I am Nobody

I woke up; the sun was peering in through the gap between the blackout blind and the window frame. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I don’t think I should have drunk that last bottle of Rioja! There was a snoring sound coming from behind my head, I turned slowly, afraid of what I might see! What time did I get in? Who did I bring home? Yikes!! I moved very slowly, putting one foot out of the duvet ready to escape to the bathroom. My feet were on the rug, I was ready to sprint, when I saw the familiar ginger fur, and realised it was only Tiger, my lazy flatmate snoring! “Tiger, it’s you!” he slowly opened one eye and looked at me, then stretched into a full growling yawn. “Meow, meow.” my heart settled down to a steady beat, instead of the hyperactive drumbeat of ten seconds ago. I turned and stroked Tiger. “I suppose you want your breakfast? Come on then, ginger fur ball.” I made my way to the kitchen with trepidation, worried my head was going to start clanging, as soon as I made any sudden movements. I wasn’t sure how much I had drunk, but I knew it was too much. Phew, the couch was clear, luckily I hadn’t invited any guests to come back and stay after Susie’s party. Everything was vague, what time did I come home? My name is Samantha Walker, I am a licensed Private Investigator and I am 34, divorced and live alone with my ginger fur ball flatmate, Tiger. I am the proud owner of a one bedroomed flat on the outskirts of central Manchester, it’s compact but stylish, a bit like me, well that’s what I like to think. I am 5ft 4in, 130lb, have short wavy brown hair that always needs taming, and I live in jeans and boots. I lead a pretty simple life, without too many luxuries. The two things I consider I have been extravagant with are my Dualit Latte maker and toaster. Both I items I regard as essential kit, because I love latte and toast, not always together, but more often than not. I rent a small office in town, one room on the top floor of a large terrace, with a shared kitchen and bathroom. The rent is cheap, though the room is rather gloomy; it’s in the attic of the building, the only natural light it gets comes in through two Veluxes, so I have to keep the light on all the time. At one time it was probably the attic bedroom, or nursery, but it suits me. I don’t tend to get many clients that come into the office, they tend to ring. Well, tend to, that is a bit rich at the moment. Today is the 28th December, last time I had a client was at the beginning of November. That was hardly a case big enough to make my fortune. Mrs Trimble from the flat downstairs had lost her Trudy. Trudy, being her precious Yorkshire Terrier that she never lets leave the house without a bow in its hair. She paid me the grand sum of £50 to find Trudy; she was convinced that Mary Braithwaite had kidnapped her. She believed this to be the case, as Trudy had won second prize in the Gazette’s “Best Looking Dog Award”. Luckily for me, my years of training as a PI and my powers of deduction, led me straight to Trudy. Actually, it was a lucky tip off from Jarvis, the ten year old who lives across the road. Jarvis had informed me that Trudy had the hots for a Doberman Pincher called Brian that lived near the park. After much traipsing around the park, I found Trudy at Brian’s house. She was free of her usual headgear, rolling round in mud in the garden and rubbing herself up against Brian’s leg. They seemed besotted with one another. Mr Jones, Brian’s owner, had thought Trudy was a stray and was undecided if to keep her, or ring the dog warden. When I found her she was not her usual highly groomed self, she had slipped her bow and was no longer wearing her diamante collar. She bore no resemblance to the pampered pooch that Mrs Trimble doted on. There were going to be tears, when Mrs Trimble heard that Trudy had taken off with a bit of rough. I broke the bad news to Mr Jones and Trudy that she would not be staying, and that she would be returning home to carry on being the pampered pooch she normally was.