May 14, 2020: Fifty-Five

There’s nothing better to be woken up by than the sound of your girlfriend screaming.

That was this morning.

I sort of knew what it was before I found out what it was, if you know what I mean. Subconsciously I definitely knew. All the evidence had been lain out before me during the night. I knew exactly what it was.

But when you hear someone screaming as they head downstairs in the morning, there are only a few things it could be.

We could have been robbed, and she was screaming for that reason, gazing into an empty room.

We could have been in the process of being robbed, and she was staring into a room which wasn’t quite empty and had a man in it.

Or there was a body.

Human or otherwise.

Finding a body, first thing, gives you a reason to scream.

In this case it was the body, and it wasn’t human. It was definitely otherwise.

It was a mouse. Deaded, and laid out just inside the entrance to the front room. Discarded as a play thing once it curled up and died, I guess.

The reason I sort of already knew all this was that I had heard Peppa going mental during the night. She’d woken me up scrabbling and bounding about. But not enough for me to get up, just enough for me to be aware it was happening, attribute it to Peppa and go back to sleep.

Now, in hindsight, that scrabbling and bouncing around was upstairs. In the bedroom, I’m fairly sure. So I think Peppa brought the mouse as a gift, but just got carried away with it, killed it and left it downstairs with a sort of “ah, fuck it, they can have it anyway but I can’t be bothered with the showy reveal” kind of thing.

I mean, that might not be the case. I might have heard her at the bottom of the stairs. Or I might have heard her doing something else entirely and the mouse was a bonus.

Carole’s gone to be tonight absolutely convinced she’s going to come down tomorrow morning – being the early riser she is, most definitely without me – to find more mice laid out. She’s been convinced all day that there would be a mouse, every single time Peppa has entered the house.

There has not.

Which is not to say there will not.

I don’t think there will be. Probably. Who knows.

I look forward – as in, I don’t look forward – to finding out.

Listen for the screams…