Chapter 7
“Now, you make sure you drink all that soup. It’s better than any pills the doctor could give you.”
Mrs Goldman continued to bustle around Joey’s bedroom, dusting the already spotless chest of drawers and bedside cabinets. She then began to straighten the quilt, which to Joey’s way of thinking was pointless, because as soon as he turned over, it’d be all wrinkled again. At least she’d stopped vacuuming. The noise of the Hoover had given him a headache, which he was still suffering from.
“Ma,” Joey said before sneezing into his already sodden handkerchief, “shouldn’t you be going home? Who’ve you left minding Dad?”
She looked at her watch. “I suppose I should. You’ll be okay? You always get proper poorly when you get a cold. I’m worried it’ll get to your lungs. Oy, our Marti
