(first published in The Fiction Pool, September 9th 2017)
‘Hello. You have eight messages. First message, received Friday, May 20th at 6.30 pm…’
‘You dirty nonce! Messin’ with kids’ lives. I know where you live, you shit! I’ll be round to see you wi’ a pair o’ garden shears. Guess what for?’
‘Second message, received Friday, May 20th at 7.10 pm…’
‘Hello love. Where are you? Don’t tell me you’ve forgot again. I think those sleeping pills are making you a bit dopey. The meat’s spoiling. Lucky we both like it well done! Hoping to see you soon. I mean VERY soon. Lots of love, Lucy.’
‘Third message, received Friday, May 20th at 8.45 pm…’
‘Andy, it’s me. Your meal’s in the bin. Again. We can’t go on like this. I mean it.’
‘Fourth message, received Friday, May 20th at 11.52 pm…’
‘Still not pickin’ up, you nonce? We wuz discussin’ you in the pub. Someone suggested some petrol through the letter box. But I say: why spoil a perfeckly good ‘ouse? So we’ll still be bringin’ the garden shears. Thought you’d like to know.’
‘Fifth message, received Saturday, May 21st at 9.30 am…’
‘Andy, it’s Jonathan here. So sorry to call you on the weekend. But I wanted you to know that we had a school governors’ meeting last night. You’ll understand that I had to make the governors aware of the allegations against you. They agreed with me that we have only one possible course of action. I’m afraid that, in view of the seriousness of the allegations, you’ll be on gardening leave for the present. So please don’t show up on Monday. If you need to get in touch, it’s best that you do it through the Foundation’s solicitors. Sorry about that, but I’m sure you understand that the school’s good name has to be my first concern.’
‘Sixth message, received Saturday, May 21st at 7.20 pm…’
‘Well, I did think you’d at least have the decency to ring and apologise. I think, under the circumstances, we should cancel that holiday in France: you’ll probably forget to come to the airport.’
‘Seventh message, received Sunday, May 22nd at 2.15 pm…’
‘Andy, it’s Lucy. Are you alright? Came past and saw the curtains drawn. When you get this, please call back to let me know you’re OK.’
‘Eighth message, received Monday, May 23rd at 10.00 am…’
‘Mr Robertson, this is Detective Constable Brailsford here. I’m ringing on behalf of Detective Chief Inspector Williams. We wanted you to know that, following investigation, we believe the allegations that have been made against you are unfounded. The child who made the allegations has withdrawn them – they appear to have been malicious in intent. Off the record, I’d like to say that both my boys were previously pupils at the school and hold you in high regard. I’m sorry for the trouble that has been caused, but you’ll understand that, in the present climate, every such allegation or complaint has to be thoroughly investigated. If you’d like any further information, please feel free to ring me back.
‘You have no further messages.’
Biography:
Michael Bloor lives in Dunblane, Scotland, where he has discovered the exhilaration of short fiction, with more than a hundred pieces published in Literally Stories, Everyday Fiction, The Copperfield Review, Litro Online, Firewords, The Drabble, The Cabinet of Heed, Moonpark Review and elsewhere (see https://michaelbloor.com).
Saragun Springs 
I’ve been hovering on the periphery this week what with one thing and another but I hve been bobbing in. Michael’s work is always excellent and this piece is poignant and sad and unfortunately a sign of the times. All great stuff. Thank you – dd
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Thanks, Diane, much appreciated. It was good to see this piece again after the original publisher closed down. I feel I ought to add that the idea of using a succession of answerphone messages to tell a tragedy was stolen from an original story by the late great William Mcilvanney.
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Hello Mick
There’s a lot of wickedness in the world. “Allegations” has become a cheap word. It broke apart and became guilty without trial sometime back for the majority. There have always been lunch parties, and God knows there are always going to be guilty adults.
Victims should always come forward, but since there are always going to be liars or misunderstandings people are innocent until proven guilty, no matter what social media says. There are innocent people on death rows everywhere and some have been killed and social media pressure suicides cannot be denied. This is a very clever way of showing it, especially the title. Although the way O’Toole looked in the movie, “perv” was a possibility!
Great work!
Leila
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Thanks for commenting and for re-publishing, Leila. You’re dead right about the cheapening of the word ‘Allegations.’
You’re incredibly conscientious in commenting on pieces, I salute you. With so many comments posted, it is perhaps fitting that you should come up with a world-class typo; ‘lunch parties’ for ‘lynch parties.’
thanks again, mick
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Ha! I did, didn’t I? You know I rather like that!
Leila👍
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Mick
I want to applaud the dialogue here and how well-done it is. Perfectly fitted to the theme, it also captures the individual voices of all the characters involved. It sounds real in each case, not just like the same person (or character) talking. When I say “real,” I mean fictionally real, in the good way.
Among other things, the individual voices show how fully realized a fictional world this is, totally well-rounded, very imaginative, and with much real-world depth in and around it, too.
I also want to applaud the use of tragic irony here. Such a thing as tragic irony is “invisible” but powerfully felt when done well, as it is rarely, and as it is here. Tragic irony is an ancient tool of story-telling that will never go out of style (because it’s real), and you’ve captured an aspect of it here.
Great work!
Dale
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Dale, thanks for commenting once again. I will gratefully take your ‘tragic irony’ summation. Glad you liked the dialogue, which I always find difficult to write. bw mick
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What was Mr. Robertson doing all that time? Dead?
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I believe he was on a train, if I recall the film correctly. Then again that is the purpose of phone machines, to screen calls. I’d hate to think that Mr. Hawley is the sort of person whose contacts leave the receiver down.
Anyway, I bet Chips (pun meant, damned meant), being honest and having integrity was probably right there, screening. Ha! certainly not at the pub. Places that serve hootch are Big Talk producers. Talk that seldom goes further than ye olde pay phone and/or alley. Instant caller ID, quick cut offs and the extinction of payphones has cut back on that.
Still, it is great that we have plenty of fine tales from Mr. Bloor.
Leila
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Traditionally, the whereabouts of Mr Robertson is in the eye of the reader.
Thanks for commenting, Doug and Leila. It’s been a cheery week, with another resurrected story being re-published every day. bw mick
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