Saturday 16th August 2008.
Marty still hasn’t been in touch. He’s been home though. He still has a key and could be bringing all kinds into my house. Do I change the locks? What’s that saying to him if I do? Go and be a smack-head son, I don’t care?
I’m absolutely furious with Russ. We’ve had more trouble and I can’t help blaming him for it. It’s my son who’s bringing the trouble and yet I’m holding Russ responsible for felicitating it.
When the six girls (and one keeping nix) broke into my house six weeks ago, either with or without Marty’s consent we never did get to the bottom of it, I made it widely known to the police, to my friends and of course to Marty that Russ was in the habit of keeping his money in my knicker drawer. We didn’t know at the time if any of Russ’ money had been taken because he was at work and I couldn’t contact him immediately. Luckily no significant amount had been taken.
I told Russ quite specifically that I didn’t want him leaving money in the drawer. There are times when he will have to have sums of money, there are a million and three hiding places in a house surely he can come up with something a little more original than leaving it open in my knicker drawer. I asked him more than once not to do it again.
Today he came to the shop and asked me if I’d taken ninety-five pounds out of the drawer for safekeeping. Of course I hadn’t. Russ put a hundred pounds in there. He took five pounds out for his snacks at work leaving ninety five pounds … it’s gone.
Because it’s been taken by my son from my house I felt responsible, as you would, and felt that I ought to refund him even though it’s his own damned fault for putting it there in the first place after I’d asked him not to. I could only get fifty pounds out of the bank and offered him that saying that I’d get the other forty-five when I get paid. I suppose I wanted him to refuse my gesture. Half of me feels some culpability for the missing money and that I should re-pay it, the other half thinks that it’s nothing to do with me and he was warned not to leave money lying around. I was furious when he took forty pounds and gave me the other tenner back.
“There, that will pay for my concert ticket for next week.” I suppose paying him half of the stolen money was the fairest way but I was livid. I felt worse having to pay back half of it than I would if I’d paid it all and I don’t understand why.
“Hang on a minute, Russ. I’m not offering to pay for your damned concert ticket. I don’t give a shit about your concert. I’m offering to pay you for the money you’ve had stolen. It’s all or nothing. You either take the full ninety-five pounds or you don’t take anything at all.” I suppose if he’d taken all of the money it would absolve me of any guilt and if he’d refused to take anything then it would be saying that it wasn’t my fault anyway. I can’t explain my warped thought process but I was highly insulted that he took half the money.
Once again my son is a thief.
He knows every reptile shop in Cumbria and Lancs how long will it be before my animals start to go missing and he steals them to turn a fast quid?
I haven’t seen nor heard form him. I’m at my wits end. I don’t know where he is or what state he’s in. His toothbrush is still in its holder. He’s been gone two weeks. Has he cleaned his teeth once in that time? I know a new toothbrush would only cost pennies, but I bet he hasn’t got one. What’s he playing at? Why won’t he come home where he belongs? Is his home life so bad? The house is clean, there’s always food in the cupboards, he gets everything he needs. What the hell has he got to be unhappy about? I just want him home, and then I’m terrified that he will come home because of the trouble that he might bring to my door. We have a peaceful life until Marty erupts and starts causing trouble. I don’t want hassle and consequences for his actions. I’m still having my house egged from his last shenanigans. I live in fear of burglary and of the police calling with regard to something he might have done. I honestly don’t know where we go from here.
I do know that I can’t stand the sight of my own son, but I also know that I love him and just want him home and safe no matter what baggage he brings with him. I dare say we’ll cope one way or another. I just hope it doesn’t tear me and Russ apart.
Jess came round last night with her daughter Jemma. Sally had also come home from work with me to take some pics of the animals. It was horrible
I was doing waters and sprays. Jess and Jem were handling and Sally was going from viv to viv getting the animals out and taking photos of them in and out of their vivs. When she got to the uros she found Cairo but couldn’t find Kasbah. I wasn’t too bothered and knew that he’d be in there somewhere and said something noncommittal. Jess went over to help Sal look for him. I said that he likes to bury and it would probably be a good idea to take all the furniture out of the viv. They took the branches out, his hides and the pot tree stump that is especially designed for lizards. Kasbah was not in the viv. Worried now I came and looked. It was true he wasn’t there. He had been when I’d gone to work that morning and now he was gone. I began looking under the sofas and behind the vivs while Jess put the viv back together. Suddenly she went quiet. Alarmed, I looked over. “Jane, I think you need to come and see this.” She was holding the big tree stump.
