vox_lusciniae: (Family)
[personal profile] vox_lusciniae
It’s six o’clock, and finally, Martha can go home. She closes down the last file and shuts down her computer. With nods and goodbyes and well-wishes for the evening ahead, she farewells her colleagues, slips into her jacket and, handbag in hand, heads for the lift. It’s only a short walk to the foyer; it’s rather impressive in wood and sleek metal, and a little futuristic as befits the, as she’s heard it described, “acceptable face of intelligence-gathering on aliens.”

Martha smiles and nods to the guard on duty and holds her security pass up to the scanner on the door. The scanner flashes green and when the door slides open, she steps out into the early spring twilight. She zips up her jacket and flips up the collar around her neck, shoulders hunched over for warmth; there’s a cold breeze that promises rain to come. This being London, that’s not especially surprising.

She pulls her phone and car keys out of her handbag as she walks. She flips open the phone and turns it on. 1 new voice message. There’s a little flutter in her stomach; did Tom call while she was working? It’s been a while since they’ve spoken, perhaps understandably. Africa’s a long way away. But when she dials her voicemail, it’s not Tom’s voice that greets her, but her sister’s.

Oh, Martha, you’re not going to believe it!” Tish sounds like she’s not sure whether to be amused or dismayed. That tone of voice never brings good news. What it usually brings is tidings of some new family crisis. “Mum’s hitting the roof again, apparently Dad’s done something, and he’s in trouble like you wouldn’t believe. You know what she’s like.” Martha rolls her eyes. Tish is right about that; Martha knows exactly what their mother’s like when she’s in one of her moods. “It’s going to be crazy when you get home tonight. Want to come around to my place for dinner instead? We can come up with …

The call drops out.


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July 2009

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