All Innocence and Sin

Someone has removed the laces from my shoes.

“Where are my shoelaces?” I ask the five-year-old.

“I don’t know”, she says.

“Where are my shoelaces?” I ask the thirteen-year-old.

“I don’t know”, he says.

“Where are my shoelaces?” I ask the fourteen-year-old.

“I don’t know”, she says.

Hmmm.

“You haven’t seen my shoelaces, have you?” I ask the housekeeper.

“No”, she says.

“You haven’t seen my shoelaces, have you?” I ask the cleaner.

“No”, she says.

“You haven’t seen my shoelaces, have you?” I ask a man installing some speakers.

“No”, he says.

I turn the five-year-old’s room upside down, fruitlessly, and feel guilty.

I scour the mansion, looking in drawers, cupboards and boxes. I check the attic and the basement. I even look in loos. Nothing.

I sit with the kids eating dinner.

“So, none of you know where my shoelaces are?”

“NO!” they snap, simultaneously.

Hmmm.

I finish the five-year-old’s bedtime story.

“If you know where my shoelaces are, please tell me”, I plead.

She looks at me with guilt and pity. She knows where they are.

“Come on, it’s raining outside. You don’t want my feet to get wet, do you?”

She sighs and loosens her lips:

“They’re in the freezer. They’ll snap when you tie them.”

The Male Nanny.