“What are you doing?” I ask Mum from underneath my furry blanket.
“Just moving some photographs around,” Mum says.
“Why don’t you sit here with me and do the crossword?” I say. “You’re always saying that you want to see me, and now I’m here you…”
“Finished the crossword,” Mum says. “Anyway, you’re writing the blog: you don’t need me to sit with you.”
“I do,” I say. “Don’t see why I should go through it alone.”
Dad clatters in from his office and collapses in his chair. “Have you had your sleep?” He says.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“You’d better have a bath,” Mum says. “We’re leaving at twenty past six.” We’re going to see my plastic surgeon. Haven’t seen him for months. Have missed him.
“Have to finish the blog first,” I say.
Mum picks up National Geographic and starts reading it. Dad scribbles on the paper: he must be doing the chess problem.
It’s pitch black outside.
“Where’s the fluffy monster?” I say.
“He’s in your brother’s room, lying on top of a bag for some reason,” Mum says.
Attached photo is the fluffy monster having a sleep. Look at those apricot paws.
Happy Thursday everyone!
*2002. By Mark Billingham. DI Tom Thorne crime novel.
Scars, Tears and Training Bras 