What’s the drill?
One summer’s day two years ago, I was outside, doing a spot of gardening. The people who owned the flat above me were making a right racket, drilling and banging.
Despite the noise, I was enjoying myself.
However, after an hour, I gave up as my back was hurting, and sat down under a window. I’ll just shut my eyes for
a few minutes, I thought. Who knows how long I’d been asleep when suddenly a loud voice urgently shouted, ‘Get up, get up!’. I quickly leapt up like a scalded cat, and thank God I did. A split second later, a large hammer drill came hurtling down from three storeys above. The drill hit my seat with such force
that it shot straight back up into the air and landed on the ground. I started shaking like a leaf when I realised that if I’d still been asleep, the drill would have caused me a terrible injury, if not killed me. It took me a few minutes to calm down. My neighbours had obviously put the drill on the windowsill and it had fallen out by accident when it’d got knocked by something. However, I know it was no accident that I’d been woken up, but by whom? The voice had sounded like it was inside my head. I suddenly thought of my mother Joyce who had died from pancreatic cancer at 48 when I was 15. We were close and I have lovely memories of her. I’ve often imagined she was still nearby. I now know that the voice was her warning me of the impending disaster. It came as proof that my mum is still looking out for me.