Page 5 of The Loneliest Dragon at Christmas
One night, they’d gone to their aunt and uncle, their only family.
Their uncle stood in the door, a curl to his lip. “We can’t help you. You’ll need to work out how to run the bakery on your own.” He spoke in that new posh accent he’d learnt.
“We’re trying,” Grady said. “But we could use some help. We know how to bake, serve customers, and keep the bakery clean.” The siblings had grown up working in the bakery. “But we don’t know how to keep the books. Or where to get supplies. You used to work in the bakery. Could you help us just whilst we get our feet under us?”
Their cousin Larry stood back behind his mother and father, arms crossed, expression blank.
“We have our own work,” Aunt Augusta said, voice clipped. “We are very busy.”
“We could come here at night and ask advice when you’re finished,” Grady pleaded. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “We could bring the books. We can come whenever it suits you. Whatever time you can give. It would help.”
Uncle Trenton looked blankly at them. “We don’t have the ability to do that.”
Jack and Grady stared at them in confusion.
“Look, we aren’t going to work in your run-down bakery,” Aunt Augusta said. “Never again.”
“Run-down?” Jack pulled back in shock.
“What’s changed?” Grady snapped.
“Everything!” She pulled herself up and glared at them. “We worked hard to make our way up in the world. We’re not going to lower ourselves back down to your family’s level.”
Their uncle sniffed. “We are sorry for your loss. But my brother and his wife brought this on themselves. Nine children! And then adopting a pixie off the street! Of course they could never do better for themselves than a ramshackle bakery in Hovel Quarter.”
“It’s not called Hovel Quarter!” Jack’s fists clenched.
It might be a poor part of town. But it was not a hovel! Their home, their bakery was not a hovel!
“It’s what everyone calls it. And just look at yourselves.” Their aunt gestured at them. “You’re acting like beggars in rags out here on the street.”
Jack flushed with shame. He looked down at his work-worn clothes. They had a couple of holes and stains. But they weren’t rags.
Jack’s fists clenched. “That’s not true,” Jack bit out. His family worked hard. He worked hard. His parents had worked hard.
“We can’t help you.” Uncle Trenton raised his chin. “You’ll have to work it out on your own.”
Their uncle slammed the door in their faces.
Jack stared at the closed door, trying to comprehend how their aunt and uncle had abandoned them in their time of need.They hadn’t seen them much in recent years. He assumed it was because they’d all been busy with work.
But they were still family. Shouldn’t that count for something?
Apparently not if you lived in Hovel Quarter.
Jack’s jaw tightened. Embarrassment churned inside him. He’d never felt this prickling, humiliating shame before.
“We don’t need them,” Grady said, voice tight. “We can make it work without them.” He turned and strode away.
Jack had followed.
And they had made it work. Over the past thirteen years, they’d all pulled together and worked hard. They’d kept the bakery going. They’d kept the roof over their heads.
Sure, they still didn’t have a lot of money and probably never would. But they’d survived. The bakery did well. It made enough to pay everyone a wage to keep them comfortably fed and clothed and even allowed them to have a little pocket change. They were happy and healthy. That was enough for Jack.
Fuck arrogant pricks who thought themselves better than his siblings, and the bakery.
Lacy had never known, of course, how bad he and Grady had been treated by their aunt and uncle. They’d given their siblings a much softer version of events.
