I remember listening to the lounge clock ticking for what seemed like hours but of course, it was only a few minutes.
Before too long, we heard the back door open (this was in the days when doors were rarely locked, except at night) and Auntie Deirdre calling out.
“We’re in the lounge!” Mother shouted back.
Our neighbor came through the door.
In her right hand was a wooden hairbrush.
She sat down on the sofa next to me.
“Well, Simon, what have you been up to?” she asked.
Before I could open my mouth, it became clear that this was a question not really aimed at me, as Mother described my misbehavior, adding to the list one or two little sins I thought had been ignored or forgotten.