Mrs Eames hobbled around to our house.
She was wielding a crutch, cursing mildly
as she came. William hugged her knees,
nearly capsizing her, and knocking her to
the ground. I knew she sensed his misery.
What’s up matey? she asked lightly, but
William had burst into tears. We can’t
have this, Mrs Eames said soothingly,
shooting me a puzzled glance. I tried to
look nonchalant, but failed. Everything
would come out now. I’d be accused of
bullying poor little William. I flushed, the
guilt strewn all over my cheeks. Mrs
Eames sat heavily in our best chair.
She was waiting for an explanation.