11
Sunday afternoon. Michelle didn’t know how much more of today she could take. George had picked up a cold – probably from the change of surroundings or mixing with new kids, she thought – and he was making life hell for everyone, moaning and grizzling and constantly demanding attention. Tammy and Phoebe were bickering about something, probably nothing, and now Scott was making a hell of a noise downstairs. She dumped George in with the girls and went to see what he was doing. She found him in the kitchen, shifting furniture. She tripped over a bucketful of tools he’d left in the doorway.
‘What are you doing, Scott? I nearly crippled myself just then.’
‘What’s it look like I’m doing?’
He didn’t give her time to answer, just swung a sledgehammer at the wall between the kitchen and din
