Dad leaned back in the remains of his favourite chair and pressed the ends of his fingers together. That was the way he always sat when he was pretending to be intelligent.
‘Let’s go through the list one more time, Jams,’ he said.
‘Things Thimble must not get his hands on,’ I began. ‘Number one, the electric drill.’
Dad frowned. ‘The drill is in the reinforced strongbox ?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I replied wearily. It was the fifth time he’d asked me this.
‘With the double padlock?’
‘Continue,’ said Dad.
‘Number two. The matches.’
Dad gave a little shudder then waved me on.
‘Number three,’ I said. ‘The saw.’
Dad shifted uncomfortably. It was not easy to sit in a chair whose legs were six inches long.
‘Number four. The microwave.’
Dad gave a weary groan.
‘Dad,’ I suggested, ‘why don’t we just put “Everything”?’
‘If we do that,’ replied Dad, ‘he will have won.’
‘OK. Number five...’ I paused. ‘Are you feeling strong, Dad?’
‘Just get on with it.’
‘The superglue,’ I said.
No response.
‘Yes, I heard what you said,’ hissed Dad.
‘Dad, do you remember the time…’
‘Next!’ said Dad.
‘It would make a great story,’ I suggested.
Dad fixed me with his fiercest stare. ‘No, Jams. It would not make a great story. It would make an extremely embarrassing and humiliating story. No one must ever know what happened when Thimble got hold of the superglue!’
