Chapter Twenty-Two
The Plan
Who listens to someone in overalls unless they’re sorting your plumbing?
Mum sat in the library speaking to an audience of Steven and Baby Bea while the others escaped, and soon a plan was formed. A plan that she insisted Helen and I listen to as she circled her kitchen later that day.
We had just dropped her home from the library and she, mid circling, saw us heading for the door and blocked our only escape. She was riled; losing her storytelling gig meant more to her than anything, and she wanted us to not only listen but help.
Mum, using the sort of language that would silence a bar, fiercely barred the door as she ranted about those “council bozos” who were “as efficient as a comatose twat.”
“They have no idea about money and budgets,” she said. “Their
