'I need money and the car keys,' says my youngest daughter.
'I don't have any cash but the car keys are on the table,' I croak.
'What do you mean you have no money?'
'I mean I have no money. It's an economic freaking crisis, don't you know?'
She flounces, slams the door then BOOM BOOM BOOM SLAM down the stairs as I grope for my glasses and the world slowly comes into focus. I'm just wondering why she wants the car keys when she's only 16, struggling to sit up as the horrible thought occurs that she might actually intend to drive it when SLAM BOOM BOOM BOOM, she's back.
'The car isn't there!'
'Of course it's there.'
'It's not there! I've looked everywhere! It's been stolen!' All these exclamations are slamming into the side of my head like ice picks. An irate girl is seething at the end of my bed, demanding that I produce a car which seems to have vanished. That's all I need.
I drag myself slowly out of my bedroom and as I'm holding a coat around me, scanning the street which is empty but for drifts of leaves in the resident parking bay, it dawns on me... just about the time that I remember Lyns with Lauren in a head lock grappling her from behind while holding her nose (apparently trying to stop her hiccups) that I took my car with me last night.
I drove to Notting Hill Gate and parked it.
Somewhere.
