CHAPTER 9
The following week is Robbie’s parents evening. I finish work early on Tuesday, dash to the supermarket and am preparing a casserole for later when Robbie bangs down the hallway and into the kitchen with a scowl on his face.
“Hi,” I say, glancing his way, “how was school?”
“Boring,” he mumbles, plonking himself down on a wooden stool.
“What did you learn today then?”
Robbie rolls his eyes, “I’m not five Lou.”
“Sorry,” I smile apologetically.
“Double French,” he pulls off one boot, “tres crap.”
“Non,” I laugh, “tres bien!”
Robbie shakes his head but chuckles along, “where’s Dad?”
“Where do you think?” I reply, nodding my head towards the garden.
He pads shoeless towards me and I pass him the spoon for him to taste, “more salt,” he says.
“Yes sir,” I twist the salt ce
