З життя
Терміновий дзвінок доньки: попередження, що збентежило серця
Все, що вона промовила мені тоді: “Татусю, спустіться з мамою мерщій до мене, будь ласка.” І поклала слухавку. У нас із дружиною в серці все завмерло від таких слів доньки.
Забрав я свою дівчинку зі школи, а дорогою додому слухав, як вона розповідала про свої успіхи: була чемною у школі та виконала всі домашні завдання в групі подовженого дня. Відразу зрозумів, що не просто так донька хвалиться сьогоднішніми досягненнями. Як я й здогадувався, вона зупинилася, повернулася до мене і сказала: “Тату, я ж сьогодні була хорошою дівчинкою. Можна я піду грати з Софійкою? Ми покатаємось на роликах.” Подивився в ці оченята і не зміг відмовити. Адже в неї ж дитинство – найкраща пора життя, нехай насолоджується ним сповна.
Поки моя донечка каталася на роликах зі своєю подружкою, ми з дружиною готували вечерю та ділилися новинами цього дня. Так скучали один за одним, що й не помітили, як промайнули дві години. Ми ще довго б сиділи за столом, уявляючи, що готуємо вечерю, якби не зателефонувала наша донька. Все, що вона промовила: “Татусю, спустіться з мамою мерщій до мене, будь ласка.” І роз’єдналася. У нас із дружиною в серці все завмерло від цього, і ми кинули все, швидко вибігли у двір.
Вибігаємо і бачимо нашу доньку та її подругу поряд із двома великими чоловіками. На шляху до них у мене в голові крутилася думка, що вже говорити з ними я не буду, а діяти без слів. Дружина йшла поруч, тремтячи від страху та тривоги за дітей. Вона не усвідомлювала, що цим чоловікам потрібно від дівчаток.
Ми підійшли до чоловіків, і вони почали дякувати нашій донечці за те, що вона така вихована та добра. Коли підійшли, то почули, що ми хороші батьки та виховали чудову дитину. Адже вона в такому молодому віці вже допомагає людям та рятує від прикрощів. Ми з дружиною стояли спантеличені, нерозуміючи, що відбувається. Прямували туди, думаючи викликати поліцію та розібратися з поганцями, а натрапили на добрих людей, які ще й дякували за виховання донечки.
Виявилося, коли наші дівчатка гуляли, побачили двох чоловіків, які виходили з авто, і в одного випав гаманець. Чоловік цього не помітив і пішов далі у справах. Донечка під’їхала на роликах, підібрала гаманець і швидко наздогнала дядька, віддала йому загублене. Він був вдячний, адже в той день отримав зарплату, й гаманець був повний купюр. Він дякував моїй донечці та хотів дати сто гривень як винагороду за допомогу. Вона злякалася та покликала нас, бо ми вчили ніколи нічого не брати від чужих людей.
У кінці чоловік все одно вручив нам ці сто гривень як знак вдячності. Ми з дружиною вирішили віддати їх донечці, щоб вона витратила на розваги чи ласощі. Повернулися додому всі разом, і ми з дружиною йшли, сповнені гордості, що виховали таку добру дитину. У серці я відчував безмежну радість і гордість за нас.
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No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. 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