“Where’s my fluffy?” Mum asks Dad. Have been out with Mum and Dad has been at the parental home, in charge of the fluffy monster.
“He’s inside,” Dad says. “He came in and I closed the flap, so he must be in the house somewhere.”
Dad is wearing his bright purple sweater. Mum purchased it for him when she saw Dr Stein wearing one that colour.
We split up and set off round the house – looking for the fluffy monster in all his usual hiding places. He’s not under my chair, or on my brother’s bed. He’s not behind the grey sofa or the spotty sofa. He’s not under the piano or on the piano stool. He’s not at the back of the parental wardrobe.
“He must be under your bed,” Mum says to me when we reconvene in the playroom.
“He isn’t,” I say. “I’ve checked there and…”
“Well he must have gone out again,” Mum says.
“He can’t have done,” Dad says. “There’s no way he could have got out.”
Returning to my bedroom, I notice that my wardrobe door is ajar. Opening it, am greeted by the sight of a large orange person, reclining amongst the clothes. Here he is:
“Come on darling, if you want any supper,” Mum says to him. The fluffy monster follows Mum to his bedroom to be fed.
The attached photo is the liquid amber in the parental garden.
Happy Wednesday everyone!
*1991. By Ian Rankin. The second Rebus detective novel.