“Before he left, he walked round Tristram’s fancy yellow car, inspecting the state of the tyres. ‘I suppose these treads are well within the legal limits?’ ‘Tickety boo, thanks.’ ‘I take it the brakes are adequate.’ ‘I’m still here,’ Uncle Tristram said a little frostily. ‘Yes,’ Dad said. ‘But this time you will be driving my son.’ ‘He isn’t the Messiah,’ muttered Uncle Tristram. Dad has sharp ears. ‘He might not be the Lord’s Anointed, no. But he is precious to his mother and myself. So you dri...ve carefully.’ He turned to me. ‘Any doubts,’ he warned. ‘Any doubts at all, and you are to threaten to be sick on your uncle’s upholstery, step out of the car the moment he screeches to a halt, and then phone home.’ ‘I’m not a maniac,’ said Uncle Tristram. ‘That,’ said my dad, ‘has always been a matter of opinion.’ And he drove off. Uncle Tristram turned to me. ‘I’m glad he’s gone,’ he said. ‘I didn’t really care for his attitude, considering I’m doing him and my sister a giant favour by letting you tag along with me and Morning Glory.’ ‘Morning Glory?’ ‘Now don’t you start,’ said Uncle Tristram, and he got in the car and waited while I climbed in on the other side and fastened my seat belt.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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