It had been a long day and I was glad to get to the car, even though I wasn’t looking forward to the journey home. (It can take a good hour and a half from Derby to Buxton during the rush hour) I glanced down at my phone. There were two missed calls, one of them was from home. I checked the answer phone message. It was the Weasel.
“Dad, its the Weasel. I’m at home but there is no sign of mum. The front door was unlocked but she is not here. All her stuff is here and everything but there’s no sign of her. I have checked everywhere. Please can you call me.” She sounded worried.
I dialed home and the Weasel picked up. “Have you checked everywhere, she maybe lying down, what about the garden.” I said. “I have checked” she said “I have searched under the beds” I heard the sound of the French Windows being opened “She’s not in the back garden and I know she’s not in the front garden because she wasn’t there when I came home.” I told her not to worry and suggested that she might have gone round to visit a neighbour. I rang off and dialed Mrs BW’s mobile. After a minute the Weasel answered. “She left her phone at home dad, I told you all her stuff was here.” “Okay” I said trying to sound calm and relaxed about it all. “She may be in the garage just go and check will you.” “But dad, the garage doors were closed and …..” I interrupted her. “Yes but she may have popped into the garage and the door closed behind her and its quite difficult to get it open from the inside (this from bitter experience) so just go and check and ring me back okay” She agreed. All sorts of irrational thoughts flashed through my mind. Had she been abducted? Had she left home? Was she hurt and lying injured somewhere? The phone rang. It was the Weasel. “Dad? Its okay Dad I’ve found her. She was down the side of the house by the compost bins”. I felt a surge of relief and all was well with the world again and even the traffic slow and ponderous as it sneeked out of Derby seemed okay.
At tea later that evening, Mrs BW found the whole thing highly amusing. Especially the bit about the Weasel looking under the beds. “I was in the garden” she said “and no I didn’t hear you calling me” The Weasel looked a little bit put out. The Munch who had listened to the tale in considered silence put down his knife and fork. “I don’t know what all the fuss was about, mum never goes far!”