give me an ounce of credit? But, look, if you want me to disconnect the computer and
not
do my French homework, that’s fine. I’ll tell the teacher tomorrow.’
Mum looks thrown by Frank’s little speech. In fact, she looks quite chastened.
‘I didn’t say you were lying! I just . . . Look, if you’re doing French homework, that’s fine. Carry on. I’ll see you later.’
She tip-taps down the hall, and a few moments later we hear the front door close.
‘You’re sick,’ I say, without looking up from my book.
Frank doesn’t reply. He’s already engrossed in his game again. I turn a page and listen to Frank’s mutterings, and wonder whether to go and make a hot chocolate, when suddenly there’s the most almighty banging on the window, from outside.
‘FRAAAAAAANK!!!’
I jump a mile, and feel myself start to hyperventilate. Mum is at the window, staring in, her face like some monstrous demon. I mean, I’ve never seen her look so furious. ‘Chris!’ she’s yelling now. ‘COME HERE! I’VE CAUGHT HIM RED-HANDED!’
How is she even up there? The windows of the playroom are, like, nearly two metres off the ground outside.
I glance at Frank, and he looks genuinely a bit freaked out. He’s closed down
LOC
, but she saw it. I mean, there’s no way she didn’t see it.
‘You’re for it,’ I say.
‘
Shit
.’ Frank scowls. ‘I can’t believe she would
spy
on me.’
‘Chris!’ Mum is yelling. ‘Help! I—Arrrgh!’
Her face disappears from the window and there’s a loud
crunch
.
Oh my God. What just happened? I leap to my feet and run to the back door. The window of the playroom backs onto the garden, and as I head out, I can’t see Mum anywhere. All I can see is Felix’s playhouse, pulled up to the playroom window. But the roof seems to have broken, and—
No.
No way.
Mum’s feet are poking out of it, still in her high heels.
Frank arrives on the back step, and sees what I’m looking at. He claps a hand over his mouth and I nudge him.
‘Shut up! She might be hurt! Mum, are you OK?’ I call, hurrying over to the playhouse.
‘Anne!’ Dad has arrived on the scene. ‘What happened? What were you doing?’
‘I was looking in the window,’ comes Mum’s stifled voice. ‘Get me
out
of here. I’m totally wedged in.’
‘I thought standing on the playhouse was a bad example to Felix, Mum,’ says Frank blandly, and I hear a furious gasp.
‘You little . . .’ It’s probably a good thing Mum’s voice is muffled at that point.
It takes me, Dad and Frank together to haul Mum out of the playhouse, and I can’t say it improves her mood. As she brushes her hair down, she’s shaking with fury.
‘Right, young man,’ she says to Frank, who is staring sullenly at the floor. ‘Well, you have cooked your goose. You are hereby banned from playing any computer games for . . . what do you think, Chris?’
‘One day,’ says Dad firmly, just as Mum says, ‘Two months.’
‘Chris!’ says Mum. ‘One
day
?’
‘Well, I don’t know!’ says Dad defensively. ‘Don’t put me on the spot.’
Mum and Dad go off in a huddle and start whispering, while Frank and I wait awkwardly. I could go inside, I suppose, but I want to see how it all works out.
This is pretty lame, though, having to stand here while they whisper things like ‘Really get the message across’ and ‘Make it count’.
When I’m a parent I’m so going to work out the punishment
first
.
‘OK.’ Dad eventually emerges from the huddle. ‘Ten days. No computer, no phone, nothing.’
‘Ten days?’ Frank gives Dad one of his death-ray, please-die-now stares. ‘That is
so
out of proportion.’
‘It is not.’ Mum holds out her hand. ‘Phone please.’
‘But what about my team-mates? I can’t just let them down. All that bullshit you give me about “team spirit” and “all pull together”? And now I just let the side down?’
‘What team-mates?’ Mum looks confused. ‘Is this the
not
do my French homework, that’s fine. I’ll tell the teacher tomorrow.’
Mum looks thrown by Frank’s little speech. In fact, she looks quite chastened.
‘I didn’t say you were lying! I just . . . Look, if you’re doing French homework, that’s fine. Carry on. I’ll see you later.’
She tip-taps down the hall, and a few moments later we hear the front door close.
‘You’re sick,’ I say, without looking up from my book.
Frank doesn’t reply. He’s already engrossed in his game again. I turn a page and listen to Frank’s mutterings, and wonder whether to go and make a hot chocolate, when suddenly there’s the most almighty banging on the window, from outside.
‘FRAAAAAAANK!!!’
I jump a mile, and feel myself start to hyperventilate. Mum is at the window, staring in, her face like some monstrous demon. I mean, I’ve never seen her look so furious. ‘Chris!’ she’s yelling now. ‘COME HERE! I’VE CAUGHT HIM RED-HANDED!’
How is she even up there? The windows of the playroom are, like, nearly two metres off the ground outside.
I glance at Frank, and he looks genuinely a bit freaked out. He’s closed down
LOC
, but she saw it. I mean, there’s no way she didn’t see it.
‘You’re for it,’ I say.
‘
Shit
.’ Frank scowls. ‘I can’t believe she would
spy
on me.’
‘Chris!’ Mum is yelling. ‘Help! I—Arrrgh!’
Her face disappears from the window and there’s a loud
crunch
.
Oh my God. What just happened? I leap to my feet and run to the back door. The window of the playroom backs onto the garden, and as I head out, I can’t see Mum anywhere. All I can see is Felix’s playhouse, pulled up to the playroom window. But the roof seems to have broken, and—
No.
No way.
Mum’s feet are poking out of it, still in her high heels.
Frank arrives on the back step, and sees what I’m looking at. He claps a hand over his mouth and I nudge him.
‘Shut up! She might be hurt! Mum, are you OK?’ I call, hurrying over to the playhouse.
‘Anne!’ Dad has arrived on the scene. ‘What happened? What were you doing?’
‘I was looking in the window,’ comes Mum’s stifled voice. ‘Get me
out
of here. I’m totally wedged in.’
‘I thought standing on the playhouse was a bad example to Felix, Mum,’ says Frank blandly, and I hear a furious gasp.
‘You little . . .’ It’s probably a good thing Mum’s voice is muffled at that point.
It takes me, Dad and Frank together to haul Mum out of the playhouse, and I can’t say it improves her mood. As she brushes her hair down, she’s shaking with fury.
‘Right, young man,’ she says to Frank, who is staring sullenly at the floor. ‘Well, you have cooked your goose. You are hereby banned from playing any computer games for . . . what do you think, Chris?’
‘One day,’ says Dad firmly, just as Mum says, ‘Two months.’
‘Chris!’ says Mum. ‘One
day
?’
‘Well, I don’t know!’ says Dad defensively. ‘Don’t put me on the spot.’
Mum and Dad go off in a huddle and start whispering, while Frank and I wait awkwardly. I could go inside, I suppose, but I want to see how it all works out.
This is pretty lame, though, having to stand here while they whisper things like ‘Really get the message across’ and ‘Make it count’.
When I’m a parent I’m so going to work out the punishment
first
.
‘OK.’ Dad eventually emerges from the huddle. ‘Ten days. No computer, no phone, nothing.’
‘Ten days?’ Frank gives Dad one of his death-ray, please-die-now stares. ‘That is
so
out of proportion.’
‘It is not.’ Mum holds out her hand. ‘Phone please.’
‘But what about my team-mates? I can’t just let them down. All that bullshit you give me about “team spirit” and “all pull together”? And now I just let the side down?’
‘What team-mates?’ Mum looks confused. ‘Is this the
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