Marion stared at her son in shock. She had never once seen him in such a mood. And he had never once cussed or sworn in her presence, nor had he ever expressed any inclination to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Belatedly noticing the effect he was having on her, David said contritely, ‘I’m sorry, Mum! Here I am getting myself worked up about . . . I’m sorry!’
‘Don’t be.’ She smiled, wanly. ‘I’ve been listening to that sort of indignation ever since I married your father. I just never expected to hear the same sort of thing from you.’
The next day, walking toward the school from where he had parked the car, David glanced down to see whether or not Monica was going to assume her habitual, singularly repelling facial mannerism. She had.
‘Here you!’ He playfully cupped his hand over her lower face. ‘We’ll have none of that! We agreed on certain things, remember?’ He was only vaguely aware of what he was saying, however, finding himself drawing his hand away only reluctantly.
Colouring slightly, letting her defences down and her terrible vulnerability to show once more, she said nothing but stared at the ground, avoiding the eyes of the other students as they approached the grounds.