a house is not a home

They were probably in the summer house.

StoryKettle » HEADLAND » a house is not a home

Copyright © 2021, Michael M Wayman

The girls knew of course, that they were coming and who they were. The girls, all but two, had left the house and were probably having a chinwag in the summer house.

A police car and another car with socwoks stopped in front of the house. Would I answer a few questions? I knew the questions, here are my answers.

No, the house is not a registered home. It is where I live, together with my friends.

No, I’m not a carer, there are no carers in the house. I have no qualifications as a carer; the only thing I have is a degree in electrical engineering.

No, the house is not a registered home.

No, I’m not a trained carer.

No, the house is not a registered home.

No, the house is not a registered home. It is where I live, together with my friends.

No, the house is not a registered home.

They asked the two girls “Wouldn’t you like to live in a nice home and be looked after; we have a nice home for both of you.”

“Not really, I have an apartment in Treedle and teach...”

“Shining Light is a professor of sociology at the local university.” I added.

They looked at Mrs Happy – she exploded. “Nice you say? Try the truth, like they are effing awful. I’ve been in a few, really nasty, wake you up at six in the morning, awful food, watch some awful program on TV, awful food again, more TV, lights out at six, really effing awful. I’ve been pushed into homes and every time I managed to escape...”

“Mrs Happy…”

“I does the ironing.”

They left, they left in their cars, they left in a hurry, but I knew this was not the end of the story.