Urgh. Last night was awful. Freya was feeling fragile yesterday for the first time in this whole trip. She'd burnt herself on her face and shoulders from being in the sea so much. And then she had an unpleasant run in with a flying fish that had caught, in a horribly flappy panic, in her bikini top, when they'd collided in a big wave.
Funny that my hardcore little traveller should have her wobble at the beach. Absolutely nothing has phased her till now, but she's struggling with the whole mozzy thing. The thought of a bug landing on her when she's asleep and sucking her blood, has really got to her. And it's not like she's never seen them before.
As a consequence of her fragility she slept with Martha and me, leaving Hamish to sleep with Gus. Fine. Until sometime in the darkness when I was woken by the sound of a creature in the hut, rustling through our stuff. I willed it to be on of the skinny cats from the restaurant next door, but I knew in my heart it was far more sinister.
The squeaking gave it away, confirming my worst suspicions.
Rats! In my hut, right next to me, knocking things onto the floor, stealing our sweets (what were we thinking having food in here?!) and frightening me half to death. Spiders I can handle, even snakes aren't so bad, but rats... My mind was racing, full of all the rat horror stories I'd ever heard (James Herbert has a big part in this phobia). Then I remembered the night one fell through the roof of our Mexican hut, candying on me as I slept in a hammock. I thought about my friend Peter getting bitten by one on the nose as he slept on a boat last summer.
Hideous. And no Hamish to protect me. Instead, I was the protector of my two girls, especially my eldest who'd had such a tricky day. Somehow I had to find the courage, with a thudding heart, to get out of bed, turn o the lights and shoo them away.
I had visions of the night my friend Fay and I returned to our hut in Ko Samui. We had turned on the light and a crowd of cockroaches, who'd been hanging out on our bed, scattered in all directions.
Would it be like that? How many rats had gatecrashed my party? Had the squeaking been a mother saying,"Hey kids, I've got some snacks," as she'd scrambled down the rush matting.
Or was it a more terrifying call, "Oi! Over here everyone! Come and check out this place!"
Thankfully my footsteps were enough and how ever many there were (I think really it was just one, she says optimistically) had disappeared before I hit the light switch.
It didn't end there. It went on all night. I could clearly hear when the squeaking went down below (our hut is on stilts) and when, horribly, it returned. I left the bathroom light on, casting patterns through the woven rush, so at least I could see if they came close.
For ammunition, I had some face cream, deodorant and a bottle of moisturiser to lob at them if they came into sight.
Just before Dawn I heard the sounds of a neighbour sweeping the sand with a reed brush, signalling the imminent tart of the day. I breathed a sigh of relief that my nightmare in Paradise was almost over. Until tonight at least!
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