Polly wasn’t having a good morning. Polly never had good mornings.
‘Mum, I can’t find my other shoe.’ She stomped upstairs, all hormones and attitude.
‘Polly, we’ve got to be out in five minutes. Why are you never ready?’
‘Don’t judge me! Where’s my coat?’
‘Polly, we really need to get going. We can’t be in the house after 9. You know that.’
‘I need a hairbrush. I’ll be a minute.’
‘POLLEEEE!’
There was a muffled squawk, then a thump.
Polly’s bloodied head bounced down the stairs, rolled out the door and disappeared under the car.
Only a minute late.