Room 12 by Graham Crisp

Pamela had only just sat down when she heard her name being called, “Miss Heatherington, please go to room 12, second on the left, Melissa Holme will see you now.” Pam stood up and gathered her belongings. She searched for her phone. The receptionist looked up and rolled her eyes. 

“You’re sitting on it!” 

Blushing, Pamela scooped up the offending object and scuttled across the floor. She passed a line of wire racks each packed with an array of multi-coloured leaflets - the words ‘Mental Health’ seemed to feature prominently on each pamphlet. 

The door to room 12 was ajar. Pam slipped inside, “Hi ya, Mel, how’s things?” The pair exchanged a weak handshake. Pam sensed a couple of inquiring eyes closely examining her, searching deep into her face, seeking answers. 

Melissa Holme indicated for Pam to sit. She turned to face her computer screen and gently tapped the keyboard. “Well Pam, I was worried about you. I called at the flat, but a neighbour had said you had left a few days previously. She also said that Rob had been taken away, in handcuffs, by the Police and you left the next day carrying a holdall.” 

“Nosey cow,” muttered Pam. Melissa winced, “Well? Is that true?” 

Pam nodded. 

Pam felt a sudden surge rise through her body, she pushed herself forward. “Look it’s not all Rob’s fault, you know, he was great, caring and kind until …….” Pam paused and drew breath, “It happened.” Pam’s eyes started to fill up, Melissa handed her a paper handkerchief. Composing herself, Pam carried on, “He took it really bad you know, he lost his job and, like, he started doing drugs, just to pay the bills and stuff.” 

“Do you know where he is now?” Pam shook her head. “Somewhere down south, I think.” 

Published in Issue #9

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