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Flintiness came naturally to Amanda. As a child she had been cute. Ringlets tumbled across her high cheek bones. Her baby blue eyes peeped out from beneath long, silken lashes. Only a fool was taken in by this.
She had a mind of her own, right from the beginning. Knew what she wanted and tried to assess the best way of achieving that. She was not selfish in this. It was not that she wanted more than a sibling, or a friend, a greater share of the cake. More that she was not able to be waylaid from an aim once it had formed.
And this was not to be confused with an inability to let her hair down, to flick the switch to vaudeville. Not that the switch-flicking was part of the journey either, but more a release for a short period.
She was no soft touch, our Amanda.
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