Maths | Flash Fiction

Multicoloured abacus

Little Timmy sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, his tears blotting the ink of the homework that tortured him.

“Oh ‘eck, lad,” said Grandpa. “Wotsmatter?”

“My homework,” whimpered Timmy. “I can’t do it. I need help with my 3 times tables.”

“Times tables, ey? Ba gum, that does sound ‘ard for a bairn like you. Only seven, aren’t you lad? I ‘ad trouble at school at your age an’ all. Tell ya what—you go up to bed and I’ll sort this out for you. Don’t tell t’teachers, mind. It’ll be done by morning and that’s a promise.”

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