Hazel was normally scatter-brained, but forgetting the PIN of the debit card she’d been using for twenty years was a new low. At thirty-nine, she couldn’t even blame her age. She looked hopelessly at the sales assistant, who smiled encouragingly.
Hazel bit her lip. “I know the digits and I know it’s an important date.” Which meant it had to start with a 1.
She keyed in 1578. It was rejected. She tried 1857, but that was invalid, too.
Dare she try a third guess and risk locking the card? “Have you got another card?” the girl asked helpfully. “Yes, but I’ve never used the PIN.” She returned purchases until the total fell below the contactless limit, and paid.
Shortly after she got home, Charlie arrived, displaying the typical cheer and eloquence of a fifteen-year-old. He grunted, dropped his rucksack, then took off his hoodie and hung it on the newel post. This was an improvement – he normally threw that on the floor, too.
“Tick, VG,” she said and dropped an auntie’s kiss in his hair. He shrugged away. “Geroff!” She grinned and led him to the dining room where her laptop awaited today’s lesson.
Poor Charlie was having a rough time. Mum and Dad splitting up. A new school and having to make new friends had led to skipping lessons, grades dropping and trouble at home.
Hazel’s sister needed help. “You’re a whizz at maths, and he likes you,” Beth had pleaded. It was difficult to believe that sometimes.
The current maths topic, probability, w.
