🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries – Episode 45 

Dan Does the Spin Cycle

Reader Intro…

Morning, you lovely lot.

I hope your weekend was a bit quieter than mine.

Mind you, that’s not exactly difficult.

You know those mornings when you wake up and suddenly decide you’re going to be productive?

Fresh bedding.

Bit of washing.

Nice cup of tea.

Maybe even clean that kitchen cupboard you’ve been avoiding since Easter.

“Sounds normal, doesn’t it? Well… apparently normal isn’t ready for me yet.”

By the time it was all over, Sharon was laughing so hard she nearly wet herself, Mark was trying very hard not to, and half the apartment block knew far more about my personal life than any of them ever needed to.

And Benji, my little traitor, decides to have a barking fit.

Honestly… all I wanted to do was wash the bedding.

It Started With Fresh Bedding…

Benji was already awake, sitting at the end of the bed, watching me with that look dogs have when they know you’re about to do something daft.

“Morning,” I said.

Nothing.

Not even a wag of his tail.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He blinked.

Honestly, he’s got more attitude than Sharon before her first coffee.

Which is saying something because Sharon once threatened to report the milkman for delivering semi-skimmed instead of full fat.

She hadn’t even ordered any milk.

I wandered into the kitchen, made myself a mug of tea, and stood there thinking I’d finally become one of those organised women.

You know the sort.

Matching towels.

Neatly folded bedding.

Colour-coded washing baskets.

I gave myself about thirty seconds before I laughed.

“Who am I kidding?”

Even Benji looked unconvinced.

Still…

I stripped the bed, bundled everything into my arms and marched towards the washing machine like I was starring in one of those cleaning programmes.

“I’ll show you,” I said.

Benji followed behind.

Not to help.

Just to witness whatever was about to happen.

He stopped at the kitchen door.

Looked at me.

Looked at the washing machine.

Then wandered off.

Honestly… if I’d been as sensible as the dog, I’d have gone back to bed and left the duvet exactly where it was.

Dan included.

Everything Was Going So Well…

The washing machine lives in a little cupboard off my kitchen.

It’s never been glamorous.

It rattles a bit.

Complains during the spin cycle.

It’s a bit like Sharon after three glasses of Prosecco, except the washing machine usually keeps its underwear on.

I shoved the bedding inside.

Added a couple of towels.

Poured in the detergent.

Pressed Start.

“There.”

I smiled.

“Look at me being all responsible.”

Bedding in the wash, tea in my hand, no visible sex toys anywhere.

Honestly, I barely recognised myself.

Benji sneezed.

“Oh, very supportive.”

The machine started filling with water.

Lovely.

I put the kettle back on.

Made another tea.

Started humming to myself.

That should tell you how smug I was.

I never hum unless I’m feeling organised or I’ve had too much wine.

Honestly…

I was insufferably pleased.

Then…

Thunk.

I looked over.

Nothing.

Probably just the duvet, I told myself.

Because duvets are well known for growling from inside washing machines.

Another few seconds passed.

Thunk… brrrr…

I frowned.

Benji stopped dead.

His ears lifted.

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t move.

“It always makes funny noises.”

That was a lie.

Not a convincing one either.

Even Benji knew it.

He looked at me as if to say…

No it doesn’t.

The Noise

I opened the cupboard.

The drum was turning.

Sheets.

Towels.

Everything looked perfectly normal.

Then I heard it again.

Brrrrrr…

Not the washing machine.

Something…

inside it.

I stood there for a moment.

“It’ll be a zip.”

Another buzz.

“A button.”

Another buzz.

“…a very enthusiastic button.”

I closed the cupboard.

I made the mistake I always make when something sounds expensive.

I ignored it.

Five minutes later, the teaspoons in the drawer started rattling.

Just slightly.

Tink… tink… tink…

I stared.

The fruit bowl vibrated.

Two bananas rolled into one another in a way that felt unnecessarily suggestive.

The cupboard door buzzed.

Benji quietly backed out of the kitchen.

The mugs started humming on the shelf, and one teaspoon slowly shuffled across the worktop like it had somewhere urgent to be.

Actually backed out.

Didn’t even turn round.

Just reversed.

“Traitor.”

Enter Sharon…

My phone rang.

I didn’t even have to look.

Sharon.

“Morning.”

“Sue.”

“What?”

“Can you feel it?”

