his view from the right side of the city though, lucky man.”
I shook my head again as I realised what was coming.
“He’s always got the best in life,” she began. “The man has a strong income, which he wastes on drink and tobacco, a beautiful house, a beautiful view. Yet he still manages to complain.”
I almost laughed at her hypocrisy as she sat in her large cushioned chair looking out of the velvet Venetian blinds at people dying on the street.
“I don’t think father is as happy as you think.” I said.
She turned to me.
“How do you mean?’
I sighed and rubbed my face, then put the remnant of my biscuit down on the coffee table.
“Oh, please do finish that biscuit Georges.”
Please subscribe to keep reading.