Another short update. I suspect there's a pattern developing... ;)
Chapter Four
William completed his botanical photo shoot with some close-ups of the flowering current blossoms.
Yes, he thought, definitely cat's pee.
He stepped back from the odoriferous shrub and looked around, pensively. There was something he had forgotten to do, something important. It was niggling away at the back of his brain but he couldn't quite bring it to the fore. Then suddenly…
'Water!' he exclaimed and set off towards the side of the house where the garden shed was located. He swivelled the dials on the combination lock to correct alignment of numbers and the lock dropped open. Entering the dimly lit shed, he scanned around until he spotted the plastic watering can. With a delighted grin, he grabbed the handle and strode across to the outside tap, located under the Utility Room window. Having filled the can to the top, he turned off the tap and marched back down the garden towards the hive but, at the last minute, he veered off and stopped by the hedge that bounded the rear of the property. There, he found a large plastic storage box, lying on its side.
William had turned it on its side last November so that no unfortunate small animal, such as a mouse or vole, might fall into it and not be able to climb out again, up the steep, smooth sides. He turned the box back onto its flat base and, feeling around under the hedge in the scattering of old leaves left over from the Autumn, he found what he was looking for – a broad, flat stone.
He picked up the heavy stone in both hands and placed it carefully inside the box, positioning it right in the middle with space around it on all sides. Next, he poured the water into the box, filling it right up to – but not over – the top of the stone. Then he stepped back, with a nod of satisfaction.
Bees needed a source of drinking water when they were active and, since there wasn't a garden pond or a natural stream nearby, William needed to provide it for them. The bees would be able to stand on the stone and sip from the water's edge without falling in. Pleased with a job well done, William set off back towards the shed, to return the can to its rightful place and secure the door...
A long, loud, high-pitched, blood-curdling scream abruptly rent the air, coming from somewhere inside the house. The sound was so shocking that William staggered back and dropped the watering can, his blood running cold at the sheer horror embodied in that cry.
'It's alright! It's alright!' called Sherlock, leaping up from under the tree and sprinting up the garden towards his son.
'What…? What…?' William gasped, turning startled eyes on his father.
'It's alright,' Sherlock repeated, reaching out a reassuring hand. 'It's just Violet. I'll deal with it.' And with that, he was gone, into the house through the back door.
William stood stock still, frozen in stunned surprise. Violet? Little Violet made that noise? How on earth…? And, more to the point, why on earth…?
Meanwhile, the screaming continued, varying in tone and volume and occasionally interrupted by a brief interlude of pitiful wailing. What ever Daddy was doing to 'deal with it' hadn't worked yet.
William dithered on the spot, torn between abandoning the can immediately and following Daddy into the house - if possible, to lend a hand - or finishing his task of putting away the watering can and locking up the shed. He opted for the latter. Hopefully, by the time he had done that, Daddy would have the 'situation' – whatever that might be – under control.
Sherlock charged through the house to the dining room, where he found Violet lying face down on the floor, drumming the oak boards with her fists and feet, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Marie and Freddie stood by, both gazing at her with varying degrees of apprehension. And Redbeard was nowhere to be seen.
'Alright, alright, Violet,' Sherlock said, calmly, bending down and scooping the child up in his arms, at which point she immediately went rigid and screamed even louder. Unabashed, Sherlock carried her towards the sitting room, separated off from the dining area by folding doors. Marie was on her toes. She scuttled over to open one of the doors so Sherlock could carry Violet through, then closed it firmly behind them.
The noise was instantly muted – not gone but considerably quieter. Redbeard crept out from his hiding place, under the dining table, and sidled up to Freddie, seeking reassurance. Marie looked at Freddie, staring after his disappeared sister with a grim expression, while stroking the puppy's head. She reached out and ruffled the boy's hair.
'Come on, let's have some hot chocolate and flap jacks. I'm sure William would like some, too.'
Yes, Freddie was definitely up for that, and being in the kitchen would put another wall and closed door between them and the noise-making machine in the sitting room.
'And Redbeard. I bet he'd like some, too,' he replied.
'Not chocolate, no. It's very bad for dogs,' Marie cautioned. 'Nor flapjacks, either. But he can have a rice gravy bone biscuit. He likes those.'
ooOoo
Violet, who had turned two less than a month previously, had clearly embraced the concept of the' Terrible Twos' and this was one such example of how well. It had been obvious, even as a new-born, that Violet had a very strong personality. As she had grown from a baby to a toddler, she had formed opinions on just about everything and this had lately developed into a powerful desire to follow her own agenda at all times. But what had been a mildly amusing personality trait in the one-year old Violet, epitomised by Molly's affectionate nick name for her daughter – Little Madam - had ramped up exponentially in the last few weeks. Flash points occurred frequently and escalated, quite rapidly, into major meltdowns, resulting in Violet throwing herself on the floor and screaming extremely loudly for quite a long time. On such occasions, she was utterly inconsolable.
Once they identified these behaviours for what they were, Sherlock and Molly - with great relief - decided that the best way to deal with the outbursts was to isolate Violet somewhere, away from curious eyes, with an adult for supervision and let her work through her tantrum – often to the point of exhaustion – and then find a way to establish a line of communication and try to get to the bottom of what caused the outburst in the first place.
More often than not, it was an inability to communicate her ideas and wishes. Like most children her age, Violet's understanding of language far outstripped her ability to express herself and the frustration that this engendered could only be relieved, it seemed, by having a 'mega hissy-fit', as Freddie so aptly put it.
And Freddie was, in fact, explaining this to William at that very moment, around the farmhouse kitchen table.
'Does she do it a lot?' William asked, aghast.
'Quite a lot,' Freddie replied, pragmatically.
William was horrified. He had a mental image of being awoken in the middle of the night by the banshee that used to be his sweet little sister, renting the air with her shrill cries. It occurred to him that he might actually be better off at school, with his untidy dorm mates.
'But only during the day, usually,' Freddie added.
Thank god for that! thought William. He appreciated the value of a good night's sleep.
'Although getting her to bed can sometimes be a bit difficult,' Freddie went on.
William's relief had been short-lived.
'The grown-ups used to take her to her room, when she first started, but now Mummy's in bed a lot, they go to the sitting room…'
What if I'm watching something interesting on the TV? William thought, dismayed.
'Or, if we're all in the sitting room, she gets brought to the kitchen…or even the Utility Room…or, sometimes, the hall.' Freddie's explanation, comprehensive though it was, was doing nothing to put William's mind at ease.
'But it's much worse when she does it outside,' he said, shaking his head, ominously. 'I mean, you can imagine the supermarket…'
William could.
'But it's just a phase,' Marie put in, trying to inject a note of reassurance. 'She'll get over it, eventually. And remember, it's important we try not to get angry with her – even though it might make us feel annoyed. She really can't help it and she doesn't mean to be annoying. After all, we've all been there, haven't we?'
'No, I don't think so,' William replied, shaking his head, dubiously, while trawling back through his inner archives and trying to remember anything similar in his own history but coming up blank.
'I think I had my moments,' Freddie admitted, with a self-deprecating shrug.
'Never this bad,' William retorted. 'I would definitely have remembered.'
'Anyway,' Marie declared, 'by the sounds of it, she's calmed down now so, when she comes back in, remember to just behave as though nothing happened. Least said, soonest mended.'
The boys nodded, solemnly, in unified compliance.
ooOoo
Another slice of everyday Hooper-Holmes family life. :)