I frowned.

“Feel what?”

“The vibration.”

“What vibration?”

“The one coming through my sofa.”

“Your sofa?”

“Yes.”

“And you immediately thought of me?”

“Sue, unexplained vibrations are very much your department.”

“Are you sure it’s not Roger?”

“Roger?”

“Your new little boyfriend.”

“That’s Dan.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve been testing your new toys again for reviews.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I was sitting here minding my own business…”

“Doubtful.”

“…and my cushion started buzzing.”

“Did you move?”

“Not immediately.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Now…

Most people would’ve asked sensible questions.

Not me.

I looked straight at the washing machine.

It buzzed again.

Louder.

Sharon went quiet.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Sue…”

“It was just…”

Another buzz.

“…the washing.”

There was a pause.

Then she said very slowly…

“Sue…”

“…where’s Dan?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Why does every unexplained vibration automatically become Dan?”

“Experience.”

“Because every time something weird happens…”

“…Dan’s somehow involved.”

I laughed.

Then stopped laughing.

Because…

I suddenly realised…

I hadn’t actually seen Dan all morning.

“Oh…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sue.”

“I’m just going to check something.”

“You’ve lost him, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t lost anybody.”

“You’ve misplaced him.”

“You cannot misplace a vibrator.”

“You once found him in your handbag beside a sausage roll.”

“That was one time.”

“I haven’t misplaced him.”

“You’ve definitely misplaced him.”

I ended the call.

Mostly because I was starting to believe her, and partly because Sharon becomes unbearable when she’s right.

Oh… No…

I went back into the bedroom.

Fresh duvet.

Lovely pillows.

Everything looked perfect.

The bedside table had my book.

My glasses.

Lip balm.

A glass of water.

No Dan.

I checked the drawer.

Nothing.

Under the pillow.

Nothing.

Inside the wardrobe.

Nothing.

I even checked the bathroom cabinet.

No idea why.

Unless Dan had suddenly developed an interest in dental hygiene.

Nothing.

I stood there for a second.

Thinking.

Then…

Very slowly…

I looked towards the kitchen.

Towards the little cupboard.

Towards the washing machine, happily churning away as though it wasn’t laundering the most intimate member of my household.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…”

Benji appeared in the doorway.

He looked at me.

Then towards the kitchen.

Then back at me.

Honestly…

I swear Benji looked at me as if to say, I tried to warn you, but apparently you know best.

Before I could move, my phone started pinging like a fruit machine.

Residents’ WhatsApp Group

Mrs Craven: Is anyone else’s flat humming?

Mr Patel: I’ve checked my boiler. It’s not that.

Student Tom: Thought someone was playing music.

Flat 2B: My teaspoons are moving.

Mrs Craven: Mine are not. Should they be?

Then…

One final message.

Sharon: I may have asked the residents if they can feel unexplained vibrations.

Sharon: I kept it tasteful.

I closed my eyes.

Of course she had.

Three seconds later…

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was at my front door.

Not a polite knock.

A Sharon knock.

I opened it.

She marched straight in carrying a takeaway coffee and a packet of custard creams.

“I’ve come to investigate.”

She held up the custard creams.

“I brought emergency supplies.”

“Those are biscuits.”

“Morale matters, Sue.”

“You’ve come to be nosy.”

“Same thing.”

She stopped in the kitchen.

The washing machine buzzed.

We both looked at the cupboard.

It buzzed again.

Sharon slowly turned to face me.

Then, with the biggest grin I’d ever seen, she said,

“Sue…”

“…please tell me you haven’t accidentally washed Dan.”

The washing machine gave another deep, familiar buzz.

Sharon’s grin widened.

“Oh, he’s definitely in there.”

40 Degrees

I stared at Sharon.

She stared at me.

The washing machine buzzed again.

Neither of us said a word.

Then Sharon smiled.

Not a normal smile.

One of those smiles that usually ends with me apologising to a neighbour, deleting a WhatsApp message, or hiding something pink.

“You’ve washed him, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve definitely washed him.”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Sue…”

“I was changing the bedding!”

“So?”

“So… he might’ve been…”

I stopped.

Sharon’s eyes got even bigger.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“He was in the bedding!”

“Yes, Sharon. That is how he ended up in the washing machine.”

“I was just establishing the chain of events.”

“I know where babies come from, Sharon.”

