The Bat*

“Watch out, I’m diving in,” Dad says, standing on the edge of the pool.  Sweeping his arms up, then down, then up again, he stretches them out in front of him.  There’s a huge splash and he does a length of the pool and clambers out again.

“Is that it?” I say, as I chug around the pool, on my tenth circuit.  “Is that your swim?”

“Not necessarily,” Dad says, wrapping his towel around him and disappearing into the garden.  He’s reading his book now and chatting to his friend.

“I’ll help you pick some herbs for supper,” Mum says to her friend and I watch them chopping branches of rosemary and shoots of mint.

The panther sits on the edge of the pool, staring at his reflection.  Am unsure if he recognises himself: perhaps he believes that there’s another panther under the water.  He holds the water-panther’s gaze and flicks the end of his tail.

As I gaze at the azure pool and the cloudless blue sky, I can hear wood pigeons coo and leaves rustle in the breeze.  Every so often, there’s the faint rumble of a vehicle on the road behind us.  The chaffinches are chattering in the hedge. 

Attached photo is my Minx toes in front of the pool.

Must remember this when am back home to cheer self up, I think.

“How were the bats?” I message Seb this morning.  He went out on a bat survey with a scientist last night.

“They were good.  A few varieties and got to see some bat track technology in action,” he says.

“That’s great that you saw different species,” I say.  “Which ones?”

“Pipastrail (not correct spelling) and two other larger species,” Seb says.  “Can’t actually recall.  I wasn’t able to stay out very long.  I’m going out again soon I think xxx.”

“Excellent!” Pipistrelle I think?” I say.  “Have lovely Thursday.  Can’t wait to see you my darling.”

Happy Thursday everyone!
*1997.  By Jo Nesbo.  Crime novel.  The first in the Harry Hole series.

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