Page 8 - Bottle

"Kevin." He could hear the gurgling of a baby.
"Just a minute." Then, presumably to her husband.
"Take him." He could hear her breathing. "Kevin?"

"Yes."
"You know?"
"Yes, my Mum told me. Just now. But–"
"What?" She was again speaking off-phone.
"No, look, mummy's on the phone. Ask daddy.
Tim, please."
Kevin knew she had a young child; the baby
was a new addition.
"Sorry, Kevin." She paused to gather herself. "I
couldn't find your number, but I found your
Mum's. I hope–"
"It was okay."
"I thought you'd want to come to the funeral.
It's, er, on Wednesday."
"Yes, of course."
"I'll give you the address. Have you got a pen
and paper?"
"Yes." He wrote down the details of where and
when.
"Sally, er, my Mum was a bit vague about what
happened. Can you tell me?"
She was silent. Was she shocked?
"Yes." But the word was very small, almost a
whisper. And Kevin suddenly realised her hurt.
"If you can't it's okay. I–"

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