Albert Johnson was enjoying an afternoon of tonsillitis.
Certainly, the coughing and the sore throat had been something of a drag and the pink streaks of blood in his phlegm had been rather alarming until the doctor had reassured him that he wasn’t dying of throat cancer after all.
And now that he knew that he wasn’t dying, the compensations for being ill were fantastic.
Instead of being at college with all of its attendant boredom there was the joy of the wood burner, sofa, TV, phone and sporadic dozing. Yes, it suited him just fine to spend the day in his dressing gown.
Best of all, he had the whole house to himself. Tonsillitis was fast becoming Albert’s best friend.
He was just stretching himself out on the sofa wondering what screen to stare at next when he heard a sound that made him uneasy. No car had pulled up on the gravel of the driveway to signal the return of either his mum or dad but someone had definitely entered the front porch and they were taking far too long in there to be a delivery man.
And the delivery man wouldn’t try rattling the door handle…