Dad was halfway through a murder mystery when Mum finished her copy.
The next day, he fixed the gate, cleaned the oven and tidied the shed without being asked twice.
His daughter asked Mum how she had managed it.
Mum glanced at Dad, who was reading with both hands over his ears….
Dad usually read his detective books at a comfortable pace.
He liked to guess the killer before the last chapter. He also liked to tell Mum why every guess she made was wrong.
This time they had bought two copies. Mum read hers on a long train journey and finished it that evening.
Dad was still on chapter eight.
He asked whether the ending was any good.
Very good, Mum said. Particularly the part in the kitchen.
Dad asked her to stop talking immediately.
Mum said she hadn’t given anything away. Several people had kitchens.
He moved to the sitting room.
From the kitchen, Mum asked whether he was going to fix the loose gate before someone got hurt.
Dad said he’d do it after this chapter.
Mum said that was fine. She could keep him company and discuss the book while he read.
Dad fetched his screwdriver.
The next morning, Mum mentioned the oven.
Dad said cleaning it would take most of the morning.
Mum agreed. She could sit nearby. There was so much to say about the detective’s brother.
Dad put on the rubber gloves.
By the time their daughter visited, the gate was straight, the oven was shining and Dad was carrying a box out of the shed.
She asked whether Mum had promised him something.
Mum said it was more a matter of understanding what he valued.
Dad hurried past with his book. His daughter called after him.
He said he couldn’t hear her, then covered his ears in case that became true.
Their daughter leaned closer to Mum.
How are you getting him to do all this?
I know who did it.
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