“Don’t Call Me Back”
“Mum, have you completely lost your mind?” Edward’s voice trembled with indignation. “How could you believe that wretched woman?”
“Don’t you dare speak of Emily that way!” Margaret cut him off sharply. “She’s like a daughter to me!”
“A daughter?” Edward let out a bitter scoff. “Mum, she robbed you blind! Took every last pound of your savings!”
“She didn’t steal a thing! I gave her the money willingly!” Margaret slammed her fist on the table. “And it’s none of your business how I spend my own funds!”
“My funds, Mum! That was Gran’s inheritance! Your pension, my help—and she vanished with all of it!”
Margaret turned toward the window. Rain trickled down the glass like tears, but she didn’t cry. She’d wept herself dry yesterday, realising Emily had deceived her.
“She didn’t vanish,” she murmured. “She went to visit her sister in Manchester. Said she’d be back in a month.”
“Mum, wake up! What sister? You know she has no family—she’s an orphan!”
“Perhaps she found one. Perhaps…”
Edward gripped her shoulders.
“Mum, look at me. Emily Hart is a con artist. She befriended you deliberately to swindle you. There are dozens like you she’s tricked.”
“How do you know?”
“I hired a private investigator. Here, see for yourself.”
He pulled a folder from his briefcase—documents, photographs.
“Emily Hart, thirty-eight. Convicted for fraud. Preys on lonely elderly women. These are photos with her other victims.”
Margaret’s hands shook as she took the folder. In each picture, Emily stood arm-in-arm with different women—all around her age, all smiling, all looking happy.
“This can’t be true,” she whispered.
“Mum, she took twenty thousand pounds from you. Said her daughter was sick and needed surgery. She doesn’t even have children!”
Margaret sank into a chair. Her hands trembled; her vision blurred.
“But she… we were friends for a year. She helped me—carried my shopping, took me to hospital…”
“She was grooming you, Mum. Earning your trust. Then she struck when you least expected it.”
Margaret remembered the day they’d met—in the waiting room at the cardiologist’s. A cheerful woman sat beside her, struck up a conversation. Said she was widowed, her daughter lived abroad. Just as lonely as Margaret herself.
Then came the accidental meetings—at the grocer’s, the chemist’s. Emily was always kind, always eager to help. Soon she was visiting for tea, sharing memories.
“Remember how I warned you?” Edward pressed. “Told you to be careful with strangers?”
“I remember,” she admitted. “But you distrust everyone. Think the worst of people.”
“Not everyone, Mum. But many. Especially those who become ‘best friends’ too quickly.”
Margaret closed her eyes. She remembered the day Emily arrived in tears. Her daughter, Lily, was ill—needed urgent surgery. Time was running out.
“Margaret, I’ve nowhere else to turn,” Emily had wept. “You’re the only person I trust.”
And Margaret had handed over all her savings. Without hesitation. How could she refuse a friend in need?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Edward asked. “I’d have stopped you.”
“Because I knew you’d say no. You never liked her.”
“I sensed she was fake. Too much laughter, too many compliments. Real friends don’t act like that.”
Margaret stood, walked to the sideboard. A framed photo sat there—her and Emily by the fountain in Hyde Park, all smiles. She seized it and hurled it to the floor. Glass shattered.
“Mum!” Edward flinched.
“Fool!” Margaret screamed. “Stupid old fool! How could I have been so naive?”
She crumpled into sobs. Edward held her tight.
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s a professional. Knows exactly how to trick people.”
“But why me? Why did she choose me?”
“Because you’re kind. Because you trust too easily. Because you’re alone.”
Margaret pulled away, met his gaze.
“I’ll file a police report.”
“It’s too late, Mum. She’s gone. They won’t find her.”
“They will. They must.”
Edward shook his head.
“Even if they do, you won’t get the money back. She’s spent it by now.”
“Then at least she won’t swindle other old women.”
Margaret wiped her tears, straightened. Her eyes hardened with resolve.
“I’ll go to the station tomorrow. Write a statement.”
“Good. I’ll come with you.”
“No. I’ll manage alone.”
Edward tucked the folder away.
“Mum, why didn’t you call me? I was worried!”
“I was ashamed. Knew you’d scold me.”
“I’m not scolding. I’m frightened for you.”
“I know. Forgive me, Ned.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Come live with me. I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I cherish my independence.”
“But after this—”
“Especially after this. If I run now, I’ll never forgive myself.”
He wanted to argue, but she’d always been stubborn.
“Fine. But I’ll visit daily.”
“Once a week is enough.”
“Mum—”
“Ned, I’ll manage. Truly.”
After he left, Margaret gathered the broken glass, tore the photo to scraps, and tossed it away. Then she sat in her armchair by the window, thinking. How could she have been so blind? Trusted a stranger over her own son?
The phone rang. Emily’s number.
She stared at it, hesitating. Finally answered.
“Margaret, hello!” Emily chirped. “How are you? I’ve missed you terribly!”
“Emily,” Margaret said flatly.
“Darling, wonderful news! Lily’s had her op! Everything went smoothly—she’s recovering!”
“That’s nice,” Margaret replied tonelessly.
“Margaret, what’s wrong? You sound odd.”
“Just tired.”
“I see. Listen, I’ll be back next week! Let’s meet—I’ll tell you everything!”
“Emily,” Margaret said slowly, “show me a photo of your daughter.”
“What photo?”
“Any one. I’d like to see her.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“You’ve spoken of her so often.”
“I haven’t any with me. Dropped my phone—lost all my pictures.”
“I see.”
“Margaret, what’s this about? Why these questions?”
Margaret took a deep breath.
“I know everything.”
“Know what?”
“That you have no daughter. That you’re a fraud. That you lied to me.”
More silence. Then Emily laughed nervously.
“Margaret, what nonsense! Who’s put these ideas in your head?”
“No one. I found out myself.”
“Found out what?”
“That you’ve conned dozens like me.”
Emily’s voice turned cold.
“So what? Running to the police?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t bother. I’m long gone. You’ll only humiliate yourself.”
“Emily Hart,” Margaret said calmly, “you had a year of my friendship. Was any of it real?”
“Of course! I cared for you!”
“No. You cared for my money. The rest was an act.”
“Margaret, I’ll return half.”
“All or nothing.”
“I can’t. It’s spent.”
“Then we’re done.”
Emily’s tone shifted.
“Think carefully. Those months—you were happy, weren’t you?”
Margaret’s chest ached. She had been.
“Half is better than nothing.”
“Emily,” Margaret said softly, “you never needed me. Only my savings. The rest was performance.”
“Not all of it. I enjoyed our talks.”
“Lies. If true, you wouldn’t have cheated me.”
A pause. Then, icy:
“Fine. Keep your pride. But remember—you’ll die alone.”
The line went dead.
Margaret blocked the number, sat in silence. Outside, the rain had stopped. Children laughed in the street. Life went on.
She made tea, cut a slice of the cake she’d bought for Emily’s return. She’d eat it alone now.
No more trusting strangers. No more desperate friendship. She’d survive, as she always had.
She’d forgive Emily—not for her sake, but for her own. Life was too short for bitterness.
But she’d never let her back in.
When the phone rang again—unknown number—she didn’t answer.
Some bridges, once burned, stay ash.
