“Hurry up, you two.” Gillian finished her cracker and took a single sip of orange juice. She rose from the table and carried her plate and glass to the sink. “Five minutes.”
“Right you are, love.” Harold winked at his daughter, who giggled. “Eat up. You heard your mother.”
Lucy bit into her toast and munched noisily and steadily while Harold buttered two slices and spread the thinnest layer of Marmite on one and added a thick layer of the local St. Pity's cheese to the other, then put them together to make a sandwich. He squashed it flat, cut it in half and packaged it between two paper serviettes before slipping it into his jacket pocket. He reached for his tea just as Lucy finished and carried her dishes to the sink.
“Go and wash you hands and face before we go.” Harold stood as well, teacup in hand. Did you brush your teeth?”
“Ye-es.” Lucy replied in a sing-song you-ask-me-this-every-day voice and she dashed into the bathroom.
“Ready?” Gillian had put her hair up into a neat bun and had donned a tailored suit jacket which hugged her frame like a leotard.
“Just about.” Harold dropped his pate and teacup in the sink and wiped his mouth with the tea towel. It smelled of plasticine, so he balled it up and lobbed it in the washing machine. He picked up his leather jacket and shop keys and headed to the door, where Lucy and her mother were waiting.
He frowned at his daughter. “You can't take Jasfoup to school with you.”