Skin of his teeth

Words 688

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Eighteen year old Paul’s face showed the anxiety and stress he was experiencing. He was out of his depth. Standing outside on the dark street, he brushed his hand through his new buzz cut, still unused to the prickly feeling.
His mind raced with ideas of how he could get away with this disaster without his parents finding out.
At that moment several youths came out onto the street from the house. They laughed and jeered at the policemen, who’d been summoned by the neighbours. A teenage girl screamed abuse at the cops. Before too long, more youths had joined in, and the police called for backup. A girl, dressed in just her underwear, grabbed a hat from a cop’s head, and laughing she ran off down the street with it.


Two hours later the street was cleared. Seven of the party crashers had been taken into custody and Paul interviewed.
The last patrol car finally left the street, giving a farewell whoop as it rounded the corner. Paul stood alone in the darkness. Lights were gradually being turned off in the surrounding houses, his neighbours at last able to get some sleep. He was almost afraid to go back into the house and face the mess left behind.

Paul assessed the damage. Through the kitchen window, one glance at the pool told him enough. Even though it was dark there was enough light to see the outdoor furniture bobbing in the water.
He had nine hours to turn this disaster around before his parents returned.

Trying to get any sense out of his best friend, Dylan, the fool who’d spread the news that Paul’s parents were away and everyone was invited to an impromptu party, was proving impossible. He left him lying on the kitchen floor and went upstairs to check on the damage.

He saw both his and his parent’s rooms had been used for sex. Closing the door on his room he went to strip the sheets from his Mum and Dad’s bed. There were several used condoms, which he gingerly flushed down the toilet. He opened the window to get rid of the overpowering smell of perfume and sex.

By first light, around five thirty, he’d collected two full garbage bags of bottles, cans and empty wine casks. He stashed these behind the shed, intending to dispose of them later.

He cleaned the pool, fished out various items of clothing, including knickers and bras, and replaced the outdoor furniture.

By this time Paul was just so tired, wanting nothing more than to go to bed but the thought of being found out spurred him on.

Going into the toilet, he gagged at the sight of vomit. It was everywhere, on the floor and even up the walls. But he trudged off to get a bucket and cleaned up the sickening mess.

It was now nearly ten o’clock in the morning. He had two hours left.
The front window had been broken and there was still no sign of the glazier, although he’d called him and left a message that it was urgent.

He slowly climbed back up the stairs, taking the freshly dried sheets and remade his parent’s bed, making sure there was no one still asleep under the bed or in the wardrobe.

An hour before the exhausted teen’s parents were due home, the glazier turned up to measure the window. Within half an hour a new pane was fitted. Paul got the cash from his room, taking it from the money he’d earned last week delivering pizza.
After the tradesman left, Paul hauled out the vacuum cleaner and swept the incriminating bits of glass from the carpet. He nudged his still comatose friend with the head of the vacuum. Dylan groaned before picking himself off the floor and crawled into over to the sofa before immediately going back to sleep.

Paul heard his parent’s car pulling into the garage and glanced at the clock. It was two minutes to midday.
Gypsy, the dog, ran to meet them, barking madly. It was as if she were trying to tell them something.