“Security Solutions?” Luke stares at the crate. “What’s this?”
“It’s … er … some stuff I bought.”
“Oh Christ.” He closes his eyes. “What have you done now?”
“You don’t need to sound like that! It was recommended by the experts!” I reach for a knife and jimmy off the top of the crate. “They said I might like to consider investing in extra security for my family. So I bought …”
I hesitate as I peer into the crate, slightly losing my nerve. They look a bit more military than I was expecting.
“What?” demands Luke. “What did you buy?”
“Body armor.” I try to sound casual. “Just as a precaution. Loads of celebrities wear it.”
“Body armor?” Luke’s voice rises incredulously. “You mean, bulletproof vests?”
“Bulletproof vests?” Suze spits out her tea. “Bex, you didn’t!”
“This one is for you.” I pull out the Panther model in taupe, which I thought would really suit Suze.
“I’m not wearing a bulletproof vest!” she says in horror. “Get that thing away from me!”
“How much did these cost?” Luke is holding up the Leopard model in khaki green, with a finger and thumb.
“It doesn’t matter how much they cost,” I say defensively. “Who can put a price on the safety of loved ones? And anyway, there was a special offer. Buy four garments and get a stun gun free.”
“A stun gun?” Luke recoils.
“Every family should have a stun gun,” I say, more confidently than I feel.
“You’ve gone insane.” Luke turns to Suze. “She’s insane.”
“Luke, I’m not a civilian anymore!” I exclaim. “Life has changed! Don’t you understand that?”
I feel so frustrated. Why don’t they get it? Sage understands, and the man at the security company totally understood. In fact, he thought I should buy a doorframe X-ray scanner, too, and change all our locks to “panic hardware.”
“Becky, my darling,” says Luke kindly. “You are totally and utterly deluded if you think—”
He breaks off as a frantic barking comes from outside. The next minute, Jeff is on his feet, listening furiously to his earpiece.
“Stay where you are,” he says gruffly to me. “We have a situation.” As he hurries out of the kitchen, I hear him ordering, “Describe the intruder.”
Situation? Intruder? My heart spasms in fear.
Well, if I’m honest, half in fear and half in triumph.
“You see?” I say to Luke. “You see? Minnie, darling, come here.” I draw her protectively toward me, my voice quivering. She gazes up at me, her eyes huge and questioning, and I stroke her brow. “Children, stay away from the windows. We’ll be fine.” I try to sound brave and positive. “Let’s just keep calm and sing, ‘My Favorite Things.’ ”
We need a panic room. That’s what celebrities have. And maybe more dogs.
“Is it a burglar?” Clemmie starts to cry.
“I’ll fight him,” says Ernest boldly. “Hai-ya!”
“Luke,” I say quietly. “Get the stun gun out of the crate.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Luke rolls his eyes. He takes a piece of toast out of the toaster and calmly spreads butter on it, then takes a bite. I stare at him in indignant disbelief. Is he heartless? Doesn’t he care about our safety?
“Let go!” A male voice is shouting from outside. Oh my God, it’s the intruder. “Call off that dog! Call it off!”
“Identify yourself!” Mitchell’s voice is booming through the air, and Echo is barking more loudly than ever. I can’t help feeling terrified and exhilarated, all at the same time. This is like something off the TV!
“The burglar’s here!” Clementine bursts into fresh, terrified sobs, and, after a nanosecond, Minnie joins in.
“For God’s sake!” says Suze, and glances balefully at me. “Happy now?”
“Don’t blame me!”
“He’ll get us!” Clementine wails. “He’s coming!”
There’s the sound of scuffling coming from the hall and men’s shouts, then a thump and a furious exclamation from one man, who suddenly sounds just like—
Hang on a minute. That’s not—
“Dad?” I yell incredulously, just as Jeff and Mitchell appear at the kitchen door, manhandling my father, as though they’re cops in a movie and he’s the double-crossing vice president who was found trying to climb out of a window.
“Becky!”
“That’s my dad!”
“Grandpa!”
“We found this suspect prowling in the drive—”
“I wasn’t prowling—”
“Let go of him!”
We’re all speaking at once, and poor Wilfie has put his hands over his ears.
“Let go of him!” I yell again, above the hubbub. “He’s my father!”
Reluctantly, Mitchell lets go of Dad’s arm, which he had twisted behind his back. I mean, honestly, how could they think Dad was an intruder? You couldn’t see anyone less suspicious-looking than my dad. He’s wearing summer trousers and a blazer and a panama hat, and he looks as though he’s about to go to a cricket match.
“How’s my Minnie?” he says in delight, as Minnie throws herself at him. “How’s my little sweetheart?”