Not until . . .’ ‘Best not to talk about it,’ says Chris. ‘But because of him . . . ’ I say. ‘I know.’ ‘It can’t be swept under the carpet. That day you told me, I felt like I could have chopped you up into little pieces and carried your head home.’ ‘Like what happened to poor old Pentheus in The...
His bed is hard up against one wall. There is a writing desk opposite the large sliding door that opens into a tiny, tidy garden. The room is not exactly spartan (means, ‘pretty basic’. Another reference to Ancient Greece) but it lacks the presence of personal knick-knacks. It’s a cold, clinical ...
Emily whispered to her sister, when Sibbie came to bed. “By accident, of course. It’s not a shameful secret or anything. Uncle Raymond already told me it was an accident.” Sibbie laughed quietly. “What gave you the idea that poor Auntie Dot had anything to do with it?” “Auntie Dot herself.” ...
We stopped exercising and listened up. Mr Marlow had been a top player in his day. We knew this was true because of his cauliflower ears. The left one especially was flattened and lumpy from having been in too many scrums and rucks. Mr Marlow’s ears had given the Green’s our other name. We didn’t...