Chapter Three-World War Four Continues and something takes Haley’s fancy.
Haley woke the next morning to an irritating sight: light. It poured in through the gap in her blinds and slept on her bed beside her. Pulling the blanket up over her head was the only way to deter this intruder.
It seemed that lay-ins no longer existed in the Thomas residence. Adam stormed into Haley’s room, causing the door to fling against the wall behind, leaving yet another dent.
“Where is it?” he boomed, looming over Haley.
Haley shrugged. She heard the ‘pitter patter’ of Fat Cat’s feet as he waddled into the room. Her body guard had arrived. He jumped up on the bed and buried himself under the covers, shortly falling asleep.
“Where’s what?” Haley shuffled further under the blankets. She felt something cold on her foot, but decided to ignore it.
“My deodorant, I know you have it, you little thief!” Being called a little thief was much more civil after what she had been called the previous morning.
“Why should I know?” she said, knowing full well where it was.
Adam stomped over to her wardrobe and opened the doors. A heap of clothes fell out.
“It isn’t there!” Haley screeched, appalled by the lack of privacy. “It’s in the trash.” She concluded.
Without shouting, swearing or thumping, Adam turned to leave.
“You owe me a new one.”
“Whatever, but in the mean time…” she delved deep down under her blanket, “A dead mouse doesn’t interest you does it?”
Haley pulled out the cold object and held it out in disgust.
The shouting, swearing and thumping began.
***
Haley strolled into the living room, clutching a big bowl of porridge. She didn’t look best pleased.
“Good afternoon Haley.” Mr Thomas said, not bothering to look up from ‘The Daily Mail’
Like most people her age, Haley disagreed with being greeted in such a way. There were two things wrong with it:
1) If it was before twelve, (which it was) there is no logic in wishing someone good afternoon.
2) Secondly, it was rude.
Mr Thomas looked up from the paper when Haley started talking, as though she were not amused. This was a usual tone of conversation.
“It is precisely 11:22.” She announced.
Mr Thomas sighed and glanced out of the window.
“You have missed the best part of the day!” he claimed, “I was up at 7:30 this morning, out in the garden weeding the vegetable patch.”
“You are proud of this because?”
Mr Thomas frowned, but continued rambling.
“You waste the best part of the morning if you remain in bed for such a long time. You could have been up on a bike ride like I was, or maybe even made breakfast for your mother, who happens to be ill.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“That is beside the point!” he was getting really excited now. “Surely you have homework to do! Or perhaps some more spying, or maybe, just maybe even some tidying. Are you sure that cat of yours isn’t a pig in disguise? After all, your room does resemble a sty Haley.”
Haley grimaced, the ‘jokes’ were getting worse.
Mr Thomas chuckled to himself, spilling a dribble of tea down his front.
“Are you sure that you aren’t a pig in disguise dad? After all, your drinking habits really do resemble one of a farmyard animal.”
Mr Thomas frowned and returned to the paper.
It wasn’t long before something interesting eventually happened in the Thomas’ house.
It began when Mrs Thomas emerged from the master bedroom, tissue held against her nose. Having been ill all day, she felt that it was finally time to show herself in front of the family. By this time, Adam had returned from his jaunts, Mr Thomas had got through three or four newspapers and Haley hadn’t done much.
World war four started when Mrs Thomas put the tissue on the side.
“Take that away right now!”
“Good Grief Harold, you’d think I’d just placed a bomb on the table!”
The table in which the tissue had settled had been cleaned that morning by the maid. She visited the Thomas’ household twice a week to carry out the usual deeds that no one else wished to do. That was, as Haley put it, as exciting as the maid’s life would get. Mr Thomas would always tell her off for this.
“Miriam, please. That snot rag could cause as much trouble as a bomb! Millions of little germs will be right now advancing onto my table!”
“In helmets.” added Haley.
Mr Thomas glanced at Haley then resumed talking.
“Did the maid not clean this table?” Mr Thomas was red in the face. “Yes, that’s right, she did!”
Miriam stared at her husband. He stared back.
Adam glanced at Haley. Haley glanced at Adam.
The house fell silent for a few minutes. Then Adam laughed.
“I’m sorry Dad,” he said, “It’s just you stood there in your boxers, declaring doom on everyone because of a single tissue! Seriously, think of your children!”
“Yes. It is a most disturbing site Harold.” added Miriam.
Mr Thomas made it clear that he wasn’t happy and gave his family the evil eye.
Meanwhile, the Jones’ (from next door) were strolling up the garden path, a box being held by their son. They examined the broken doll on the grass, the pile of cat food on the pathway and an odd looking magazine, open at a page clearly marked: ‘Our women’
As they approached the cottage, they had no idea what was in store for them.
They had only moved in the week before last. Moving from America had been a bit of an ordeal; they were hoping to get decent neighbours this time.
The cake they had brought was from Green Street bakery; it was piled high with icing.
Their son was the same age as Haley, soon to be attending the same school. He was tall, with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore some casual jeans, accompanied by a ‘band t-shirt’. His face held the most handsome smile known to man, as he approached the doorway.
If Haley had known that, she wouldn’t be thumping Adam at the moment they knocked on the door…
Mr Thomas was the one who opened the front door. His face was red and sweat was dripping down his neck.
He looked at the Jones’. They looked posh, neatly groomed and charming. In his head he groaned, but smiled broadly all the same. They looked at him and saw a middle aged man, clad in sweat and looking as though he had just stepped out of a boxing ring.
Behind him, a girl was being held in a headlock by what appeared to be her older brother, a woman was wiping her nose with her sleeve, and a cat appeared to be eating a damp tissue.
Mr Next door forced a smile to crease his steady cheeks.
“You must be Mr Thomas, I’m Mr Jones. It’s awfully nice to meet you.”
Some rather colourful language echoed in the background.
