Day 199 - Hiding Spaces

 HIDING SPACES

Prompt - Hiding Spaces : Write about things you like to hide things at.  What was a favourite hiding spot for you as a child playing hide-and-seek?

It had to be this room, didn't it?  Either that or the garage, which was carrying inconvenience a bit too far.  This was the only room she rarely had any good reason to come into.  There were books she might choose of course, but mostly she stuck to the trash from the library, so it was unlikely.

He'd looked round everywhere else, trying to think as she would.  The only place downstairs she might not be able to check out was on top of the kitchen cupboards.  But if he was spotted bringing it down from there he'd then worry and have to seek out a new spot.  So upstairs it was.  

Their bedroom had a few decent hiding places, but she spent more time in there than he did.  If she felt she had reason to look for it she would also have the time and opportunity.  Burying it in a drawer full of sweaters might appear secure, but not if she felt determined.  And he still worried she might.  While the spare room had few obvious places to hide it.  Down the back of the wardrobe was as much an inconvenience as the garage option.  Anyway, it was in here he would always use it.

When the crisis had first blown up he'd taken it into the office, locked it in his desk drawer.  That had been OK for a couple of weeks, but one of his colleagues had got a bit too nosey.  Anyway, that created a different problem at weekends, not to mention forgetting what had happened the day before!  So it had to come home.  And now the task was to come up with at least one place where it could be safe from prying hands, preferably with alternatives, just in case he was spotted in the act of taking out or putting away.

His desk had no lock.  Nor did the cupboard.  The book cases were open shelving, and it was too big to hide easily behind most of the volumes in there.  But they were high, reaching close to the low ceiling, and deep enough that it would be out of casual sight if pushed to the back.  He'd only be able to get it down by standing on something, but that, and far longer reach he had over her, made it the best place he could think of.  And he could change which one it sat atop each time.

So that's what he did, and took care not to be seen reaching for it each evening (or, in more stressful moments when he needed to unload, during the day).  It felt ridiculous.  But necessary.  After what had happened he didn't want any repeat, and he could no longer trust her to stick to her word.

But it always came back to one simple question - what sort of person reads another's personal diary?