I glanced away from the window.
“Mum?” I suddenly asked her.
My voice was almost timid. I had not talked like that since I was eight years old.
“Hmm?” was her queried response, not taking her eyes off the road as I glanced over at her.
“Do you mind if I walk home from school?” I asked, my throat feeling dry as I knew the answer already.
“No, Henry. You know you need adult supervision,” she responded automatically.
There was no hint of anger in her voice but I detected the stern note she most normally used when dealing with me or Dad.
“But, I’m thirteen now. I Don
’t need adult supervision,” I said, a hint of a whine escaping from my mouth.
“Frankly, Henry, you do,” she had said quite plainly, detecting my whine as a sign of rebellion.
I did not respond, hanging my head down again. She was almost blatantly hinting about the lighter incident. I knew I could not win this point.
We continued for the next few minutes in silence until we stopped outside the school gates. The car sputtered and coughed but settled down to finally stop by the curb.
I got out with my issued satchel and closed the door behind me. I did not glance back at my mother because she did not stay. She just gave a smash to the dashboard as the car would not start. It burst into life and with a jump start she was out of here like a bullet out of a gun, leaving a small trail of smoke in its wake.
(to be continued...)