‘Where are you going?’
‘I have a car,’ he replied with some reluctance. This was something he didn’t generally allow to be known, wisely parking some distance from the school to avoid vandalism.
She said nothing, but followed him with dogged forbearance.
When they reached the aged, illustrious-looking Aston-Martin, formerly the family car and older than himself, David found himself having to suppress a smile. For a brief moment, Monkey Guts allowed her habitual expression to fall like a curtain, allowing him a glimpse at her true appearance, and a much different girl stared at the old car as though it were a pumpkin turned into a golden carriage.
When they reached the run-down street on which the Gedde house lay, Monkey Guts quickly asked him to pull over.
‘We’re not there yet,’ he said, ignoring her protests. ‘Which one is it?’
The question was answered for him as he drove slowly along. They were just passing a dilapidated ruin of a house, with lawn gone to weeds and untrimmed trees that leaned on the eaves as though for support, when a man’s harsh voice shouted drunkenly from the veranda.
‘Monica! Get yer goddamned arse in here, you worthless little tart! Get in here now and fix my grub! Who the hell’s that you’re with? If he’s shagged you, you’d better’ve charged him for it!’