“Make sure you're thorough,” Fiona shouted as I left the living
room, “Check everywhere.”
So when I got in the kitchen, that's exactly what I did. I started
with the food cupboards, since they were nearest the door, shifting
packets of cuppa soup and dusty tins of tuna, scouring every nook and
cranny for any trace of our wayward midgets. The crockery cupboards
came next, pushing piles of plates and chipped mugs from one side to
another, leaving no plate or saucer unturned. When I got to the
cupboard under the sink I had to fight my way past an avalanche of
carrier bags, only to find half empty bottles of bleach and unused
scourers. I even searched the kitchen draws, moving piles of tea
towels and rolls of cling film.
There was nothing to be found, no trace at all. I turned my
attention to the fridge, then the freezer, both of which had no
secrets to discover. Finally I came to the washing machine, its'
stainless steel drum sparkling and empty, and at last the dish
washer. Pulling open the door I saw the rack was almost empty: no
plates or cups, no glasses or bowls, but there in the centre, sat all
alone, a tiny pair of shoes.
