I cringed every time the corner of her mouth twitched, ready for an aural onslaught that could melt earwax. As her nose began to wrinkle in the middle of a red, angry face, her eyes darted back and forth looking for an unsuspecting victim or a sympathiser, carefully gauging the reactions of her audience. She began to draw a deep breath.
They quickly scooped a small slice of cake onto her plate and helpfully handed her spoon back to her, her facial muscles relaxed. Maybe later. She could play them like her colourful wooden glockenspiel at home anyway.
The 18-month-old was appeased for now.
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