‘Gets lino cleaner twice as fast. That’s what they said. Change lino to vinyl and that’s it: homework done,’ Gran splutters between coughs.
‘Don’t be daft woman,’ Dad says. ‘It’s an adventure story the school wants, not an advertising jingle. I love you, but we only have fourteen hours to save the planet.’ He starts singing, ‘Flash. Aahh. Saviour of the Universe.’ Charlie pads straight out of the kitchen; dogs don’t have to be polite.
Jack shouts to be heard. ‘Get up to date Dad. It’s The Flash people watch these days, not Flash Gordon. If you weren’t too mean to pay for Netflix, you’d know …’ He ducks to avoid the empty can flying in his direction.
‘Do they mean a news flash?’ Sammy whispers in my ear, pointing at the broken television as though imagination could make the words appear. Poor kid’s the only one without a phone; Dad’s dispute with the telly rental company’s affected him badly.
‘Or flash lightning? I’ve got a book on weather if that helps.’ I doubt if he has. Jo sold everything moveable to pay for her hen night. The one before the white wedding that never was.
‘It’s not flashing you mean, is it?’ Mum asks, looking up from her bingo, ‘Because if that Mrs Jamieson has been setting unsuitable homework again, she’ll get more than a piece of my mind this time.’
‘No,’ I say hurriedly. ‘It’s flash fiction. No more than two hundred and fifty words. So I’m done.’