She yanked open the hall cupboard, took a screwdriver from the toolbox and set to work on the boot. She stood with her back to me, facing the light, cursing me without pause. It was an unusual experience for me. I was never scolded as a child. My parents’ method of punishment was more refined. They hurt me with silence, not words. It upset me more if I was made to feel I didn’t deserve to be spoken to, asked questions or given explanations. Emerence tucked the boot under her arm, as if she were intending to take it home with her, and flung the spur she had removed down on the table top.
“Because you’re blind and stupid and a coward,” she continued. “God knows what I love about you, but whatever it is, you don’t deserve it. Maybe, as you get older, you’ll acquire a bit of taste. And a bit of courage.”
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