Unpicking a knot to get a true story

Yesterday our friends, key and lock, fell out of love with each other. Our house was a sanctuary for our stuff - not us. Stranded outside, my wife smirked. My three kids didn't understand. I saw a future smeared with a lock smith charge or a glazier's.

Not holding out much hope, I strolled to the back of the house.

I tried the handle. Ker-lunk! The door swung open and strode through. Nothing taken. I unlocked the front from the inside.

I was shaking because I knew something was wrong; off-kilter; I had no explanation. We've been using the front door for years. It never gives us any trouble. Ever. Upon examination, there was a slit where part of the rubbery surround was punctured. Little scuff marks pocked the plastic near the barrel.

I asked the guy opposite if he'd look at his CCTV footage.

The guy opposite looked at his TV footage.

He came and told us what he saw on his TV footage.

From his explanation, I could piece together what had happened. I didn't like the result.

We'd been out for three and a half hours on a shopping expedition a few towns along the road leading to the moors and wilderness.

We were nearly banished by our own house.

The footage told a story. Likely, someone had likely been messing with our door. From one image, a small figure was obscured by a bush. What was going on behind the foliage? There was also a confluence of children and adults on other pictures.

I know unpicking the tangle of events to get to the truth is going to be difficult.

More difficult than merely replacing a lock.