It’s 6.30am, late January and deep dark winter and I am in bed awake, staying at Mum’s, thinking about how much longer I can put off filing my tax return on the dregs of an income which has been sacrificed to my mother and father’s care.
I run downstairs. Mum’s room is dark and she is playing a torch around the room.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s someone shining a torch around the room.”
I don’t say anything for a moment.
“There’s someone shining a torch around the room.” I repeat her sentence.
“Yes, can you see it?.”
“Only you Mum. Only you are shining a torch around the room. Why have you called me downstairs to tell me that?”
“No, I’ll turn it off, now look. Oh, it’s not happening now.”
“Someone was shining a torch around the room. They are in here. I’m telling you.”
“But no-ones in here Mum. There’s only you and me.”
“There was. Every now and then someone was shining a light in the shower.”
“That would be car headlights going by shining through the window in the shower. Probably.”
“No. It was someone with a torch.”
“Can I go back to bed?