Scrooge shook his quill, then slipped a bony finger into the ink pot, confirming that it was dry.
‘Cratchit!’ he shouted, causing young Bob to snap his head up, fear in his eyes. He realised that the ink pot was dry and Scrooge was angry.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ growled Scrooge, fixing young Bob’s stare. ‘You’re right. Let’s close up, scoot to Spoons, get shit-faced and we can pick up a turkey from Tesco on the way home for Mrs Cratchit,’ he said.
Bob relaxed. ‘And tomorrow – Christmas Day?’ he asked.
‘Don’t push it Cratchit. First round’s on you,’ answered Scrooge.
