“It was kind of true,” Amelia whined.
“Not any kind of truth I’m familiar with,” said her father grimly. “We’re going back to the music school to apologise.”
Amelia admitted she’d lied; Mr Wilson was gracious in his acceptance.
“I reprimanded her, certainly, but I’d never rap a child’s knuckles,” he protested. “Sometimes they tell fibs for attention, I guess.”
Amelia attended her next music lesson with apprehension.
“Sit here beside me,” Mr Wilson said, patting the piano stool. “I’m going to tell you a fable.”
“A fable?” she whispered, nervously.
“About a boy… a boy who cried ‘wolf’.”
It’s that time of the week again; can’t believe we’ve already been in Spain for five weeks – the time has flown by. Thanks as ever to Rochelle, the conductor for the happy band of Friday Fictioneers, wielding her baton as firmly as ever.