She looked him up and down, from his wrinkled pyjamas to his unshaven face, but said nothing. Instead she set the basket down and pulled out the firewhiskey.
"You said you wanted firewhiskey, Ronald Bilius, and here it is, so stuff your complaints." Figuring he hadn't eaten (or eaten anything that really counted as food) in a day or two, she set a few of the sandwiches on the table. "Turkey. Tuna. Peanut butter and marshmallow. Take your pick. There might even be an experimental granola sandwich somewhere in there." She sighed. "Mum was in a mood."
Which was why she was there so early. Better to deal with a surly brother than an overanxious mother. Ron she could snap at. Mum, not so much.