“Yes.” Frieda did not recognize the voice nor number on her phone.

“I’m calling from the hospital. It’s about Ed.”

“Ed?” She hadn’t seen her ex-husband in 6 years. “What?”

“You’re listed as the person to notify. He needs emergency surgery after the accident.”

There was some mistake in the record. Why was she listed?

“Tell him he’s overdue on his last three alimony payments.” It was best not to say, “Tell that bum…”

“He may not make it.”

No more payments? But, no more Ed?

His wife, Janet, looked over, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

Grim-faced, Geoff focused on the road ahead. The light went red. Janet covered her eyes as the car shot through the intersection.

Safely on the other side, Geoff eased off on the accelerator and breathed out.

“What was that all about?” Janet asked.

Geoff was lost for words.

Brine burned his lips, rum quelled his pains.

The jellyfish still gathered.

In the moonlight glow their beauty morphed into that of a woman, her tail flowing along the starboard side.

I visit my Doctor as little as humanly possible. In fact, last Monday was the first time I’ve been here in ages. He told me to go to the hospital and take the tests. He said he’d call me back when the results were in.

I got the call an hour ago from the practice nurse. She said the Doctor could see me as soon as I arrived.

The vet carried out a full examination before pronouncing.

‘I have some wonderful news for you Miss Soames. Your lovely tortoiseshell is pregnant and will soon have a litter of kittens. Congratulations!’

‘That’s impossible. She never goes out. She always stays in the house.’

Just then, an old and battered ginger tom walked into the kitchen and began to munch on some food.

‘I bet that he’s the culprit,’ the vet said.

Abruptly it rings. She smacks the green button. A recording informs her it’s a free call from her daddy, being recorded.

Press one to accept. Hastily she slams her little finger onto the keypad.

Horror grips her sullen face as tears flow uncontrollably, realizing she pressed the number two in haste.

Nothing but dial tone. She wails for her Mimi. “I have to talk to my daddy,” she cries.

Last night had been disastrous. His wife was not satisfied with their sex life. She was adventurous and experienced. He had made bad decisions at work. To top it all off, he’d brawled with a friend.

The desperate eyes and face as she strained against a collar she could have slipped off her wasted neck; had her limbs moved that way. That is my last image of Honey.

Her frenzied bark in the background of the terrible phone call I took from traction was the last noise and the reason I vowed never to have another dog.

Seizing a window of opportunity, we are spending four nights in a five-star hotel on the coast complete with infinity pool. I swim, she wades.

She says, during my swim, a young girl approached her complaining a couple of boys mischievously removed the safety floaters to use for a game in the pool. The lass asked, “Can you tell your husband to make those boys put the floaters back?”

“Why don’t you?” I ask cheekily. “Grab your phone, make the call.”