“DID YOU END UP BUSTING any toads?” George broke the awkward silence that hung over us as we cleaned up after breakfast.
A smile crept onto my face for the first time that day. “I did, actually. Dozens of the suckers. You ought to come next time.”
“Nope.” George grimaced. “You won’t get me touching those ugly creatures for anything.”
“So, you are scared of toads.” I handed him a serving tray to dry.
“I never said that.”
“Well, you must be either scared of toads or scared of volunteering.”
“I’m not scared of either, I just hate toads.” The now dry metal tray clattered to the bench.
“I do, too. That’s why I’m helping to get rid of them. But I’ll let you pretend they don’t scare you. I know you’re not scared of cooking.”
“Unless you’re wielding the coriander.”
Cheeky bugger. I flung
