Free Wishful Thinking by Lynette Sofras

they were busy that afternoon with a local function and didn’t want to disturb them. On the other hand, he didn’t want to leave it until tomorrow. He felt like touching base now. One thing being around Amber did was make you feel acutely aware of your own mortality!
     
    “Hey mum! I’m just getting ready for my party and I wondered how yours had gone – is it over?”
     
    His mother mumbled something about going somewhere more private and the line went quiet for a full two minutes. When he next heard her voice, she sounded much more relaxed. He visualised her reclining in a comfortable chair and putting her feet up somewhere – probably in the tiny sitting room off the kitchen and almost certainly with a cup of tea in front of her. They made small talk for a while and she amused him with anecdotes about her afternoon party.
     
    “Oh by the way, you remember that nice young woman who turned up here just before Christmas? The one with the little boy?” His mother asked.
     
    His breath caught in his throat and he sat upright in his chair. “Yes of course. What about her?”
     
    “She came by this afternoon to bring us a little thank you present. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”
     
    “What did she say?” His heart began thumping painfully inside his chest.
     
    “Oh, we didn’t actually see her, darling. She just left some gifts for us at reception. Chocolates, you know and the sweetest basket of flowers from the little boy. What was his name?”
     
    “Ben.”
     
    “Yes of course. He signed the card himself. Very sweet.”
     
    “She left a card? What did it say?” He sat bolt upright and fully alert, but his mother began to sound rather too relaxed and sleepy.
     
    “Oh, just thank you – you know the usual.”
     
    “ Mother! Did she mention me?”
     
    She sounded surprised by his question. “Well yes, of course. She asked us to convey her gratitude to you and to say, umm…”
     
    He heard her cover the phone to speak to someone in the background, probably his father. He wanted to shout down the phone in impatience.
     
    “Mother?”
     
    “I’m sorry darling, your father needs me – there’s some problem in the kitchen. Shall I call you back?”
     
    “No! I want to know what Jess said in her note.”
     
    “Oh just, you know, that she was sorry not to be able to thank you in person and hopes you are well. The usual niceties, but she expressed them very well. But then she would, of course, wouldn’t she, being a writer?”
     
    “A writer? She works for a publisher.” It disturbed him that his mother knew these things which he didn’t. Had he really been so unobservant?
     
    “Well yes, because she’s interested in writing; don’t you remember her saying that? She does ghost-writing and editing - that sort of thing.”
     
    “I remember her saying she was thinking about training to be a teacher because she didn’t like her job…”
     
    “Well she does have a child to support. It’s a very practical solution. I don’t think writers make any money these days - except for that…Harry Potter woman – didn’t you meet her once? Oh but then she wouldn’t need a ghost-writer, would she? I really must go, darling. Your father needs me. Have a wonderful party tonight. I’ll be thinking about you and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
     
    “Wait, mother! One last thing. Did she…” he paused and took a deep breath, searching around his desk drawer for a pen and some paper. “I suppose she didn’t leave a phone number?”
     
    “Yes, as a matter of fact she did. And I’ll be calling her tomorrow to say thank you for the presents. I’ll tell her you asked after her. Happy New Year, darling. Talk to you tomorrow.” And maddeningly, frustratingly, she hung up.
     
     
     

8
     
     
     
     
     
    “So where did he go?” Ben asked, eyeing his mother over his mug of warm milk.
     
    “Who?”
     
    “The old man with the hundred noses. Where did he go?”
     
    Jess smiled. She’d