CHAPTER TWELVE: The Phantom Flooder

"Uuh . . . we . . . uh . . . we got water comin' down from the . . . uh . . . ceiling," my downstairs #tenant Greg stammered.  "It's running down the . . . uh . . . walls in . . . in  . . . the . . . uh . . . bathroom."

"Oh no," I groaned, blearily peering at my bedside clock.  "Where's it coming from?"

"Mmmmmust be N . . . Natasha's #apartment.  Sh . . . sh . . . she must be havin' a . . . uh . . . f . . . f . . . flood up there."

"Okay, we'll come over," I told him, then I picked up the phone and called Wim.

Wim wasn’t too happy at being woken up in the middle of the night to make a trip out to Schemmerhorn but realized he didn’t really have a choice.

"No point you coming," he told me, to my immense relief.  "You can't do anything, anyway.  Natasha’s probably left the bath running or something.  I'll check it out."

I thanked him wholeheartedly and wished him well.

He called later the next morning.

"What did you find?" I asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Wim said.  "Agh, there was water coming down from upstairs, but when I knocked on Natasha's door, she said she was sleeping and hadn’t been running a bath.  I reckon she's lying so she won't have to pay for the #damages."

My heart sank at the word damages. 

"How much?" I asked quickly, keen to get the bad news over with.

"Well, a couple of ceiling tiles and some paint on the wall should do it," Wim said.

"Oh, good.  Not too bad then," I breathed in relief.

"No, no, not too bad, but you've got to watch that Natasha, you know."

We arranged that Wim would buy a few ceiling tiles and slap some paint on the wall when it had dried: a small expense of about $75. 

Not too bad for this #landlord.

* * * * * * * * * * *

            It was getting close to July.  The #lease was up on my apartment, and the #school #district had #re-zoned our #apartment complex.  To my dismay, this meant that Andrea and Bronwyn would have to switch to another school, which had a less than stellar reputation.

“Why don’t you move in with us, then?” Mummy suggested.  She and Wim were #renting a little #house in a good #neighborhood ten minutes down the Interstate.  “It’s one of the top school districts, and there’s a gymnastics school just down the road.” 

This would mean less traveling for my mother, who drove over to my apartment to babysit every afternoon and ferried Andrea to gymnastics lessons twice a week.  Wim had already renovated the attic in their house to make a bedroom for the girls when they stayed over, and there was a spare bedroom for me. 

“We could turn that little sunroom we’ve been using as a dining room into a living room for you,” Mummy urged.

“Sounds like a good idea,” I agreed.  “We can try it.  At least it’ll save us some money, sharing the #rent.”

Andrea and Bronwyn weren’t too keen on the idea of moving because they'd have to leave all their friends behind.  They would just have to make new ones.  I tried to console them with the reminder that they would now have constant access to Grandma’s candy tin.  Another plus for me, which I naturally did not voice, was the fact that the telephone was located in my parents’ bedroom, so Wim would be the first one taking any middle-of-the-night phone calls from my #tenants.

The next crisis was just around the corner . . .