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‘Bed-bed-bed-bed,’ Mum intones, her voice lowering with each word. ‘Take me to bed. Promaz I’ll be a good girl.’
‘Oh fuc—fudging hell!’ I get up from my seat, sweeping the door wide for an exit that can’t come quick enough.
‘She’s tired. Travelling’s taken it out of her, poor love,’ Geoff says, guiding her upright.
‘You’re a good man, Geoff. A good, good man,’ she says, patting his cheek. His arse cheek. ‘No who else iz a good man, darl?’
‘It’s either Elvis or the Pope,’ I say widening the door a bit more.
‘Him,’ Mum answers quite certainly. ‘Cowscomehome.’
‘Cows have come—Kai!’
