On and on she droned, like a cracked record, berating him for his ignorance, his lack of common-sense and his tardiness. He’d heard it all before, more than once.
He stood, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him. He fought the urge to rub his thumbs together like he did when he was stressed. That just annoyed her even more.
He closed his eyes as the first low-level thumps of the inevitable headache began behind his eyelids. It always happened when she told him off for coming home late from the pub again, scolding him like a naughty schoolboy.