So making a bag out of a piece of vinyl was a cinch. But he wouldn’t let Alice watch while he did it, which was unusual, as he normally taught her how to make things as he went. No matter how much she pleaded with him, he would not give in.
“No, Alice. Just this once, I want to keep my methods a secret.”
So her father went into his shed and didn’t emerge until he had finished.
Alice loved her new bag anyway. It was shiny and black and had lots of room for all her books, her purse, hairbrush, sanitary pads and period painkillers, a notebook and pens, and lip balm. Then there was still room enough for lunch and a drink bottle.
One thing puzzled her and that was the pocket inside. There was a tiny lock on it.
“What is this for, Dad?”
“Never you mind.”
She frowned at him.
“What do you mean? It’s my bag, and I can’t know what this pocket is for? That’s silly.”
“One day you’ll know. Not yet.”
“Come on, Dad. Tell me what it’s for. Come on.”
She proceeded to tickle him. But he gave her the slip and ran into the garden, round the vege patch, skipped over Rufus the Papa Great Dane, and shut himself in the shed.
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