On days like these, sat around the table, you can't help but think about Georgina. It's the empty chair that does it, the empty chair beside your two sisters. It almost makes it feel like she's still there, somehow - flesh and blood instead of ink and paper.
It's not the sort of thing you talk about around the table, though. It's not the sort of thing you even mention, unless it's to Fran.
You're not thinking about Georgina now, though, but about how bored you are: of the stillness, of the silence, of the broken clocks.
You wake up every morning at the same time and help dad around the shop. You go to school. You run errands or help around the house. You dress up in your Sunday best and go to church. You wake up every morning at the same time, go to school, run errands, go to church. You wake up, help in the shop, go to school, run errands. You wake up. Shop. School. Errands.
Maybe that's why Georgina left her Sunday best clothes behind the day she ran off with the baker's son.Â
