‘Gotcha!’ yelled Sam, grabbing Blythe by the shoulder.
‘Arghhhhhh!’ yelled Blythe, wielding the kitchen roll.
‘Whoa! Blythe?’ Sam shone the light from his phone in her face and they both jumped apart.
Blythe dodged out of the torch beam, scanning Sam’s head for any sign of injury. ‘You okay?’ she lowered her voice.
‘No, you almost gave me a heart attack,’ he whispered. ‘Nice dressing gown,’ he added.
‘Thanks. The phone went dead. I thought you’d been whacked.’
Sam tilted his head as if starting to understand her perspective. ‘I called you back but it was engaged.’
‘Because I was calling the police. Oh crap, the police.’ Blythe pulled her phone from her pocket and explained quietly to a very patient operator that it was a false alarm. She ended the call and turned to Sam. ‘I take it it’sdefinitelya false alarm?’
They paused for a moment to listen. There was a small thud, which they both heard. Their eyes widened at the same time. ‘Oh great,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve just stood the police down. You can call them back.’
‘Shhh,’ he said, and he pointed into the living room. He leaned in so close to her neck she could feel his breath against her skin as he spoke. ‘I’ll go in. You hit them with the…’ He took in the streams of kitchen roll unfurled across his hallway. ‘Kitchen roll?’
‘The holder’s wooden.’ She held it up.
‘Whatever. Hit them with it if they run out. Okay?’
She pulled her head back. She was about to explain the many things wrong with his plan but Sam had already disappeared into the living room. She stayed by the door, held the kitchen roll holder aloft, tore off the sheets of kitchen roll obscuring her view and stood poised ready to whack the burglar. This was a very bad idea indeed.
There was the sound of furniture being moved followed by Sam screaming. Blythe rushed into the living room ready to accost the burglar. She hit the light switch and the scene in front of her seemed to freeze for a moment. Sam was bent over as if lifting one end of the sofa and Turpin was on his back looking mightily pissed off and slightly alarmed as his tail was all puffed up.
‘What the hell?’ As realisation dawned, the adrenaline subsided and the giggles took over. ‘Turpin, you gave us a fright,’ she said, going over to stroke the cat.
‘Uh. Excuse me. He has every one of his claws impaled in my back. Get him off!’
‘Did nasty Sam scare poor Turpin?’ asked Blythe, unfurling each of his paws and lifting him down.
‘No. Nasty Turpin, scared poor Sam.’ Sam straightened up and gave a little shudder. ‘Well, not scared exactly.’ Blythe was failing to hide her grin. ‘It could have been a burglar. It sounded like one. I thought cats were meant to be agile.’ Sam pointed at the ornament and candle lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, where they had presumably been knocked off the mantelpiece.
‘I don’t think he’s been in here before. It’s all unfamiliar to him.’ Turpin immediately snaked around Blythe’s legs, purring loudly, like he always did when he was expecting some food. She bent down to him. ‘Turpin says he’s sorry.’ She looked up at Sam who was trying very awkwardly to rub his back.
‘What I can’t work out is how the hell he got in here in the first place.’ Sam was frowning and Blythe took that as her cue to leave.
19
2ndNovember
Eden was at a birthday party so Vicky had roped Blythe into walking the dachshund clan with her, and five dogs between two people was working a lot better. It was a chance to have a catch-up too. Vicky loved Blythe’s stories; they always made her laugh. ‘It would have been funny if you’d attacked him with kitchen roll,’ she said, setting herself off with another fit of the giggles as that image came into her mind.
‘No, it wouldn’t. What a nightmare. He’s still puzzling over how Turpin got inside. He’s hunting everywhere for an opening or a gap. I can’t tell him that I unlocked the cat flap into the utility and that he must have got in from there when Sam opened the door.’
‘He’s a smart man. He’ll work it out,’ said Vicky.
‘Thanks. I look forward to that moment. Anyway, there was something I needed to tell you.’
‘Sounds formal.’
Blythe looked uncomfortable. ‘Something I wanted to mention really.’
‘Spit it out,’ said Vicky.
‘You know Owen friended me on Facebook?’
