Incommunicado

Helen Croney

I awoke to the sound of Judy the cleaner battering her hoover round the room, muttering mild expletives to herself as she navigated precariously around the heaped saucepans, empty wine bottles and piles of paper that littered the room.

As I peeked out from beneath my duvet to assess my chances of escaping to class unseen and unchastened, she whipped around in a sudden movement that belied her advancing years and stiff frame. ... (continues)