Pete nodded. He’d heard this tone before. It was the tone of someone who had watched a toilet become a ticking time bomb. He followed her to the tiny cloakroom. One glance told him everything: the water level was perilously high, lapping at the rim like a creature tasting freedom. And floating ominously at the top was a single, bright yellow rubber duck.
Pete peered into the now-empty bowl. “Gone to the great bath in the sky. Or the Abingdon sewage treatment plant off Marcham Road. One of the two.” clogged toilet services abingdon
As he packed up, Sarah handed him a warm cup of tea and a biscuit. “You’re a hero, Pete.” Pete nodded
The woman, Sarah, met him at the door in a dressing gown, holding a plunger like a sword she didn’t know how to wield. He followed her to the tiny cloakroom
“I tried everything,” she said. “Boiling water. Dish soap. That snake thing from Amazon. It’s… it’s not just water in there, Pete.”