Home Not Alone

I pulled into our street as my neighbours were leaving.  I waved amiably to them as they drove off.  Their house wasn’t empty though.  The children were Home Alone.  The Girl Next Door was unsupervised.  It could mean only one thing.  Almost before I’d taken my coat off, the Boyfriend turned up.  He appeared from nowhere like the witch in Chorlton and the Wheelies, wearing a baseball cap and texting so fast I couldn’t see his fingers.  No doubt bragging to his mates.  I opened my door, feigning interest in my unwanted Yellow Pages, but really just sending a signal.  They were too quick for me: I was left with the flapping pages of an abandoned telephone directory as they jumped inside.