The back door to my car burst open, momentarily giving me a jolt as I rushed forward to turn off the true crime podcast I’d been listening to.
Was it three o’clock already?
Hiding my disappointment that I’d have to wait until tomorrow before I found out who the killer was, I turned around to smile at my son in the backseat.
‘Hi honey,’ I beamed. ‘How was school?’
‘Fine,’ Brian shrugged, his head bowed in a way that very clearly indicated it wasn’t fine.
‘What’s wrong?’ I frowned. ‘Did you have another surprise maths test? Was it long division? Man, when I was your age I hated long division—’
‘Can we just go?’ Brian interrupted. ‘I have a lot of homework to do.’
I frowned at him, properly concerned.
‘Where are your glasses?’ I realised suddenly.
‘In my bag,’ he said.
‘You’re supposed to be wearing them,’ I said. ‘That behavioural optometrist near Brighton said that if you didn’t wear them all the time—’
‘Mum!’ he lifted his head up to snap at me. ‘Can we just go, please?!’
I slowly lifted an eyebrow – and twisted the keys out of the ignition. He groaned and threw himself back in his seat.
‘Spill,’ I said, sternly. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘I just… want to go home.’
‘Show me your glasses,’ I said, on a hunch.
‘They’re way down the bottom of my bag,’ he protested.
‘Good,’ I nodded. ‘You know where to start looking.’
He sighed and reluctantly unzipped the front pocket of his school bag, reaching in and grabbing the glasses case – they very much weren’t near the bottom, I noted, but didn’t say anything.
He opened the case to show me his glasses; the lenses were shattered and the frames were almost bent in half.
‘Who did that?’ I asked him angrily. ‘I need to know which parent to visit after we take you to a Brighton eye care specialist for new glasses.’
‘Mum, no—’
‘Give me a name, Brian,’ I said, sternly.
Even with his blurred vision, he must have seen how serious I was.