They stood on the front porch, stymied and stupified. Dylon had no key to the front door, and Linda hadn’t brought her key. She’d assumed Dylan would have his with his car key. No.
The spare key lock-box was empty. That meant Adele had taken it, either into her room or – as her car was nowhere to be seen – out with her.
“Let’s call Adele,” said Linda.
Dylan wouldn’t hear of it. No way was his daughter going to learn he’d forgotten to take his key with him.
“We’ll go to the back.”
Linda stretched on tiptoe to reach over the gate to unlatch it.
“I can get a spare key from the garage,” Dylan said. He went through his pockets as he approached the garage door. “Shit. I haven’t got the garage key either.”
Linda checked the doors, just in case they’d left one unlocked. No such luck.
Dylan steamed, Linda fumed…who each was blaming, neither would ever say.
Dylan examined each door…the sliding doors to the lounge and the bedroom were tamper ptoof, as was the wooden door to the laundry.
But…the laundry window?
Dylan turned the screen locks and removed the screen, leaning it against the wall. He didn’t for a minute believe it would, but he tried lifting the sliding window…and it slipped up and out easily.
So, who was to go in through it? Dylan knew he was too large and, at 71 a little too limited.
“I can do it,” Linda said. “I just need something to step up on.”
Thank heavens for absent-minded handyman husbands – he’d left two saw horses outside. Dylan placed one under the window – sort of. One foot was higher than the other three, and as the wall planter for their herbs was right below the window there was quite a space between the saw horse and the sill. Which was at Linda’s bust height.
Now, Linda had her own structural problems, neither age-related, even though she was 65 years old. One hip joint had been replaced, botched, and replaced again, leaving her with the leg an inch shorter than its mate, and limited movement. She had had surgery on the other leg to excise melanoma from the groin, so big a mass and so entwined around the tendons and arteries the surgeon had needed to scrape the cancer from the tendon – leaving even less movement possible.
But, of the two, Linda was the only one who could fit through the window.
She needed a boost from Dylan, but made it to stand on the saw horse. Now, how to pass through the window, now looking much smaller.
“Go through on hands and knees,” Dylan suggested.
Linda couldn’t get a knee up to the sill. “No, I’ll do it this way.”
“Perhaps I’d better try.”
“No, I can do it'” She shuffled herself around on the saw horse, until she had her back to the wall. With her hands behind her on the sill, and one foot on the garden tap, she boosted herself up into the window frame. Not comfortable when it’s an aluminium frame, with a slot-and-groove track for a sliding window pane!
She lifted a cheek so the grooved track fitted more comfortably. Only, now she was facing sideways, but still with both legs hanging off the sill. The leg closest to the window was the least useful leg. Try as she did, the bloody leg would not bend close enough to let her foot pass the frame – even after Dylan pulled her sneaker off.
“Leave it,” Dylan said. “I’ll think of something else.”
“No way – this is fun.”
“Try going through backwards.”
That was going to be awkward – an acrobat Linda was not. She shifted around again. First one cheek, then the other, passed that darned track. Where next…this needed some thinking. If I put my left hand down on the hot tap, and my right hand on the front edge of the tub, I can start to let myself down onto the washing machine.
She set the plan in motion – and ended up flat on her back on top of the machine, her legs still up on the window frame.
She walked her feet along and down the wall as she turned herself to face the room, all the while laughing like a crazy woman at what she must look like (were anyone watching).
Once on her feet, she unlocked the laundry door for Dylan. He passed her and went to the door into the bathroom.
Shit, oh dear, he had locked the bathroom door from the inside before they’d gone out! Still no entry to their own house!
Dylan remembered he had tools in the boot of the car. Using a screwdriver he popped the bolts from the door hinges, then levered the door out of its frame, hoping the bolt bracket wouldn’t break the door. But no … success. They were in.
Tempting though it was to leave the door between bathroom and laundry, to let Adele see the open plan layout created by her key forgetfulness, Dylan set about replacing the bathroom doors’ locks with ones that could be opened from the “wrong” side, and setting another lock box out beside the lounge door.
The only real disappointment? No one had filmed her hilarious cat burglar impersonation!