“Don’t do that,” she snapped.
“Why? It doesn’t do anything,” he retorted.
“I said stop it, George. It’s annoying.”
Silence – spare the tap-tap-tapping.
“George!” she screeched. “I’m trying to drive!”
“Stop yelling at me!”
“I asked you nicely to stop, but you didn’t listen to me!”
“Dad wouldn’t’ve shouted at me,” he spat bitterly. She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
“I’m sorry, George.”
Silence – no tapping.
“George, listen. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to. I just ... I ‘m really stressed out at the moment with work and getting the money for your father’s operation ... I’m sorry, okay?”
He leaned his head against the window, staring out.
“George?”
He shrugged off her comforting hand.
“Fine,” she muttered, tight-lipped. “How was school?”
No answer. “George?” She glanced at him. “What’s that on your face?”
He turned away. “George look at me. Now. George, please. Look at me.”
Silence – spare her shocked gasp.
“Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Mum.”
“George, please tell me.”
“No one. I fell.”
“Who was it?”
“It was my fault!”
“Was it Christopher?”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“George, please!”
“Mum! Look out!”
Loud noise. Bedlam. Chaos. Sirens. Shouting. Panic – spare their still, silent, serene faces.
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