She was reading a Georgette Heyer book. There was no tea on. There was no sign of anything to do with tea in the kitchen. My father would be home in an hour. I stood at the foot of the stairs for a while. The dog looked down at me, wagged her tail. My mother turned a page and yawned. I slung my schoolbag strap round the knob of the banister, opened the bag, took my books and pencil case out and went through to the living room. I had homework for tomorrow. Write a newspaper report of the death of Mary Queen of Scots. Translate pages 31 – 33 of La Symphonie Pastoral by André Gide. I hated La Symphonie Pastorale. It was a load of sentimental rubbish about a blind girl. I called my father at his work from the living room phone. I lifted the receiver carefully so the hall phone wouldn’t make the little ting that would give away that someone was on the other phone. You’ll need to bring chips, I said. I can hear you, my mother called down the stairs. If you’re telling him to bring chips, tell him I want a haddock.
What do You think about First Person And Other Stories?