“No, Dan!”

“I know!”

For one glorious second, we both stood there listening.

Nothing.

Then…

Brrrrrrrr…

The cupboard door gave a tiny wobble.

Sharon burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe you’ve washed your vibrator.”

“Neither can I.”

“What temperature?”

“Forty degrees.”

“At least you didn’t boil him.”

“I haven’t.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You know.”

“I strongly suspect.”

“Poor Dan.”

“Poor Dan?”

“He’s been rinsed, spun and publicly identified.”

“So have I, emotionally.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him.”

“I do.”

“Feel sorry for me.”

“I’ll do both.”

The Audience Grows

Before I could answer, there was another knock.

Then another.

Then another.

I opened the door.

Mrs Craven was already standing outside.

Behind her was Mr Patel.

Behind him was Student Tom.

Honestly…

It looked like half the building had turned up for an open day, except nobody was interested in the kitchen or the storage space.

They all wanted to hear the vibrating cupboard.

Mrs Craven smiled politely.

“Everything all right, dear?”

Mrs Craven leaned slightly towards the flat.

“Only my china cats have started trembling.”

“That happens to all of us eventually,” Sharon said.

The washing machine buzzed.

Loudly.

Mrs Craven frowned.

“…is it supposed to do that?”

“No.”

Mr Patel leaned forward.

“I thought it was the central heating.”

Student Tom said, “I thought somebody had bought one of those massage chairs.”

Sharon looked at me.

“See? Even he thinks it’s one of yours.”

“I do not own a massage chair.”

“Not yet.”

I nearly choked.

“Not exactly.”

Before anyone could ask another question, the building manager appeared carrying a toolbox.

Someone had actually called him.

I looked at Sharon.

She suddenly became very interested in the custard cream packet.

Brilliant.

And I’m standing there in old leggings with no bra on.

Exactly what every woman wants on a Saturday morning.

An audience.

Maintenance.

Saturday was really coming together.

Mark Arrives

Then I heard a familiar voice.

“Morning everyone.”

Mark.

Coffee in one hand.

Looking annoyingly handsome as always.

He looked at all of us.

Then looked at the building manager.

The toolbox.

The vibrating cupboard.

Then me.

His face said he already knew this was going to be my fault.

“Morning, Sue.”

“Morning.”

The washing machine buzzed.

He glanced towards the kitchen.

“What have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Then why is everybody outside your flat?”

“Long story.”

Sharon laughed.

“It’s brilliant.”

“You don’t even know what’s happened yet.”

“I know enough.”

“It is not brilliant.”

“It really is.”

Mark wandered into the kitchen.

The washing machine buzzed again.

He frowned.

Walked over.

Listened.

Then looked at me.

“Sue…”

“What?”

He listened again, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

That smile worried me far more than the noise.

“Did you check what went into the wash?”

“Of course I did.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“…mostly.”

He smiled.

Then came the line that finished me.

“I thought I recognised him.”

Mrs Craven frowned.

“Recognised who?”

“Nobody,” I said far too quickly.

Sharon made a choking noise into her coffee.

I closed my eyes.

“Oh no.”

Sharon slapped my arm.

“I knew it!”

“You didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You guessed.”

“I guessed correctly.”

“That isn’t the same as knowing.”

“It is when I’m right.”

Operation: Rescue Dan

The building manager cleared his throat.

“I’m assuming…”

He paused.

“…Dan isn’t a pet.”

“Not technically,” Sharon said.

I turned to her.

“There is no technically.”

Mark burst out laughing.

I wanted the floor to swallow me.

“No.”

The building manager nodded slowly.

“Right.”

“I’ll just…”

He looked at his toolbox.

For one horrible second, I thought he might put on rubber gloves.

“…wait for the cycle to finish.”

Those next two minutes felt like two hours.

Nobody knew where to look.

Mrs Craven chose the ceiling.

Student Tom chose the floor.

Mark chose me, which was worse.

Nobody spoke.

The washing machine carried on happily washing away.

Benji wandered into the kitchen.

Sat down.

Looked at the cupboard.

Then looked at me.

Honestly…

Even Benji looked disappointed, and this was a dog who once ate half a toilet roll and blamed the bathroom.

Finally…

Click.

The door unlocked.

“I’ll do it.”

I opened the washing machine.

Warm steam drifted out.

I pulled out a towel.

