Her brother sat opposite her with his back to the door devouring hunks of bread smothered with a mixture of peanut-butter and strawberry jam.
The mother was just out of sight around the corner in the kitchen making Mr Wormwood's breakfast
which always had to be two fried eggs on fried bread with three pork sausages and three strips of bacon and some fried tomatoes.
At this point Mr Wormwood came noisily into the room.
He was incapable of entering any room quietly, especially at breakfast time.
He always had to make his appearance felt immediately by creating a lot of noise and clatter.
One could almost hear him saying, “It's me! Here I come, the great man himself, the master of the house,
the wage-earner, the one who makes it possible for all the rest of you to live so well! Notice me and pay your respects!”
On this occasion he strode in and slapped his son on the back and shouted, “Well my boy,
your father feels he's in for another great money-making day today at the garage!
I've got a few little beauties I'm going to flog to the idiots this morning. Where's my breakfast?”
“It's coming, treasure,” Mrs Wormwood called from the kitchen.
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