How many times have I told Malcolm and Danny to park up tight against the wall, he thought irritably as he killed the engine. He’d give them one final warning. They had to learn to do as they were told. It was easier to control a mixed class of thirty fourteen-year-old boys than it was those two, he thought wryly as he struggled to open his car door back far enough for him to get out without dropping the pile of exercise books that he’d brought home to mark. The stillness of an empty house greeted him as he let himself in. It was Thursday. Marilyn and the boys were at Cubs. After a day in the classroom, bombarded by the deafening noises that seemed to make up school life, the utter silence was sheer bliss. Dumping his briefcase and the pile of books he was carrying on to the hall table, he went into the lounge and across to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a whisky. He didn’t normally take a drink until late in the evening. A whisky for him and brandy for Marilyn. It was their special treat, a little reward to help them unwind once Malcolm and Danny, their eight-year-old twins, were safely tucked up in bed.
