I’ve only ever done this once.
One. One. One.
“Ambulance. My flatmate’s dead. How do I know? She’s on the floor. She’s been there two nights. No, I can’t talk to her. I can’t open the door. I know because she hasn’t moved. I can see underneath.”
The operator keeps me on the phone until they arrive. The police car jams to a stop. The ambulance wails urgently behind. Officers from both vehicles move fast towards me. I am sitting on the doorstep. One officer stays with me. The others shove Sheree’s door open.
They are here for nearly two hours.
Then, job done, both vehicles take their time to leave.