‘How do you suggest I get you out, if I can’t come in?’ She tried the handle. The door didn’t budge. ‘Did you lock it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Walter. What were you thinking?’
That he hadn’t wanted the worry of her walking in on him whilst he was naked in the tub – that was what he had been thinking. Now though, he would be perfectly happy for her to see him in the altogether if it meant he could get out of this blasted bath.
‘Are you any good at picking locks?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I’m an expert. I’ll just go get my hat pin.’
‘No need to be sarcastic.’
‘I might be able to break the door down,’ she called.
Walter rolled his eyes. ‘You’re almost seventy; you’ll break your shoulder, not the door.’
‘I won’t if I use a sledgehammer. I bet Dulcie’s got one.’
Walter baulked. ‘You’renotusing a sledgehammer on my door.’
‘How else do you suggest I get you out?’ Her tone became sly. ‘Perhaps I should phone Otto.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ If Otto knew about this, Walter would end up back at the farmhouse faster than Peg gobbled her dinner.
He thought frantically. They had to do something. He couldn’t stay here for much longer – he was starting to look even more prune-like than he was already.
The lock was an old-fashioned one with a key, because both Walter and Otto had wanted to keep as many of the cottage’s period features as possible. Apart from the kitchen. Otto had insisted on installing a state-of-the-art kitchen, and Walter didn’t have the heart to refuse him. His son had sacrificed so much already…
Walter didn’t know if his idea would work, but he wanted to give it a shot. ‘Can you go out to the shed?’ he called. ‘Find a thin screwdriver and bring my newspaper up.’
To be fair to Beth, she didn’t waste time asking why. He listened to her trot downstairs and waited impatiently for her to return.
‘Got ’em,’ she announced. ‘Now what?’
‘Slide the newspaper under the door, then see if you can poke the screwdriver into the lock and wiggle it until the key falls out.’
‘Nice.’ She sounded impressed and Walter puffed out his chest.
It was far too soon to give himself a pat on the back though, because his idea mightn’t work. He had seen it done in a film once, but what happened on screen probably wouldn’t work in real life.
Walter held his breath as he heard scraping noises coming from the direction of the lock, then he let it out in a whoosh as he saw the key begin to wiggle.
‘Newspaper!’ he yelled, realising that she had forgotten it, and his heart was in his mouth until Beth had shoved it underneath the door.
He hadn’t realised until now just how much of a gap there was between the door and the lino; no wonder he could feel a draft when he sat on the loo. It was something that needed to be fixed, but right now he was extremely grateful for it.
His attention was firmly on the door, as the barrel of the key was slowly pushed out of the lock. It hung there for a moment, and once again he held his breath. When it finally dropped directly onto the newspaper, Walter let out a whoop and slapped the water, sending it sloshing over the side.
‘The key is out!’ he cried. ‘Pull the newspaper towards you.’ Then he abruptly deflated with the fear that it mightn’t fit under the door, especially with there being carpet on the other side.
He couldn’t look. Screwing his eyes shut, Walter ground his teeth, praying that Beth would be able to retrieve the key.
When he heard it turn in the lock and the door click open, he could have wept for joy. Until he remembered he was starkers. His eyes flew open and he grabbed a towel off the rail to cover his embarrassment.
Beth was standing in the doorway. He fully expected her to smirk, but she wore an odd expression, one that he couldn’t decode.
Walter flushed under her gaze, even though his modesty was preserved by the towel. ‘Good job,’ he said.
