During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. ‘Never mind that now. Her shoulders began to ache. There was absolute quiet. The man himself was not a pleasant object. I love to research, not just for school. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. I ought never to have thought of it. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations.
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