DRAT THE girl, where’s she got to?’ Miranda, who was awaiting her turn to jump into the skipping rope being expertly twirled by two of the older girls who lived in the small cul-de-sac, stood up and headed for the steps of Number Six, upon the top one of which her Aunt Vi stood. She hung back a little, however, for her aunt’s expression was vengeful, and even from halfway across the paving Miranda could see her hand preparing for a slap. ‘Yes, Aunt?’ she said, knowing that it would annoy Aunt Vi if she spoke nicely; her aunt would have preferred impudence so she could strike out with a clear conscience. Not that she would hesitate to hit her niece if the fancy took her, as Miranda knew all too well. Aunt Vi waited for her to get closer, and when she failed to move began to swell with indignation, even her pale sandy hair seeming to stand on end. ‘Come here, I say,’ she shouted, her voice thin with spite. ‘Why can’t you ever do as you’re told, you lazy little madam? There’s your poor cousin sick as a cat, smothered in perishin’ spots, and instead of givin’ me a hand to nurse her, you’re off a-pleasurin’.
What do You think about The Forget-Me-Not Summer (2013)?
