“Wipe your face, Matthew, it’s a dribbly beard you’ve got there. And wear the green sweater, it’s chilly.” Matthew pulled on the sweater. “Ah, it’s too small now, isn’t it? The brown one then.” Matthew went upstairs and got the sweater. “You’re a good lad, go be good at school.” I’m not good, Matthew thought. I’m gonna fight Terence Blunt today and rip the sweater to shreds. And if you start ranting, I’ll burn the place down. They’ll think you fell asleep with the lit cigarette; you always do. “Good-bye, Mum,” he said, as if butter wouldn’t melt.
Comments are closed.
|
"Classic"
|