Chapter Eleven
Amy
Anger has its place, just not near a hammer.
I left Mum’s with my breast screaming for a decent milking and headed for the car. What I had become? I never smiled, let alone laughed. I hardly recognized myself; it was like I was possessed by some madwoman. No wonder Helen didn’t tell me anything. I probably would have either ripped her face off, burst into tears, or maybe even both . . .
Helen was in the garage with her daughter, Amy.
Helen, emptying the van of tools, handed a few at time to Amy, who dumped them on the garage floor in a temper.
I was just about to make an “Isn’t my mum annoying?” comment when I noticed they sounded pissed off. Then I heard the sort of conversation you really didn’t want to hear and yet couldn’t move away from in case you missed a bi
