The gnomes expected the truck to be returned immediately. But no. It sat smugly in the driveway while a loud-voiced battle went on indoors.
“Ma money’s on the woman,” Hamish declared.
“Don’t be a fool. He’s lost so much face in the last few days that he’ll have to dig his heels in,” Brenda disagreed.
The front door flew open and five shouting biggers boiled out onto the drive.
Mother attacked low.
“Are you seriously telling me you are prepared to drive this to the goff club?”
“I am.”
“You’ll never become club captain driving it.”
He grinned. “Precisely.”
An everyday story of concrete folk: Eleven
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