Mother was looking decidedly determined.
“What’s going on?” Steve said to her.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied.
“Now come on Mother. I know that look.”
“I haven’t got ANY look,” Mother fired.
“‘Oh yes you have. It’s that one that looks like a cross between sour grapes and a hungry alligator.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
Steve sensed that the conversation was going nowhere.
“Look at all those old books and newspapers in the porchway,” said Steve to me. “You can hardly move in there.”
He turned towards me, but I refused to be drawn in. I knew where this was going.
“Anyway, where’s Libby?” asked Steve.
“Where she always is. In the bathroom washing her face.”
“What, for three hours as usual?” Steve barked.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” shouted Mother.
“Oh yes it is,” shouted Steve. “She rules this house.”
“Well you don’t have to live here,” flashed Mother.
“Has she stopped eating nothing but apples yet?” inquired Steve.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” repeated Mother.
“She locked me in the GARAGE this afternoon,” Mother suddenly whined.
“She WHAT!” yelled Steve. “How long for?”
“Oh, about two hours,” said Mother.
“TWO HOURS,” exclaimed Steve, his voice rising.
“What did you do,” asked Steve.
“Oh I decided to tidy it up,” replied Mother.
“But weren’t you worried?” said Steve, his face going a rather strange shade of puce.
“Oh I knew she would let me out in the end,” said Mother.