Lockdown Week 6 (Wed)

WEDNESDAY

Since all the ruckus last week, I notice that the 15-year-old has gone quiet about the boy called Dom. So I try making discreet enquiries - for Satchmo’s sake apart from anything else. Having facilitated her socially distant flirting last week, the dog is now barely getting a look-in.

‘Anyone fancy taking the dog round the block to stretch his legs?’ 

Silence.

‘Look, the rain’s stopped – a good time for some fresh air. What do you think Satchmo?’ 

The dog’s ears prick up and he’s by the door in a flash, tail wagging. Still silence.

Okay, enough with the softly-softly approach:

‘Sooo, any word from Dom this week?’ 

So much happens in the next five seconds that I need an action re-play:

The 15-year-old’s head snaps up. 

She glances at me then glares at the 12-year-old. 

She rolls her eyes at the eight-year-old and kicks him under the table when he sniggers. 

He starts crying because it actually really, really hurt (it was a bit hard). 

The 12-year-old mutters something, makes an angry-looking gesture in sign-language that they all learned a few weeks ago, then flees upstairs and slams her bedroom door.

That went well.