Short stories written by Cecelia Ahern

The Calling

"Seven and eight, seventy-eight."

Her age.

Mags threw her eyes up to heaven and grumbled under her breath, in her raspy voice.

"WHAT'S THAT, LOVE?" Agatha shouted, moving her ear closer to Mags' head. "YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK UP LOVE, IT'S ME DEAF EAR YOU'RE SITTIN' BESIDE."

Mags wrinkled her nose up in disgust as she watched the black wiry hairs clinging to Agatha's chin bounce up and down as her mouth opened and shut. Her teeth became loose from her palette and were quickly clamped back into place as Agatha's bloodshot tired grey eyes darted around the table to see if anyone had noticed.

Mags threw her eyes up again and mumbled questioningly to the Good Lord.

"WHA'?" Agatha's blue rinse brushed off Mags' forehead as she leaned in to hear. Mags shook her head and swatted Agatha's head away as though it were a fly. She concentrated on what was going on ahead of her again.

"Two and two, twenty-two."

The year she was born.

She gritted her teeth and exhaled loudly. She leaned slightly to the left in her chair to sneak a glance at how her neighbour was progressing. The woman slowly raised her hand and covered her card. Mags raised her eyes slowly from the wrinkled hand blotched with brown patches, and came face to face with a tight smile.

Mags cleared her throat awkwardly, sat upright in her seat and tried to look insulted as she covered her own card with her hand as if to accuse her neighbour of cheating. The woman grunted and pulled her chair away from Mags. The steel chair legs which had long lost their rubber grips screeched along the tired oak wood floor. Faces winced and looked up. Her neighbour's face reddened and became buried in her hand as pained expressions stared at the cause of all the noise. Mags "hmmphed" loudly as though she had been victorious in that particular round.

"WHAT'S EVERYONE LOOKIN' SO MOANY FOR, MAGS?" Agatha shouted, while looking around confused. "DID SOMEBODY FART?" She sniffed the air and moved her head around animatedly, not wanting to be left out of the group's obvious discomfort. "I CAN'T SMELL IT MAGS," she shouted again. "IS IT AWFUL? IT MUST BE AWFUL," she sniffed the air one last time then shook her head looking defeated. "CAN'T GET IT OVER HERE AT ALL."

Mags elbowed Agatha in the ribs a little harder than she had meant to, to silence her friend. It had the opposite effect.

"AAGH! JAYSUS, I'M DEAF NOT NUMB, MAGS. WHAT'S WRONG WIT' YA?" she looked at her friend with a horrified expression whilst rubbing her sore side.

"Would you ever shut your trap Aggie O'Brien," she hissed.

"WHA'?" Agatha yelled moving her head closer to Mags.