A Poisonous Echo
Joyce had lived with foster parents until old enough to work and take rooms of her own . They hadn ’ t invited her to stay on with them – not that she wanted to anyway . They were a plain , quiet couple , dull and unremarkable ; she could hardly recall their faces .
She remembered the cat however – sleek and fat , always eating or sleeping , usually on someone ’ s lap ! They pampered it sickeningly , talked to it in ‘ baby talk ’ and were even annoyed with her when she wouldn ’ t adore it with them ! How she hated stroking it and shuddered even now at the memory of her foster-father ’ s harsh grip on her wrist as he forced her hand to slide down the warm , silk , animal back .
She had been six when she went to them and nine when the cat died ; she felt virtuous , having put up with the thing for so long .
The solution to her dilemma had presented itself when a friend took her to their garden shed where they sat in the shade eating bruised plums , scraping out wasp-holes with a piece of stick to be sure that no drowsy wasps still lurked .
When her eyes grew used to the dimness and she saw an old tin bearing a red skull and crossbones , the plan came instantly to mind : no tedious thinking : a sure mark of genius . Quickly snatching the last plum , she pushed her companion out of the hut with instructions to shake the trees for more .
Tipping the remaining crisps out of the packet – she hadn ’ t intended to share them but it was an emergency – she filled the bag with powder from the tin , concealed it in her schoolbag and later transferred it to a small screwtop jar , innocently labelled ‘ CHALK ’.
She had been too excited to stay for the rest of the feast and glad she hadn ’ t when her friend was off school next day with severe stomach cramps caused , her mother said , by eating too much over-ripe fruit .
15
A Poisonous Echo
Joyce had lived with foster parents until old enough to
work and take rooms of her own. They hadn’t invited her
to stay on with them – not that she wanted to anyway.
They were a plain, quiet couple, dull and unremarkable;
she could hardly recall their faces.
She remembered the cat however – sleek and fat,
always eating or sleeping, usually on someone’s lap! They
pampered it sickeningly, talked to it in ‘baby talk’ and were
even annoyed with her when she wouldn’t adore it with
them! How she hated stroking it and shuddered even now
at the memory of her foster-father’s harsh grip on her
wrist as he forced her hand to slide down the warm, silk,
animal back.
She had been six when she went to them and nine
when the cat died; she felt virtuous, having put up with
the thing for so long.
The solution to her dilemma had presented itself when
a friend took her to their garden shed where they sat in
the shade eating bruised plums, scraping out wasp-holes
with a piece of stick to be sure that no drowsy wasps still
lurked.
When her eyes grew used to the dimness and she saw
an old tin bearing a red skull and crossbones, the plan
came instantly to mind: no tedious thinking: a sure mark
of genius. Quickly snatching the last plum, she push ������)������������Ё���ѡ����ЁݥѠ������Սѥ��́Ѽ�͡����ѡ�)�ɕ�́��ȁ��ɔ�)Q�������ѡ��ɕ���������ɥ��́��Ё���ѡ�������Ѓ�L�͡�)�����eЁ��ѕ�����Ѽ�͡�ɔ�ѡ�����Ё�Ё݅́������ɝ���䃊L)͡���������ѡ������ݥѠ���ݑ�ȁ�ɽ��ѡ��ѥ���������������)�����ȁ͍��������������ѕȁ�Ʌ�͙��ɕ���ЁѼ���͵����͍ɕܴ)ѽ����Ȱ��������ѱ䁱���������a
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