Page 15 - HouseOnTheEdge
P. 15
Two
“Is it any bigger?” I say, as Noah joins me in the back garden, finally done with saying goodbye. Mummy’s boy.
He exhales loudly, and, typical Noah, doesn’t answer the question, but asks one of his own. “Will Mum be OK?”
“Course, stupid!” I straighten up. He’s making his worried eyes. His hands are bunched in the pockets of his grey school trousers that are an inch too small for him, revealing odd socks (one red, spotty; both holey).
“She just needs some rest still.”
The House on the Edge by Alex Cotter Uncorrected Sample
Not for Redistribution • Copyright © Protected
one It’s
13
