Wake up, Mummy [antikvár]

I HATED BATH time. The prospect of it hung Uke a black cloud over almost every single day. As soon as I got home from school, Vd start to dread it. Fd glance repeatedly at the clock in the kitchen or the one on the ugly mantelpiece in the living room and wish that the hands would stop turning and the minutes would stop ticking away so that bath time never came. Fiowever, I think it would have taken an earthquake, at least, to make Carl miss it. It didn't matter how much I prayed, the time always came when he bellowed at my brother and me, 'Bath!' Normally, I tried not to be in the same room as Carl when bath time came around, because I always clung to the hope that if he couldn't actually see me, one day he might forget. But he never did. On this particular day, Carl, my mother and I had been watching something on television and I was sitting on the dirty floor at the side of the sofa, clutching my knees to my chest, when Carl shouted the word. Instantly, my stomach tied itself into a tight, hard knot and a sour-tasting liquid