“Have you found him?” I didn’t like her tone of voice one little bit.
“Yes, but it’s not looking good.”
I grabbed the ornamental stump from her. In the centre there is a hole. Kasbah was so curled into it that you couldn’t see him, but he was there. I poked him. He was as stiff as a board. “Noooo,” I moaned, “Not again.” This was an exact replica of last time when we came home and found Giza dead. I had a houseful then. Jess was there just like this time and I found my uro, Giza, dead under an ornament. I was aware that Jemma had burst into tears. I was just numb. How could this be? What had killed Kasbah? That ornament was specifically designed for use with lizards of his size and weight. He’d been gaining weight, eating well. He was bright and active. The ornament hadn’t fallen on his head or broken his neck.
I had to get out of the house. I needed to be alone. I thrust the ornament with the stiff uro at Sally and left. I went around the corner of the house and leaned against the wall. I was shaking like a leaf and crying. I honestly couldn’t cope with any more trouble.
Suddenly the door burst open and Sally ran at me, “Jane, Jane come quick. He’s alive.”
Never assume that a reptile is dead until it hasn’t moved for twenty years!
I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to see another half dead lizard. I didn’t want to have to go to the vets with another dying lizard, what would they think of me? More vet bills on top of vet bills.
“Come on, hurry up. He’s okay. He’s fine.”
I went in and looked in the viv. Kasbah was terrified and doing ninety miles an hour round the viv looking for somewhere to hide. He was absolutely, perfectly all right. There was not a thing wrong with him. He’d just been in a very deep sleep. I’d poked him quite hard; he’d felt as dead as a do-do to me. Jess had poked him, Sally had poked him but it was only when she was trying to prize his ‘dead’ body out of the hole that he’d suddenly sprung to life. He was terrified to wake up out of his viv surrounded by strange faces that he didn’t know and schitzed. Half an hour later he’d calmed down, had something to eat and was basking on top of his stump wondering why everybody kept looking at him.
He was fine. I was not. It was such a carbon copy of when we lost Giza that I was a mess. I sat on the sofa shaking uncontrollably. It had been such a shock first to find him dead and then to find him alive. Sal was that worried about me that she produced a vodka and coke and a lit fag. Jemma was still crying and shaking too but as she’s only thirteen she didn’t get vodka or a fag.
I’ve lost my Sunday girls. It’s all Daz’s fault. Because it’s the summer hols and the girls have lots of holidays and family activities planned they asked if instead of Sunday’s they could come on Tuesdays until they go back to school. It makes no difference to me so we arranged for them to come three Tuesdays ago. However the last three Tuesdays I’ve had to work. Would you believe I’ve never got phone numbers from them and I don’t even know their surnames? I have no way of contacting them and as it’s the summer hols I couldn’t even get a message to them through the school. This fourth Tuesday nobody came. They probably think that I don’t want them any more and just didn’t bother to tell them. I couldn’t leave a note on the front door because of recent events I don’t want to advertise when the house is empty. I’m kicking myself that I’ve never thought of something as fundamental as getting a phone number from either of them. I bet they came either two or three times and finding the house all locked up decided not to bother again. I just hope that I can explain the misunderstanding and get them back next term. Ruby is fantastic with the animals and a real loss.
Daz has returned to work. Apparently he hasn’t found another job yet. I’m not happy with him but as I have to work with him I’m trying to get back on a friendly footing with him.
I have a meeting with the licensing committee at the counsel next week. The only way that I can generate more hours for Sally is by extending our opening hours so that the day will run from nine until ten not eight and opening from ten till four on a Sunday. I don’t know if I will be able to extend my licence but I hope so because there isn’t really enough work for three of us as it stands.
