Silence isn' t golden

Hazel hated all the noise, until it was gone for good¼

Stage one of Hazel' s plan was straightforward enough. She had her own key.

`A spare, just in case you need it,' Peter had said when he gave it to her.

Now she slid it gently into the lock and carefully eased the front door open. With a final furtive glance behind her, she slipped into the house and closed the door.

The unbroken rhythmic sounds from the bedroom above told her that Stage One had been accomplished successfully.

Hazel switched her equipment case to her other hand. She covered the three short steps to the bottom of the stairs. Then, as quietly as she could, she began to climb them.

The sounds from above continued. And wasn' t that exactly what she had expected? Once Peter got started, he lost himself in the moment and almost nothing could disturb him. Still, she needed to be careful.

Outside the bedroom door, Hazel began putting Stage Two into operation.

The case was a simple object not much bigger than a kids' lunchbox. It was constructed from shiny metal panels with black vinyl edging.

Gingerly she flipped open the clasps on the case and removed the two items from the molded foam rubber inside a microphone and a digital recorder.

From the inside pocket of her denim jacket, she took out a short black cable with a metal audio plug at each end.

With two satisfying clicks she connected the devices together with the cable. A faint tingle of adrenaline lit up in her stomach.

It's going to work! The plan is really going to work!

Ten minutes. That' s how much of the sound she managed to record. It wasn' t a lot, but Hazel had thought of that too.

Back home, she fired up her laptop and, after a bit of messing around with some software she' d found online, she' d turned her recording into an endless loop.

It was only when Peter came round for Sunday lunch that her plan was discovered.

Where are you going?' Hazel asked.

From the kitchen doorway, Peter frowned back at her.

Er, to the toilet, Mum. Is that a problem?'

No, of course not. No problem at all.'

As her son clomped upstairs, Hazel began to clear away the remains of their roast dinner.

Then her blood ran cold as she heard Peter' s voice booming: Mum! What' s going on up here?'

Hazel ran upstairs to find Peter standing in the doorway of his old bedroom, the one he' d slept in almost every day of his life until he left home two weeks ago.

His entire childhood was everywhere in this room

the football posters, the Airfix aeroplanes suspended from the ceiling, and the stacks of comics spilling out from under the bed.

And . . .

A Marshall guitar amp?' Peter cried. Who does that belong to? Have you got a lodger, Mum?'

He frowned as he picked up the sound recorder resting on top of the amp that Hazel had bought.

Hazel' s son was a musician. He knew how to switch it on.

Is that me?' he asked incredulously above the guitar solo from Bohemian Rhapsody blaring out of the amplifier' s speaker.

Hazel went over and turned the amplifier off.

The music fell silent.

I' m sorry, Peter. Please forgive me. It' s just that since you moved out, I' ve missed the sound of your guitar blaring out from your room.'

Peter looked at her in shock. But you always complained about my loud music when I lived here.'

Hazel shrugged guiltily. I guess you don' t know what you' ve got till it' s gone.'

Peter laughed and gave his mum a hug. A Joni Mitchell lyric, I believe,' he said. Sounds like a cue for a song.'

Absolutely,' Hazel replied. So next time you come for dinner, why don' t you bring your guitar?'