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The Dating Etiquette of Snails

‘He used to turn me on, but now he just turns my stomach’.

I hear her, she has been speaking like this for more than 15 minutes. There have been another three calls that my colleagues have taken. All sound so much better than mine. It is a Wednesday night, 8.30pm. It is not a busy time for desperate people, like a Friday night, or a Sunday evening would be. That is when people say they need the most help. At Samaritans we are the friendly voice that listens. We listen, we don’t judge, we don’t hector. The voice people turn to when they feel desperate, or lonely. Not usually suicidal, but at times when they need a sympathetic voice, or someone to tell them where to turn to next.

I know the voice, that is the worst of it. She and her husband live down the road. They are the Street’s soap opera. Always shouting and slamming doors. It has been like this for years, but she has only been phoning on a Wednesday night for the past three months. Obviously, she does not know it is me. We don’t have anything in common, except for the Snails that live in the gardens, and never seem to go, in spite of the traps that are put out for them. I know more than is necessary, but she seems to need an outlet for her complaints, as he does not listen, is not the man she married, is too busy with work to notice their home. She even tells me about the affair she was contemplating, but then says she loves him too much to do anything about it.

If anyone else had accepted her call, I would have been none the wiser, but that is the way of these things. A million things line up to one certainty.

I wish I did not know this. There are a couple of other people who I am expecting calls from tonight, and if they don’t phone you don’t know what is happening. Either they could have out-grown you, found some sort of perspective, or taken the difficult way out. We touch so many lives in these four walls, the six of us, but it is like Jury duty. We cannot speak about it, to anyone. So, people unload their little bag of troubles on us, and then we have a little more to carry with us every day.

We just have to hope that are doing some good here.

She hangs up suddenly, does not even say goodbye. The line just goes dead. She is always doing that, so I think nothing more of it.

One of the calls I was expecting comes through. He had just been made redundant, but now had a new job, and a girl he met is going with him to the cinema. He thanks me for listening, and invites me out for a pint. I politely decline, we have to keep our anonymity here. The other call I was expecting does not come. I hope it is a good sign, but I suspect it might not be, and we will never know either way. We just have to hope we are doing some good here.

I am meant to finish at 10.00pm, but I wait around a bit longer. The phones are not busy, and in the current climate, we have to expect them to be. It is a sign of the times that we get busy when Society goes to the wall. We don’t even have leaders who can help these days.

I get home just past 11.00pm that night. The street is cordoned of, and I see police cars, and an ambulance. The Husband is there, and I see he is covered in blood. I think it is her blood, but I can’t be sure. He sees me, and the neighbours. He is subdued, and shaking. He is covered in a blanket, as the ambulance men wheel her out on their trolley. She is awake, but seems weakened.

The Police man tells me she had attempted Suicide, but how her husband had stopped her, and called the Ambulance. He says that they believe his story, but they will still be carrying out an investigation, just to make sure she isn’t in any real trouble with him.

The Police Man said they had been having problems. He said someone else was involved. Someone she spoke to, said he was helping her through it.

We just have to hope that are doing some good here.