Mrs Eames forced us to kiss and make
up. William pulled a hideous face, like
he’d drunk a tumbler of dirty dishwater.
I thought he was going to retch. I felt
humiliated. Mrs Eames went into the
kitchen, and took down the offending
roster. She scrunched it in her leathery,
veined hand, and it was history. I was
suddenly glad. Now let’s go out, and
celebrate your peace, with a couple of
chocolate milkshakes, Mrs Eames said.
This was welcome. William was palpably
thrilled. His face shone like a beacon.
He bounced out the front door, all of his
terrible psychological wounds