Carol’s Column

Starkers in the grocery cupboard

THE water was scalding. Bliss.

I slipped slowly down into the scented, steaming bath and bone by bone, began to relax.

Everyone was out.

The house — and more important — the bath, were mine and mine alone.

This was the supreme luxury, to bath in peace, without the company of a husband who couldn't find a shirt with a button, my daughter and her gap-toothed friends, my youngest son and his electric train, Liquorice-the-labrador, my mother-in-law and our pet chicken, Golda Meir.

Books have been written about loneliness. Psychiatrists and sociologists make their living from lonely people.

Everybody in the world wants to be sociable.

Except me, I thought happily as I scrubbed my cellulite and watched it bounce back silently.

This was the moment to wash my hair.

Drat, where was the shampoo?

Not in its customary position on the edge of the bath. In fact, not anywhere.

Those damn kids, I thought to myself, they never replace things.

I hopped out of the bath and made a naked dash to the kids' bathroom.

Of course, there it was, where my son had thoughtfully left it, lid off — upended.

I'll kill him, I muttered as I shot down the corridor to the grocery cupboard, a cold chill on my torso, droplets dripping everywhere.

I opened the cupboard, and there, nestling among the household detergent, bleach, rat poison and deodorant, was the shampoo.

I grabbed a bottle and froze.

I could hear voices. Loud voices that boomed through my empty house.

And good grief, they were coming upstairs.

I looked around frantically, I'd never make it back to the bathroom in time.

I nipped into the grocery cupboard and shut the door.

And then the cold facts of my situation hit me.

I'd been invaded. By strangers? By burglars? It was frightening.

Meanwhile my toes and kneecaps were freezing.

I opened the door a fraction and glimpsed three burly men carrying tools.

That confirmed my worst suspicions — they were burglars.

"Now where's the toilet?" growled one.

Which I thought was a bit of a cheek. I mean it's bad enough having your house broken into by burglars — but burglars with weak bladders, that was carrying things too far.

I wriggled indignantly, catching an unprotected portion of rump on the dog food shelf.

Mind you, I had problems. This wasn't the moment to make a dramatic entrance and accost these men angrily.

I was getting tired of standing.

And then I heard it. A banging sound against the cupboard door.

I peered through the crack and saw a ladder leading up to the roof.

And then I realised who the intruders were.

We'd had a leaking pipe in the roof and my husband had phoned the plumbers who'd said they would come at the soonest possible opportunity.

For two hours I stood in the cupboard, shivering in my shrinking, wrinkling birthday suit.

They eventually departed and I crept out of my hiding place.

Later, my family returned and everything resumed its normal frenetic pace.

"Look kids," said my husband, "doesn't your mother look good. It's amazing what a peaceful afternoon does for her."

Isn't it just.

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