Mr. Corke made a bad first impression. He had a short, rude way of addressing people, and he smelt funny, like an onion soup, which was one of Jeanette’s least favourite things. Her horrible grandmother had made onion soup when she had lived with Jeanette and her family, just before she’d died.

The first time she was in his room at the home she found herself in the strange position of being seated to directly face him. “I don’t know what kind of filth and rubbish you’ve had to read to any of these other decrepit fools, but i’ve got something special for you to read.”

Jeanette was about to tell Mr. Corke off for having insulted dear Mr. Gunston, but was cut off with a “Save it for somebody who cares.”

For a blind man Mr. Corke had an uncanny ability for moving about, and with ease he stepped over to his drawers to retrieve a leather-bound hand written book. He put it right in front of her face.

“Read this.”

Jeanette took the book in her hand. It felt like he was looking at her from behind his glasses.