irritating Alice to no end. Shed also promised to swap the flat for a smaller one, a promise that never materialised.
The argument devolved into shouting, flinging accusations, and finally, Emma stormed out, threatening to call the police. Alice trembled, Harry sat on the grimy hallway step and wept. In the car on the way home, Harry said coldly, A large part of what happened is your fault, Alice. Im also to blame, but youre the biggest. How do we live after this?
Its your decision, not mine, Alice replied. Both of us are at faultyour sister and you should have told us.
They argued all the way home, and Harry eventually stopped answering Alices calls. He vanished for a month, living on his own, his son the only anchor. Eventually he returned, but remained distant, his grief for his mother a constant weight. Alice felt no remorse for the latestage motherinlaw; she only pitied her husband, the virus that had ruined everything.
Sometimes Harry still swore he saw his mother on the street, a phantom passing by without a glance. Yesterday he thought he spotted her on a commuter train, staring out the window. A crowd surged onto the platform; he squeezed through, heart tightening like a steel bar. He almost stepped on her footno, it was another woman entirely.
Out of habit, he still dialled his mothers number, hoping for even a hiss of a ring, a single tone from the darkness.
The number is no longer in service, the automated voice intoned.
Im your son! Mum, mum, hear me!
Dont call this number again. Be grateful you still have your wife.
