STORY: ‘Mia’ - a diary entry

Mia. My baby. My little girl. No matter how much she angers or annoys me, that’s something I can’t forget. A mother never stops loving her child, whatever happens. Mia. So bright, and happy. And, how she loves to dance! Such a vivacious girl, people say. And so beautiful. Or maybe I’m just biased.

But I’m worried. Don’t get me wrong, every parent worries. Little things like ‘is she doing well at school?’ Or ‘I hope she’s not being bullied.’ But the ‘I know she’s got a secret’ comes up more than anything. Mia’s got secrets, simple little ones, and big ones too. The arguments are getting worse lately. And I’m worried because my Mia has a habit of getting into stuff too deep, and she doesn’t want to stop until it’s too late. She can’t understand why I won’t let her out at night, like her silly little friends and their carefree parents.

Of course she’s too young, but she hasn’t grasped that concept yet. And I couldn’t lose her. Not my only child. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s my reason for living. And then I heard her on the phone, when she thought I was asleep, telling that bad influence Kate about how she’s going to run away from home, to live with her dad. I was shocked. She wouldn’t do that, would she? I know she misses him.

It’s hard, it always has been. When we got the divorce and he moved away, it was hard for her, knowing he was living with his pregnant girlfriend, up in Yorkshire. I don’t know why she wants to live with him. He hasn’t been a good dad as far as I can tell. Missing his daughter’s 10th birthday just to take her on some fancy cruise. Didn’t even take Mia. Actually I do know why. It’s because he doesn’t take an interest, and he’s so laid back he’s horizontal. But I know he’d let her go out any time she wanted.

Maybe I should talk to Mia? Make her see sense? No, she’d just accuse me of eavesdropping, and it would just make her want to leave even more. Should I let her do what she wants… can go out anytime she wants? I’d worry of course, but that’s a small price to pay for having my daughter with me. I’d do anything for Mia.

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Winter Haiku

The cold ground sparkles
The world covered in stardust
Silver snow flakes fall

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The getaway

The spy crouched down, half hidden by a marble fountain; he was dressed in black, sunglasses pulled low over his face even though it was night. Suddenly a small walkie-talkie positioned near his chin beeped into life. “I saw him in the lobby. He’s moving up the stairs now!”

The dark-clothed man jumped into life, raced past the ornamental gardens with their statuettes and verandas and into the lobby of the most expensive hotel in town. Dodging past wealthy individuals in fox furs and feathers, he was just in time to see the man he was chasing head up the carpeted steps to the balcony.
The spy cursed, as he pushed past loving couples who seemed always to be in his way. Finally he reached the parapet, and seeing his enemy skirt the edge of the ballroom floor, he took a running jump and landed on the dance floor, much to the surprise of the tangoing dancers.  Instead of going round the edge, the spy ran straight across the room, hoping to cut off his opponent. The prosperous young men in pressed black suits glared at him, annoyed that their voluptuous lady friends had been knocked.

Ignoring the eyes fixed on him, the spy ran to the double doors leading outside. He saw the enemy just a few yards in front, but then his view was blocked by an irritated guard. “Excuse me, but could I see your invitation please, you’re not on the guest list.” This was not a question, more a demand; the guard did not want any gatecrashers at his employer’s party of the year.

The spy struggled but the guard was strong and it was a good few minutes before the guard was lying on the ground and the spy was moving outside, looking desperately into the distance. But all he could see were the back gates swinging forlornly and some bemused guests coming towards him.  The spy’s enemy had gone.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Rhoda the detective

Rhoda is 14, clever, gorgeous and super-cool. She is also a detective. So when there is a mysterious theft at the grocers, Rhoda knows she can solve the crime...

When I read about the robbery at the grocers on the High Street I immediately knew this was a mystery I could solve. Who had been stealing Mrs Wendover’s Carrot Cake? Hmmmmm. I decided I needed to look at the crime scene. So, I headed for Wendover’s Grocery. It was famous for its pet monkey, Monica, who sometimes escaped.

I browsed around the shelves of fruit and veg looking for clues, but I couldn’t find anything.¦ I realised I was going to have to ask. The shop-girl smiled at me,
“We’ve had three break-ins now, it’ s quite scary really,” she shuddered, “It gives me nightmares!” 
Okaaay, I thought, how can you be scared of someone who steals carrot cake?
“Is there any evidence?”I asked.
“The thefts take place in the back room; go and have a look if you want.”
And, she paused for effect, then continued in a whisper,
“the break-ins always happen on a Tuesday night!”
All this fuss over some carrot cakes, I thought, but nonetheless I followed the girl into the back room.  The cakes were kept in the corner, next to a tiny window.
“The window doesn’t lock,” said the girl. “It’s so small; our thief must be a child.”
Hmmmmm, I thought, or a monkey? And why would any normal child want to steal carrot cake?

It was Tuesday today so I decided to slip out that night and keep watch. I knew mum would never let me go, so I climbed out of my window later on. Soon, I was down by the grocers. I kept watch on the window all night but nothing happened and by dawn I was beginning to think I’d missed a night of beauty sleep for nothing. Then I heard a scream from Mrs Wendover, who was opening up the shop.
“More cakes have been stolen!” she cried.
What? How could that be? Well, since nobody, had climbed in the window, I now knew that our theft was an inside job and the robber probably had a key. But who was it?
I decided to chat to the shop-girl while I thought about it.
“My parents work in a grocery in town,” she said, “but they don’t earn as much money as here. No-one can bake fruit cake like Mrs Wendover.”
Did I hear a note of bitterness in her voice? Maybe?

After some thinking I took the bus over to her parent’s grocery and looked in. Yes! My suspicions were right! I knew who the thief was! Now all I had to do was wait a week. This time I’d bring the police with me!

On Tuesday night, I crouched in the shadows with the police. We didn’t have to wait long, soon I saw somebody run up to the grocery. This was definitely no monkey. They stopped and unlocked the door. The police and I crept in after the culprit and when we got to the back room we switched on the light! It was the shop-girl! Yay! I had guessed right and solved the mystery of the stolen carrot cakes!
“Why did you do it?” the police asked.
“Mrs Wendover’s carrot cake is famous,” said the girl, “I stole it ‘cause I wanted people to buy it from my parent’s shop!”

So we’ve solved the mystery again, thanks to Detective Rhoda!

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