Someone with a torch

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.

“Sharon! SHARON!”.

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.”

“What?”

“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?

 

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