She let it ring. Pretended she never heard it.
“You’re such a fucking wimp. It’s a fucking telephone call! It’s probably not even them.”
Everyday, the same. The monologue in her head repeating with each phone call, driving her a little closer to cracking each time.
It’s happened before. Her losing it, I mean. She woke up with the prospect of the phone ringing on her mind and that was it. She pulled on some trackies and runners and left under the guise of exercising. That was before seven. She didn’t head back to the terrace until after ten. Three hours she sat down at the river, watching bits of plastic float by.
Another spoonful of yoghurt and the ringing stopped. “Fucking idiot. That would’ve paid for the car rego.” A strange sense of relief flooded her body, the nausea deep in her belly subsiding a little.