Mum stopped beating the eggs; she slammed the whisk down on the counter, raw egg oozed from the metal loops to the granite surface.
"I wish that bloody dog would stop barking."
I nod in half hearted agreement. I don't really care about the noise the dog makes I have got used to it.
"I hate those little yapping kind of dogs don't you?"
I shrug my shoulders; she is glaring at me like it's my fault someone else's dog is making a terrible racket outside.
"I don't really mind." I say.
"Well I do," she retorts, "and they always let it off its lead. They shouldn't be allowed to have animals if they don't take care of them properly."
Mum thankfully starts taking it out on the batter instead of me, "Pass me the milk, love," she says with her hand outstretched.
There isn't any milk left, I noticed this ages ago but I couldn't be bothered to go out and get some more. Mum looks from her empty hand to me.
"You are a lazy little madam," she laughs and picks up a tea towel and throws it at me, "Go and get one from the front."
I wipe my floury hands on my apron and skip to the front door. As I bend down to pick up the milk bottle I hear a guttural growling.
The bottle slips from my hand and smashes into jagged shards of glass on the front step.
The Jack Russell is only little but razor sharp teeth are protruding through its black gums.
Saliva is dripping from its mouth.
Mum pushes past me, after quickly glancing up and down the empty street she lifts the little dog into the air by its hind legs.
With a sharp crack like the snapping of a turkey wishbone she has pulled apart the dogs legs.
The dog makes a pathetic whimpering sound and I vomit on the spilt milk.
Mum is holding the dog's legs in her clenched fist, she looks like she has just won first prize in a fishing competition. She seems mesmerised by the sight of it hanging down from her hand. She shakes her head violently from side to side and runs off round the side of the house hissing over her shoulder, "Quick, clean up."
Mum is washing her hands in the sink when I bring the shattered glass wrapped in newspaper into the kitchen.
"Where's the dog."
"In the garden."
"Is it...is it dead?"
"I buried it."
"In the garden."
"Yes."
"Was it dead?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"Was it dead?"
"Amy."
"But-"
"That's enough now Amy."
"But Mu-"
"Enough... go and sit down in the other room."
"But...I ...I don't want to."
"Go in the other room now."
She shakes her hands over the kitchen sink and I pass her the tea towel. I leave her drying her hands and I go and sit in the living room. As I sink into the armchair I can hear the snap of the dog breaking again. It echoes around the room. It ricochets off the eyes of each of the dolls and returns, slamming into my chest and I keel over.
When I open my eyes Mum is standing in front of me with a cup and saucer.
"Here you go sweetheart, I put three sugars in, ok?" She winks at me.
I have to say something, "Mum wh-"
"Look Amy I forgot to show you," she slides over to the mantelpiece and picks up a frame. "Isn't she pretty?" she says handing the photograph to me, excitement lighting up her face, "Look Amy. It's you!"
I look at the girl in the frame.
I look at the girl in all the other frames.
My legs are trembling.
It is me.
The woman puts the frame back and starts stroking the hair of the doll stood on the mantelpiece. The doll is crying, tears are falling and ruining its purple velvet dress.
THE END
