how’s your father?’
I kind of just blinked at her. Why wasn’t she asking me about Mum, or Richie, or Muppet? Why Dad?
‘He’s fine,’ I said.
‘Fine?’
‘Yep, pretty fine.’
‘Very well. Now, how can I help you, my young friend?’
I had to think for a second, because with all the talk about leaky pies, I’d forgotten what I’d come to ask her. But then I remembered.
‘Oh yeah, I have a question for you. What days do you go to the charity shop?’
‘Wednesdays and most Saturdays,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask? Would you like to join me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and she did one of those double-look things. I guess she wasn’t expecting that.
‘Really? I was having a little joke!’
‘Mum and Dad think I should do this thing.’
‘This “thing”? Which “thing” would that be? I don’t see any “thing”.’
‘They think I should do some volunteer work, and then I could write a letter to Mr . . . to my school principal, and then he’ll see that I’m responsible, and might let me go back to Sacred Wimple. I think they might need me to.’
‘I see,’ Miss Huntley said. Then she pointed at one of her two big recliner chairs. ‘Please, sit.’
So I perched on the edge of one chair and she sat on the other, then kind of slid back into it.
‘Elizabeth, I would love you to come and work with us. I think that you would find it stimulating, and it would be good to have some young blood down there.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though I was almost completely sure that it was only her and me in the room. ‘Can I be honest? They’re all so old down there.’
I just nodded. I mean, she’d be the one to know.
‘But,’ she said, raising one of her skinny, knobbly fingers, ‘what we don’t need is someone coming down there for a couple of weeks before losing interest, and then writing some letter claiming that they’re all full of community spirit and altruism.’
‘What’s that? I’ve never heard that word,’ I said, because I hadn’t.
‘Altruism? It’s the desire to do good for others without getting anything in return. Some of the doctors and nurses I’ve known possess it. Anyway, my point is that if you’re planning to put in a couple of shifts, write your letter and leave, we don’t want you.’
‘Okay,’ I said again. ‘So do you want me to come and help or . . .’
‘I do, very much. But your heart has to be in it, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘It is,’ I said, even though I wasn’t sure if it really was.
‘How many days a week? One? Two?’
‘We thought that maybe one morning on the weekend, and one morning during the week,’ I told her. ‘Mum said that was fine.’
‘That sounds perfect. Now, you’ll need to commit for . . . how long is a school term?’
‘I think we’ve got five more weeks in this one,’ I said.
‘All right, I’d want you to do two mornings a week until the end of term. Then I’ll write you a fantastic reference for your principal. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds good,’ I said, because it did.
‘Excellent.’ Miss Huntley stood up, which took a little while. ‘You know where the shop is, don’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Good. If your parents are agreeable, be there at nine o’clock this Wednesday morning. You can do three hours to start with, just to see if you like it. Nervous?’
This made me stop. Why would she ask me that? ‘Not really,’ I said, even though I was, a bit.
‘Very well. See you Wednesday. Don’t be late.’
‘Well, I’m doing it,’ I told my parents when I got back inside. ‘I’m working at the Helping Hands shop this Wednesday, and on Saturday as well if I like it.’
Mum looked up from where she was peeling some carrots. ‘That’s great!’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s terrific,’ Dad agreed as he turned the page of the book that Richie was trying to eat. ‘Well done, Betty!’
‘It’s a great second step towards responsibility,’ Mum
I kind of just blinked at her. Why wasn’t she asking me about Mum, or Richie, or Muppet? Why Dad?
‘He’s fine,’ I said.
‘Fine?’
‘Yep, pretty fine.’
‘Very well. Now, how can I help you, my young friend?’
I had to think for a second, because with all the talk about leaky pies, I’d forgotten what I’d come to ask her. But then I remembered.
‘Oh yeah, I have a question for you. What days do you go to the charity shop?’
‘Wednesdays and most Saturdays,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask? Would you like to join me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and she did one of those double-look things. I guess she wasn’t expecting that.
‘Really? I was having a little joke!’
‘Mum and Dad think I should do this thing.’
‘This “thing”? Which “thing” would that be? I don’t see any “thing”.’
‘They think I should do some volunteer work, and then I could write a letter to Mr . . . to my school principal, and then he’ll see that I’m responsible, and might let me go back to Sacred Wimple. I think they might need me to.’
‘I see,’ Miss Huntley said. Then she pointed at one of her two big recliner chairs. ‘Please, sit.’
So I perched on the edge of one chair and she sat on the other, then kind of slid back into it.
‘Elizabeth, I would love you to come and work with us. I think that you would find it stimulating, and it would be good to have some young blood down there.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though I was almost completely sure that it was only her and me in the room. ‘Can I be honest? They’re all so old down there.’
I just nodded. I mean, she’d be the one to know.
‘But,’ she said, raising one of her skinny, knobbly fingers, ‘what we don’t need is someone coming down there for a couple of weeks before losing interest, and then writing some letter claiming that they’re all full of community spirit and altruism.’
‘What’s that? I’ve never heard that word,’ I said, because I hadn’t.
‘Altruism? It’s the desire to do good for others without getting anything in return. Some of the doctors and nurses I’ve known possess it. Anyway, my point is that if you’re planning to put in a couple of shifts, write your letter and leave, we don’t want you.’
‘Okay,’ I said again. ‘So do you want me to come and help or . . .’
‘I do, very much. But your heart has to be in it, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘It is,’ I said, even though I wasn’t sure if it really was.
‘How many days a week? One? Two?’
‘We thought that maybe one morning on the weekend, and one morning during the week,’ I told her. ‘Mum said that was fine.’
‘That sounds perfect. Now, you’ll need to commit for . . . how long is a school term?’
‘I think we’ve got five more weeks in this one,’ I said.
‘All right, I’d want you to do two mornings a week until the end of term. Then I’ll write you a fantastic reference for your principal. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds good,’ I said, because it did.
‘Excellent.’ Miss Huntley stood up, which took a little while. ‘You know where the shop is, don’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Good. If your parents are agreeable, be there at nine o’clock this Wednesday morning. You can do three hours to start with, just to see if you like it. Nervous?’
This made me stop. Why would she ask me that? ‘Not really,’ I said, even though I was, a bit.
‘Very well. See you Wednesday. Don’t be late.’
‘Well, I’m doing it,’ I told my parents when I got back inside. ‘I’m working at the Helping Hands shop this Wednesday, and on Saturday as well if I like it.’
Mum looked up from where she was peeling some carrots. ‘That’s great!’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s terrific,’ Dad agreed as he turned the page of the book that Richie was trying to eat. ‘Well done, Betty!’
‘It’s a great second step towards responsibility,’ Mum
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