Free School Run by Sophie King Page B

Still does. I’m the one who’s aged.
    The new house helps, even though everyone thought I was mad. ‘What do you want to do that for?’ asked my sister. ‘Fancy moving to—’
    ‘Don’t say it,’ I said sharply. ‘I don’t want you saying it.’
    There are days when I can talk about what happened and days when I can’t.
    Terry and I, we listen to the radio while I cook breakfast. Great one for general knowledge is my Terry, like his father. Always talking about the Tories and climate change and that kind of stuff.
    Not all kids get a cooked breakfast. Bet that poor kid in the car this morning doesn’t. How could his mother have left him? Sitting duck, he was. Did you read about the lorry that went into the Mini with a four-year-old in it at a petrol station? Killed the kid outright. I’ve got the newspaper write-up here, propped up against the cereal box. I eat corn flakes every morning, like Terry. I still keep the plastic figures they give away and put them in his room, lined up on the windowsill. Just like when he was little.
    I was tempted. It would have been lovely to take that kid home and make him a nice boiled egg with soldiers. Just for ten minutes. But I didn’t, did I? I took him to that nice-looking man and asked if he knew who the child belonged to. After I got home, I saw the mum turning up from my window. (Good view, just like the agent said.) I was glad she was upset. Teach her a lesson.
    Then I phoned up the radio and told them everything. Well, almost. About how the traffic was building up again on Balham high street and how it was really quite warm for the time of year. And the girl at the other end, who seems to like me, passed my message on.
    They haven’t played it yet. But Dangerous Dan hasn’t had a look-in either.
    Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see, won’t we, Terry, love?
     
    MONDAY P.M.
     
    ‘. . . and we’re coming up to the four o’clock news. But first an update on the traffic. Betty from Balham reports that it’s surprisingly quiet this afternoon . . .’
     
    ‘Who p-p-put the wrong p-p-petrol in the car? Who p-p-put diesel in?’
    ‘Shut up, Josh. You keep going on about it.’
    ‘W-w-well she did! That’s w-why we’re in D-Dad’s spare car.
    The other h-had to be drained. D-Dad sounded mad on the mobile.’
    ‘Hurry up, Fartine. We’re going to miss my favourite programme.’
    ‘Why c-can’t we have a TV in the car like Hugo? Then we c-could watch Mum and Dad. Go on, Fartine. Ask them.’
     
    ‘When’s Dad coming home, Mum? He still hasn’t texted. It’s been ages.’
    ‘And I had a horrid day – it was all your fault. You forgot it was non-uniform day, Mum. I rang but you just had the answerphone on. Where were you?’
     
    ‘What do you mean your teacher forgot to give you the spelling test? After all my hard work! I’ve a good mind to complain. And don’t drink that fizzy muck in the back, Bruce. You’ll spill it like you did last week. We’ll need to clean this car before Dad gets back.’
     
    ‘For God’s sake, Julie, there’s a speed camera right there. You can still get points as a learner, you know.’
     
    ‘Mum would have picked you up, girls, but she needed a bit of a lie-down. She’ll be there when you get back. Don’t worry.
    I’m sure it’s this virus doing the rounds. It comes and goes like flu. Let’s hope you don’t get it too.’
     
    ‘Where the shit is Dad? Evie said he was picking us up, didn’t she?’
    ‘Ring him on the mobile.’
    ‘I have, stupid. Stop crying, he’ll be here soon with Jack.’
    ‘Everyone else has gone.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Look. No, over there. That weird woman opposite is looking through her curtains at us again.’
    ‘Fuck! Hang on, someone’s picked up. Jack? Jack, get Dad can you? No, darling, Nattie will talk to you later. Oh, for God’s sake, talk to him, Nattie. He won’t hand over otherwise.’
    ‘Jack? Yes, I love you too. Yes, naughty Badron. Can you get Dad now? All right, you