Then a pillowcase.

Then another towel.

Nothing.

For one ridiculous moment I thought we’d imagined the whole thing.

Sharon leaned closer.

“Maybe he dissolved.”

“He’s silicone, not a dishwasher tablet.”

Sharon:

“Fair point.”

Much better rhythm.

Then I lifted the duvet.

Something bright pink rolled slowly forward.

“Oh, don’t…”

Dan slid onto the kitchen floor.

Soaking wet.

Slippery.

Looking like he’d just returned from an all-inclusive spa break.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Then…

Bzzzz.

One tiny little buzz.

Mrs Craven jumped.

Mr Patel stepped backwards.

Sharon whispered, “He lives.”

Mark doubled over laughing.

Sharon had tears running down her face.

Even Mr Patel smiled.

Mrs Craven simply looked confused.

“I’ve lived here twenty-three years…”

Mrs Craven stared at Dan.

“…and I have never seen laundry fight back.”

“…but that’s a first.”

Trying to Save My Dignity

I picked Dan up with two fingers.

“Can everybody please stop looking?”

Student Tom immediately looked at the ceiling.

Mark didn’t.

Nobody really stopped looking.

The building manager quietly packed his tools away.

“Well…”

“…at least your washing machine’s working.”

He glanced at Dan.

“Can’t comment on the other appliance.”

“Thank you.”

“I think.”

He left.

Mrs Craven smiled kindly.

“I won’t mention this to anyone.”

Her phone pinged.

She looked down.

“Oh…”

“The whole building already knows.”

She showed me the screen.

There were seventeen unread messages and one photograph of the utility cupboard.

I didn’t ask who had taken it.

I already knew.

Of course they did.

Sharon.

I slowly turned towards her.

“What?”

“What exactly did you put in the WhatsApp group?”

She looked innocent.

“I only said there’d been…”

She checked her phone.

“…a personal appliance incident involving the spin cycle.”

“A what?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You’ve embarrassed me using different words.”

“I left out the colour.”

“Everybody saw the colour, Sharon.”

“I thought I was being thoughtful.”

Mark laughed again.

“You’ve got to admit…”

“…personal appliance incident is quite good.”

I hated that he was right.

Worse, I could already imagine Mrs Craven using the phrase at the next residents’ meeting.

Just Another Saturday…

Eventually everyone went home.

Mrs Craven.

Mr Patel.

Student Tom.

Even the building manager.

Peace.

At last.

I wrapped Dan in a clean towel and placed him on the kitchen worktop.

He looked oddly cosy.

Far too cosy for someone who had just humiliated me in front of three floors of neighbours.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”

Mark nodded towards Dan, still wrapped in the towel.

“Do you think he still works?”

“I’ll find out later.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I could help.”

I folded my arms.

“I’m quite capable of finding out by myself, thank you.”

Mark gave me that smug little smile of his.

“I was only offering to help.”

Before I could answer, Sharon wandered past my open front door carrying two shopping bags.

She glanced inside.

“Everything all right?”

Mark smiled.

“Sue says she’s quite capable.”

Sharon didn’t even slow down.

“Oh, Sue’s very capable!”

She carried on down the corridor laughing.

Mark looked at me.

I looked at Mark.

Then Sharon’s voice came floating back along the corridor.

“Speedy recovery, Dan!”

Mark shook his head, still smiling.

“On that note, I’ll catch you later.”

“Coward.”

“Absolutely.”

He walked out, laughing as he followed Sharon down the corridor.

Still smiling.

“See you later, Sue.”

Silence.

Finally.

I looked at Benji.

He looked at me.

“I know.”

He blinked.

“I should’ve checked the bedding.”

He stared at me.

“Yes, all right. You knew.”

His tail gave one tiny wag.

Smug little sod.

Another blink.

“I’ve had a stressful morning.”

He turned round and wandered back into the lounge.

Honestly…

Even the dog was judging me.

I picked up my tea.

It had gone cold.

Typical.

I looked over at Dan.

Still wrapped in his towel like a bright pink celebrity recovering from a scandal.

Then…

Just as I sat down…

Bzzzz.

I looked at Dan.

Dan buzzed again.

Benji barked.

And from somewhere down the corridor, Sharon shouted,

“HE’S ALIVE!”

I closed my eyes.

Honestly…

I’m beginning to think Dan should come with his own washing instructions.

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