Chapter Twelve
Helium Balloons
Life is too short to waste trying to reform an arsehole.
Together, George and Sandy talked as they walked/marched/sauntered their way to the community centre, George with his breath firmly “caught” and his face returning to its proper colour and Sandy clutching her box. She had expectations of a half-empty foyer full of bored people, a kitchen under Lumpy’s control, and a bit of wine left over from the council
“do.”
George had no expectations apart from Beatrice’s egg box creation not standing the rigours of an all-out “sit-in” or whatever Ms Frasier called it.
Neither had any idea of what they were about to walk into . . .
As they approached the car park, they stopped; they could hear children yelling and a squeaky “stop that,” followed by laughter.
