The Full Ridiculous by Mark Lamprell

you’re there!’ because you can’t hear the message as it’s being recorded. Maxx, who has an answering machine, cannot seem to grasp the difference and shouts, ‘Pick up! Pick up! I know you’re there!’ There’s a pause before he adds, defeated, ‘Oh bugger, call me back will you?’
    You call back. Maxx uses the cheerful voice he reserves for bad news. ‘I’ll cut to the chase, shall I?’ he says, launching into a rambling explanation so obfuscated by elaborations and sidebars that you’re not exactly sure what he’s telling you.
    ‘Is this about the next payment for the book?’ you ask.
    Maxx huffs. ‘I just explained that to you. I can’t pay it yet.’
    You’ve been expecting this but nonetheless your heart sinks. Keenly aware that desperate is not a good look for a writer, you remain breezy with Maxx until you hang up. Then you smash the phone into the desk top until the back of the handset pops off and the batteries spring out. They roll reproachfully around the study floor.
    When you have reassembled the phone you discover a small (and insignificant, you hope) metal spring under your chair. You are contemplating your next move when Rosie arrives home from school. All she says is ‘Hi,’ but you can tell she is miserable. Juan is not home to distract her and you’re glad because it gives you an opportunity to talk to her. You brace yourself for rejection as she prepares her chocolate-malted milk, and indeed Rosie tenses when you open with, ‘How’s it all going?’ but then something within her surrenders and she collapses on a kitchen chair, ready to talk.
    Back at school for a couple of weeks now, everyone appears to have heard about Rosie O’Dell’s experience with the police. She is festering in a Petri dish of rumours and burns with humiliation through every minute of every class. She feels isolated and alone and wants to be somewhere else.
    You put your arms around your daughter and let her ramble through all the minor and major injustices she has been forced to endure. When she is spent, you point out that some of the class may be behind Eva but the rest is behind her .
    Rosie brightens and admits that a few of her friends have really stuck by her. You tell her that she is the kind of person who inspires true friendship. She smiles and hugs you and heads off to do her homework.
    Doctor David Wilson’s winning smile wavers slightly as he takes your blood pressure and listens to his stethoscope. Without comment, he taps his keyboard to call up the results of more bloody blood tests. ‘So how’s the blood pressure?’ you ask, slightly irritated that you are being forced to extract this information.
    ‘Still high,’ he says, smiling.
    ‘Higher than last time?’ you ask.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Would that be related to the weight gain?’ You catch yourself referring to the weight gain rather your weight gain, attempting to put some distance between yourself and the fact that you’ve put on two kilos since your last visit, an overall increase of twelve kilos since the accident.
    ‘I would say that it is undoubtedly related to your weight but as I mentioned last time, I’m afraid you’re at the point where—’
    ‘I don’t want to take medication,’ you interrupt. You remind the good doctor that you have been able to control your blood pressure with exercise and that as soon as you have recovered, you will be able to resume this previously successful strategy.
    The doctor winces as if some remote extremity of his body is hurting and informs you:
    (a) that your blood pressure is not just high, it’s perilously high,
    (b) that this requires immediate medication, and
    (c) that you will most likely be on this medication for the rest of your life.
    Without pause he swings back to his computer screen and further informs you that, while your liver and kidney functions have shown some improvement, you are insulinresistant, probably headed for diabetes. The insulin resistance will also