As the van drew up by the back door, she switched on the kettle.
“Hello dear, how was your day?”
He smiled at her usual greeting. “Fine, love. Where’s Lucy?”
“Oh upstairs, probably sulking, like all teenagers.”
I’ll pop up and see how she is while my tea is brewing.”
He softly knocked on her door. “Lucy, it’s me. Dad, can I come in?”
She opened the door, her manner subdued and with a tear-stained face. “What’s wrong, lass? Has someone been nasty to you at school?”
This brought on another paroxysm of tears. He gathered her into his arms. “What’s wrong, my girl?”
She sniffled, then burst out. “I hate domestic science. Why do we all have to do it at school?
He shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe some misogynistic notion that girls need to learn how to cook and clean.”
She sniffed and gave a muffled laugh. “I’m never going to sew again.”
He looked puzzled, with a frown said, “Why, what’s wrong with sewing?”
With a sigh, she went over to a pile of material in the corner. She picked it up and waved it around. “This is, we have to cut out and make a pair of pyjamas. I did the trousers fine, but I didn’t see I should have put the pattern along a fold of the material. Now I’ve only got one side and there isn’t enough material left for another.”
Confused, he said, “That’s why you are crying? We can buy more on Saturday.”
Her eyes were glistening with more tears. She shook her head. “Mum says she won’t help me anymore.”
“Nonsense, I’ll talk her round.”
Lucy was nearly hysterical. “She thinks I’m stupid.” As she flung herself down on the bed sobbing.
(c) Felicity Edwards
Weekly Write Stories
Stories will be posted for the Current Week