Post: Wrong number. Who: Gaspard, Holly What: Holly gets a call at work that may change her life. When: May 4th, 2028, afternoon. Where: Gaspard’s Office; Shingleton Holdings LLC, London Warnings: CW - panic attack, disc. of birth family. Completion Status: Complete
Holly stood behind Gaspard’s big chair, bent over her father’s shoulder. They’d been spending more and more time together these days, since the new year and their extended holiday had ended. It seemed to Holly that he was getting antsy to retire, which was strange (so not like him at all), but she also knew he would give her all the time and mentorship in the world - he would stay, and help, until she was comfortable in her role and in working with the Board and the lawyers. Most of the time she still wondered, though, why he’d chosen her for this at all. The Board didn’t need her.
The phone rang - and old school Muggle sort of thing, with a cord - and Gaspard lifted it to his ear on auto-pilot, their planning document on the large screen of his desktop computer already forgotten. Holly stood back. “Oh, okay, one second, it’s for you,” he said, lazily handing over the phone. Before she’d even taken it from his hand he was back to the screen as if the phone had never rung at all. Holly stifled a chuckle at him and answered. It was his assistant, Maribel.
“Miss Holly? There’s an urgent call for you, when they couldn’t reach you in your office they redirected to me.”
“Oh, um, okay?” Holly wasn’t sure what could so urgent that they’d be calling her instead of her dad, but okay.
“I’ll put you through,” Maribel - a plump which of about 45 who always wore horn-rimmed glasses and sort of reminded Holly of Madam Rosmerta, though not blonde - said quickly and then the line went dead for a moment until a somewhat familiar voice spoke.
“Hello, Miss Holly Cassidy?” That was her first and middle name, but a name she hadn’t been called in... well, about fourteen years. Since she’d asked Gaspard and Eleanor to legally change her name to Shingleton when she’d been officially adopted at the age of eight. She’d decided to keep her birth-parents’ name - Cassidy - as her middle name, in the change. She wasn’t sure, these days, why she’d wanted that, and the memory came to her unbidden and murky just now.
“May I ask who’s calling?” This didn’t seem like an urgent call, from the way the voice sounded. That voice... she couldn’t place it, but there was something there, niggling in the back of her mind, something that made her think that she knew this person.
“Oh goodness, where are my manners. You might not remember me,” ah, Holly thought, so she did know them, “but my name is John Gardner, I was your Intake Wizard at The Fawley Foundation.” He paused then, and a blurry face with thick black glasses and dark hair graying at the temples, a kind, pitying smile, came to mind. She’d been so small, even for a seven year old, and his hands had seemed huge as he took hers and lead her to a small play room when she’d first been dropped off at the Foundation. Her breath hitched.
“And you’re looking for Holly Cassidy?” She asked, her heartbeat hammering.
“Yes, you see, I have news concerning your birth fam --”
She cut him off, “I’m afraid you have the wrong Holly. I’m sorry but no one is here by that name. Thank you for calling.” She hung up quickly and felt as if she had run a marathon -- she felt clammy and panted for air. Gaspard looked up briefly at the sound of the banged phone and then narrowed in on her face and quickly asked what was going on.
She shook her head, muttered to him that she needed to go home, gave him a quick hug and her best attempt at a reassuring smile, before disapparating from the spot, leaving all her possessions except for her phone and wand (in her pocket) right there at the office. She apparated into her and Alexander’s flat with a pop and collapsed on the spot.
Nearly an hour later, she lifted herself from the floor - cried out, eyes aching and raw - and made her way to their bed, which Holly cocooned herself into, ignoring her phone in her pocket and the dozens of messages from her mother and father that she’d received in the meantime, and muttered a charm to lock the bedroom door. She hoped Xan would get the message and let her be, but didn’t give it too much thought.
Then she went to sleep, the hard sleep of someone who’d just had a long, severe panic attack and didn’t want or need the world intruding.