I surprised myself. And whose fault is that, then?
A voice, whispering in my ear, cold and sharp. Angry. Mummy.
I closed my eyes, trying to be rid of her. Mrs. Gibbons seemed to sense my discomfort.
“Oh, but I’m sure that must mean you’ve got a lovely close relationship with your mum and dad, then?
I bet you mean the world to them, being the only one.
I looked at my shoes. Why had I selected them? I couldn’t remember.
They had Velcro fastenings for ease of use and they were black, which went with everything.
They were flat for comfort, and built up around the ankle for support. They were, I realized, hideous.
“Don’t be so nosy, Mum,” Raymond said, drying his hands on the tea towel. “You’re like the Gestapo!”
I thought she’d be angry, but it was worse than that; she was apologetic.
“Oh, Eleanor, I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, hen, don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”
I was crying. Sobbing! I hadn’t cried so extravagantly for years.
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