2.30am Sunday morning. I am awake but only just. The wireless is still on. Radio 7, I think its a play. Sounds like a Morse. I reach out and grab my phone and check it for texts. There are none. Lilly shifts irritably and sticks her paws in my face. The house is quiet, apart from my radio. The Munch has been in for ages and Mrs BW sleeps peacefully. The Weasel is still out, partying. She is almost 19, well 18 years 6 months. Still worry about her though. I check the phone even though I know it hasn’t bleeped. So I settle down ,a little uneasy in my mind, to listen to the play.
2.45am Lilly raises her head and gets off the bed. There is the faintest sound of a key turning in the front door lock. Lilly dashes off downstairs and I hear the Weasel whisper “shush Lilly shush” and then “Oh Lilly!” She will have done a little pee of greeting like she always does. (Lilly not the Weasel) And I am happy. Everyone home safe and sound. I resist the urge to get out of bed and go downstairs. I can hear the Weasel unsteady in the kitchen, the sound of the toaster being popped, the kettle switched on.
3.05am. The Weasel comes upstairs swaying slightly on the top step before noisily closing her bedroom door. Lilly, mission accomplished leaps onto the bed and with a big noisy sigh, flops down and falls asleep.
3.15am. I sneak downstairs to make a drink. (And to check that the Weasel has locked the front door!) She has. I take my coffee back upstairs and settle down to listen to the rest of the play.
3.19am. My mobile hums. A text. From the Weasel. “Can you make me one slice of toast with marg please x.”
Is this reasonable I think to myself as I shuffle downstairs? Well obviously else I would not be making it for her would I?
3.23am. One slice of toast delivered to the Weasel, who smiles her thanks and turns back to the repeat of what ever it is she is watching on the tele.
3.24am. I get back into bed. Lilly sighs her disapproval at me. I listen to what is left of the play. I can relax, for now.