She had burnt her breakfast because of him. She was very angry. Just who did Tony think he was? You’d think he’d be a bit grateful to her mother for taking them in. For helping out when they were stuck. And they were stuck. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Her mother’s generosity had eased their financial situation a lot. Why couldn’t Tony be more gracious?
Jean sat down. She took a bite of toast. She made a face. It tasted horrible. Tony hadn’t had much to eat either. Jean felt a pang. She was feeling remorseful now that her burst of temper was spent. She shouldn’t have shouted at him the way she had. Just because he let the milk boil over. Her mother had started moaning about the way milk stains the cooker. There had been a full-scale row.
Her mother was not easy to live with. Jean had to admit it. She was fussy. She liked everything just so. If Tony left a paper on the chair she’d fold it up neatly and put it in the paper rack. Always with a little arch of the eyebrows and eyes thrown up to heaven.
