The Moon on the Third Floor

Monday, 9:10 — On the community-centre noticeboard

LOST: THE MOON. A white cardboard disc, about as wide as this noticeboard. Last seen drying on the table outside the craft room. Silver paint on the back. Please return before the children’s shadow play at six. No questions asked. Actually, one question: why?

Mara, drama group

P.S. It is a full moon. A crescent will not do. We have rehearsed the wolf.

9:25 — Beneath the notice

I locked the front door at nine last night. Nothing that large came through it while I was here. Before anyone asks, the chess club has acquired no new equipment. We use ordinary-sized pieces, despite what happened at the summer fair.

Leon, caretaker

I did move the disc off the table. The table was needed for folding leaflets. I leaned it against the stairs, white side out.

10:00 — On the craft-room door

There are little silver flakes on the stairs leading up. More on the next landing. None on the steps down to the front door. I know because I swept there this morning and now wish I hadn’t mentioned it.

Rita, cleaning team

Please stop writing “moon dust” on my bucket.

10:20 — A note folded into Mara’s coat pocket

We did not take your moon. We have drawn another one in case you need it. It is on the back of this note. You could put it very close to the lamp.

The wolf is worried that the play will have to be in the daytime. He says he has already told his grandmother he is a night animal. Yesterday he practised howling down the telephone, and she promised to come.

Sam, age eight

Please do not tell him I told you. He wanted to seem calm.

11:15 — On the caretaker’s desk

Leon, thank you for putting out that round white board. I assumed it was spare. The light in my upstairs room falls on only one side of a face, and holding it on the shadowed side helped enormously with the portraits.

Today I photographed Mr Vale. He wore the tie his wife liked and brought a comb with three teeth. He asked whether I could make him look less worried. We talked about the comb. By then he did.

I owe somebody a cloth: there is silver paint on my sleeve.

Anya, third floor

11:40 — On Anya’s door

You have the moon. This is not an accusation. I realise how it sounds.

We need it downstairs by five. Please use the large white display board from the craft room instead; I have checked with its owner. It has no astronomical duties.

Also, do you still have a portrait appointment on Thursday? My mother says there are no decent photographs of us together. She says this while hiding behind me whenever anyone takes one. You can see one eye over my shoulder. In the last photograph even that eye is closed.

Mara

Tuesday morning — On the noticeboard

MOON FOUND. Thank you. The wolf’s grandmother attended. The wolf briefly forgot to howl, then did it twice to make up for it. His grandmother said the second one was particularly convincing.

For future reference: the moon now has MOON written on the back.

Mara

Underneath, in smaller writing:

Please leave Thursday at four free. Your mother rang. She has booked the appointment and says you are the one who always hides.

Anya

If you feel like reading the notes again

Which note first suggests that the moon stayed inside the building? And what changes when you read Mara’s description of her mother after Anya’s final reply?